Alex Barclay - Darkhouse

‘Well, there she is now,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

She came back on the line, her voice shaking.

‘It was just the Lucchesis,’ she said.

‘Oh, OK. Well, I’ll come over to you, so,’ said Frank. ‘Sure I’ll probably pass Katie by on the drive.’

‘Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it.’

Frank took the milk from the stove and reached for the Colombian roast.

Martha Lawson lived with her daughter in a small white bungalow with a large garden — a suburban home on a country road, a ten-minute walk from the harbour, a thirty-minute walk from the Lucchesis. Inside, the house was a blend of different woods, carpets and fabrics; a mahogany dresser with varnished pine coffee table, floral carpet with Aztec print drapes. Every surface was spotless.

Frank sat to Martha’s left on a brown sofa, his body turned towards her. She had a plain face, but most of the features that made Katie beautiful. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her eyelashes wet from tears.

‘I’m sure Katie is fine,’ said Frank. ‘I don’t know what she’s up to, to be honest, but whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll have a good explanation when she walks through that door.’

‘No, Frank, I really don’t think so. Please. I know Katie. It’s not like her at all. God knows, she could be dead in a ditch somewhere. You hear about these hit and runs...’

‘Don’t be worrying about things like that,’ said Frank gently.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This is just, I’ve never...’ she trailed off.

‘It’s OK,’ said Frank, patting her hand.

‘Shaun called here for Katie at eight,’ she said. ‘She didn’t stick her head in to say goodbye, she just hopped out the hall door to him.’ She thought about this for a while. ‘I didn’t even say goodbye to her,’ she cried.

‘We don’t know anything’s happened to her,’ said Joe, who had been standing at the fireplace opposite. ‘And if we all got up to say goodbye to our kids every time they went out the door, we’d be up and down all day.’

Martha smiled, wiping her nose with a pink tissue.

‘Shaun said they had been hanging around the harbour, but she wanted to walk home on her own or something, so he let her.’ She glanced over at Anna and Joe. ‘She was supposed to be home at midnight.’

‘Where is Shaun?’ asked Frank, frowning.

‘He wanted to stay at home,’ said Joe. ‘And wait by the home phone. He figures she could call him on that because he doesn’t get a great signal on his cell.’

Shaun stared at his bedroom wall. His heart was thumping. He moved around, trying different positions to get a signal on his mobile, but he knew nothing would work. He used the portable phone to dial his message minder. There were no new messages. He tried his private line in the bedroom. It rang. He hung up. He checked the answer phone. There were no messages. He picked it up, pushed buttons, turned it over, put it down again. Still no messages.

There was a knock on the door. Martha looked around at everyone. They all stood up at the same time, but left her to answer it. Low muttering came from the hallway. Richie Bates, in his pristine navy uniform, bent his head to get through the door and nodded when he saw Joe and Anna. He was pale, but alert. His hair was still damp from the shower. He turned to Frank.

‘Howiya, Frank,’ he said sombrely, nodding again.

Martha walked in behind him, disappointed and exhausted.

‘Will you have a cup of tea, Richie?’ she said.

‘I’ll get it,’ he said.

‘You will not,’ she said. ‘Sit down there.’

She brought him out a plate of plain biscuits and tea in a china cup that looked lost in his big hands.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

After a long silence, Frank spoke up.

‘Sorry to have to ask, but was there anything wrong with Katie?’ He pulled out his notebook. The formality of Frank Deegan, out of context, sitting on her sofa as a policeman made her cry.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Martha.

‘Did you have an argument or anything?’

‘No, no, everything was fine,’ she said defensively.

‘Was she fighting with anyone in school?’

‘She wouldn’t tell me if she was.’

‘You know with young girls, they could have been jealous or there could have been something—’

‘No. I know a bit of bullying goes on at the school, but she’s never been part of it.’

Frank searched for questions that wouldn’t alarm Martha at this early stage, but would reassure her that she was being taken seriously.

‘I’m trying to think,’ said Martha, ‘did I do something that annoyed her?’

‘Tell me what she did during the day today.’

‘She went to school and was home straightaway afterwards. She didn’t have any homework, so she went out to meet Shaun. She didn’t change out of her uniform. She came home on her own for dinner, then went upstairs and had a shower. She spent a good while getting ready. She had a lot of makeup on, which she normally doesn’t. I might have told her that she could have taken some of it off. I think that annoyed her.’ She looked up at Frank.

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ he said.

‘I went into the kitchen then and I presume she took a jacket from the hall, because then she just shouted “See you later,” and off she went out to Shaun. I went into the hall after her, but she was gone.’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I don’t know why I had to say that about her makeup. She looked beautiful.’

Richie Bates stayed silent throughout the interview, but took notes every time she spoke. The bones in his hand were rigid. Frank wondered if the pen was going to snap.

‘Maybe she hated me and I didn’t know,’ blurted Martha. Everyone looked at her.

‘No,’ said Anna, rushing to her side. She patted her arm. ‘She loved you. We all know that. She’s just late home.’

The questions continued until Frank was satisfied he had enough information. But that didn’t mean he had any idea where Katie Lawson was.

The cottage, at the end of a damp, mossy lane, was five miles from Mountcannon and had lain derelict for fifteen years. Wooden boards crisscrossed the fractured windows, protecting the place from people less determined than Duke Rawlins. His hands tore at the rotting frame, pulling free parts of the brittle timber. Within minutes he was climbing through the back window into a dark, cramped kitchen. He breathed in the stale air, then worked on the rusted door latch, finally pushing the door open to the breeze.

He moved through the house, shining his torch over mahogany furniture, ragged net curtains and religious pictures, crooked on floral walls. The bedrooms were small and dark, barely lit by the tiny windows. A tarnished picture frame lay upturned on a sideboard. A strip along the centre of the photograph had been bleached white, where a gap in the boards had let shafts of sunlight through the window. He picked up the frame and slid out the photograph, letting it float to the floor. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out one to replace it. Uncle Bill stood in a faded XL denim shirt and jeans, his right arm extended. The sun was setting behind him and glowed orange, catching his brown hair and full beard. His left thumb was hooked into a brown leather belt that was too tight for his vast stomach. His smile was broad. Solomon sat on a bow perch next to him, one foot raised. Sheba was swooping through the air, poised to land on Bill’s gloved hand and collect her prize.

‘Solomon was majestic,’ said Duke, holding the photograph to his chest. ‘He truly was.’ He stretched out his arms and looked into the shadows. ‘But Sheba, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.’

Anna pushed aside plates, bottles, cutlery and mugs to add a jug of maple syrup to the breakfast table. Joe looked at the waffles, juice, croissants, bacon, sausage, coffee and tea. ‘Whose room will we charge this to?’ he asked. Anna laughed and looked to Shaun for a reaction. He had none. Tears were dripping onto his empty plate.