Minette Walters - Fox Evil

Her eyes were drawn to two more photographs that stood in a leather double-hander on the bureau beneath the wedding picture. In the left frame: James and Ailsa with a couple of toddlers; in the right: a studio portrait of a girl and a boy in their teens. They were dressed in white against a black background, a studied pose of profiled bodies, the boy behind the girl, his hand on her shoulder, their faces turned to the camera. "Trust me," Mark had said, "in a million years no one would mistake you for Elizabeth." He was right. There was nothing in Nancy that recognized this made-up Barbie doll with petulant mouth and bored eyes. She was a clone of her mother, but with none of Ailsa's sparkle.

Nancy told herself it wasn't fair to judge a person by a photograph-particularly one that was so fake-except that Leo wore the same bored expression as his sister. She had to assume the whole setup was their choice, for why would James and Ailsa want such a bizarre record of their children? Leo interested her. From her perspective of twenty-eight years his attempts to look sultry were amusing, but she was honest enough to admit that at fifteen she would probably have found him attractive. He had his grandmother's dark hair and a paler version of his mother's blue eyes. It made for an interesting combination, although it disturbed Nancy that she saw more of herself in him than she did in his sister.

She took against both of them, though she couldn't say whether her dislike was instinctive or a result of what Mark had told her. If they reminded her of anything-possibly because of the white clothes and Elizabeth's false eyelashes-it was Malcolm McDowell's deceptively innocent face in A Clockwork Orange , as he slashed and cut his victims in an orgy of violent self-expression. Was that their intention, she wondered? Was it a coded image of amorality that would amuse their friends and pass their parents by?

The dinner service stood on the sideboard, covered in dust, and she lifted the stack of plates to the table to retrieve clean ones from the bottom. You could read too much into a picture, she told herself, recalling the unsophisticated snapshots of herself, mostly taken by her father, that littered the farmhouse. What did such unimaginative portrayals say about her? That Nancy Smith was a genuine person who concealed nothing? If so, it wouldn't be true.

As she returned the plates to the sideboard, she noticed a small heart-shaped mark in the dust where they'd been standing. She wondered who or what had made it. It seemed a poignant symbol of love in that cold, dead room, and she gave a superstitious shiver. You could read too much into anything, she thought, as she took a last look at her grandparents' smiling faces on their wedding day.

Fox ordered Wolfie back to the bus, but Bella intervened. "Let him stay," she said, pulling the child into her side. "The kid's worried about his mum and brother. He wants to know where they are, and I said I'd ask you."

Wolfie's alarm was palpable. Bella could feel the tremors through her coat. He shook his head anxiously. "It's o-k-kay," he stuttered. "F-fox can tell me later."

Fox's pale eyes stared at his son. "Do as I tell you," he said coldly, jerking his head toward the bus. "Wait for me there."

Ivo put out a hand to stop the child moving. "No. We've all got an interest in this. You chose families for this project, Fox… let's build a community, you said… so where's yours? You had a lady and another kid at Barton Edge. What happened to them?"

Fox's gaze traveled around the group. He must have seen something in their collective expressions that persuaded him to answer, because he gave an abrupt shrug. "She took off five weeks ago. I haven't seen her since. Satisfied?"

No one said anything.

Bella felt Wolfie's hand steal into hers. She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth to stimulate some saliva. "Who with?" she asked. "Why didn't she take Wolfie with her?"

"You tell me," Fox said dismissively. "I had some business to see to and when I got back she and the kid were gone. It wasn't my choice she left Wolfie. He was stoned out of his head when I found him… but he can't remember why. Her stuff was gone and there were signs someone had been in the bus with her, so I'm guessing she put the kids to sleep in order to score. Probably for H. She couldn't go long without it."

Wolfie's fingers squirmed inside Bella's hand, and she wished she knew what he was trying to tell her. "Where was this? Were you on a site?"

"Devon. Torquay area. We were working the fairgrounds. She got desperate when the season ended and the clients dried up." He lowered his gaze to Wolfie. "Cub was easier to carry than this one, so I expect she salved her conscience by taking the smallest." He watched tears limn the child's eyes, and his mouth thinned into a cynical smile. "You should try living with a zombie, Bella. It fucks the brain when the only thing in it is obedience to a craving. Everything else can go to hell-kids, food, responsibilities, life-only the drug matters. Or maybe you've never thought about it like that… maybe your own addictions make you feel sorry for them."

Bella squeezed Wolfie's hand. "My guy had a habit," she said, "so don't lecture me about zombies. I've been there, done that, got the sodding T-shirt. Sure, his brain was fucked, but I went looking for him every time till he OD'd. Did you do that, Fox? Did you go looking?" She stared him down. "It don't make no difference how she got her fix… she'd be on the streets again within half a second flat. So do me a favor. A lady with a kid in her arms? The cops and the social would have had her in safety before she even woke up. Did you go to them? Did you ask?"

Fox shrugged. "I might have done if I'd thought that's where she was, but she's a whore. She's holed up in a squat somewhere with a pimp who'll put up with her as long as he has access to hits and she does the business. It's happened before. She had her first kid taken off her because of it… made her so scared of cops and social workers she won't go near them now."

"You can't just leave her," Bella protested. "What about Cub?"

"What about him?"

"He's your son, ain't he?"

He looked amused. "'Fraid not," he said. "That little bastard's some other fucker's responsibility."

James wanted to discuss the travelers, for which Nancy was grateful. She wasn't keen to talk about herself or her impressions of photographs. On the various occasions that she and Mark exchanged glances across the table, she could see he was baffled by James's sudden curiosity about the squatters at the Copse, and she wondered what their conversation had been while she was in the dining room. The topic of mutilated foxes had been dropped very abruptly. "I don't want to talk about it," James had said.

"Make sure the table's clean, Mark. She's obviously a very well-brought-up young lady. I don't want her telling her mother I live in a pigsty."

"It is clean."

"I didn't shave this morning. Does it show?"

"You look fine."

"I should have worn a suit."

"You look fine."

"I feel I'm a disappointment. I think she was expecting someone more impressive."

"Not at all."

"I'm such a boring old man these days. Do you think she'd be interested in the family diaries?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"Perhaps I should ask her about the Smiths? I'm not sure what the etiquette is in these circumstances."

"I don't think there is one. Just be yourself."

"It's very difficult. I keep thinking about those terrible phone calls."

"You're doing great. She likes you a lot, James."

"Are you sure? You're not just being kind?"