Neil White - LAST RITES

‘Why not now?’

‘Because if you want something from me, it will be on my terms. And I don't want to talk yet.’

‘So it has to be later?’

Katie nodded. ‘Come here for six. We'll talk then.’

I looked at her, hoping that she might change her mind, wondered how I would explain it to Laura, but Katie just smiled at me.

‘Later it is, then,’ I said, and started to walk towards the door.

‘Jack!’ she shouted out.

I turned around.

‘I'll look forward to it,’ she said, and then she giggled.

I turned and left the house, and as the door closed I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.

But it wasn't just the story, I knew that. Katie intrigued me. Maybe it was just the looks, but I knew that it was something else too: that she thought she was in charge, that she had something I wanted.

I knew I would have to be careful.

Rod Lucas took a quick look at Pendle Hill as he walked towards Abigail's door. The skies looked darker than the day before, the bracken top covered in gloom, and it made him raise the collar on his waxed jacket to shield his ears. His wife pestered him to wear a hat and gloves, but Rod wanted to feel the countryside, not just see it through his windscreen. It was what made his patch special.

He knocked on the door and then stepped back. Abigail was out of hospital, but he knew he would have to wait. She lived on her own, not even a cat for company any more, and Rod recalled her injuries. She wouldn't be moving quickly.

He put his hands into his pockets and stayed still. A couple of minutes went past and so he gave another rap on the door, just so that Abigail would definitely know someone was there. Eventually, he heard the rattle of a key, and when the door opened he was surprised at what he saw.

‘You look well, Miss Hobbs,’ he said, and he meant it. There was some bruising around her chin, and one of her eyes was covered by a patch, the other one red and sore, but some of the swelling had gone down and she was walking proudly upright, even with the bandages on her leg.

‘I heal well,’ she said, suspiciously at first, but then she recognised Rod. ‘I'm sorry, but you were dressed differently yesterday.’

He glanced down and remembered his gardening clothes from the day before. It was shirt and tie today, but there was still dirt ingrained into his fingers.

He nodded and smiled. ‘I wonder if we could have a talk,’ he said, just a hint of reproach in his voice.

‘There's nothing much else to say,’ said Abigail. ‘Young vandals or trouble-causers. I can't add anything to that.’

‘What about Isla Marsden? Can she help?’

Rod watched her carefully, looked for a reaction, but she was more prepared for the question than Isla had been. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the sweet smile never wavered.

‘Thank you for calling round, Inspector,’ she said. ‘If I hear of anything, I'll get in touch.’

Abigail started to close the door, but Rod stuck out his hand.

‘Do you want me to come in and make sure everything is secure?’ he asked.

Abigail guessed his motives. ‘I can still turn a window key,’ she said.

‘If you are being targeted for a reason, then someone else might get hurt, or even worse,’ he said, appealing for her help.

Abigail looked at him for a moment, her smile shifting for a second, before she thanked him again and closed the door slowly.

Rod Lucas was left facing the closed door. He stood there for a short while, thinking about what he should do next, before turning around and walking slowly back up the path.

I was in the same coffee shop as the day before, halfway through a cappuccino, when I decided to call Laura.

When she answered, I asked, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Wading through a pile of stolen cables,’ she said.

‘Sounds like you've had better times.’

Laura laughed. ‘No, just routine. Just another morning of preparation before we get the no-comment interview.’

‘Doesn't anyone answer questions any more?’

‘We can't make them, Jack,’ Laura replied, ‘but I still have some faith in the system. It succeeds more times than it fails.’

‘That's not the impression I get.’

‘Yeah, but that all depends on how you report it.’

I exhaled loudly. ‘You need a break,’ I said softly. ‘When it's all sorted out with Bobby, we'll go away somewhere warm, just me and you, where we can lie down for a couple of days and watch the sea and feel the sun on our faces.’

The line went quiet for a few seconds, and then Laura said, ‘That would be nice’, her voice soft. ‘I miss you, Jack.’

‘I haven't been away.’

‘It feels like you have,’ she said.

I shook my head. ‘I've always been here,’ I told her. ‘I'm just not sure you saw me.’

‘Why have you called?’

‘I just wanted to hear your voice, that's all,’ I replied.

Laura stayed silent, and I tried to picture the Laura that had first captivated me. The brightness to her smile, the way she bit her lip when she was feeling mischievous, how she giggled at my jokes.

‘I'm glad you called,’ she said quietly, and then she took a deep breath. ‘How was your morning?’

‘Interesting.’

‘More than yesterday?’

‘I didn't know about the letters yesterday.’

‘Are you still going with that? I told you: you need to be careful.’

‘But you still haven't heard anything?’

‘I told you last night – even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. But I don't.’ Then she asked, ‘Where are you going next?’

‘The head teacher at Sarah's school,’ I replied, ‘and then I'm chasing down the letters.’

Laura paused, and then she said, ‘Be careful, Jack. She's killed someone, so everyone believes, and murderers can be desperate people.’

‘So you need to keep the murder squad informed of my whereabouts.’

‘Huh!’

‘So they can find my body,’ I said jokily.

Laura laughed. ‘If you keep on, I don't think Carson would bother looking too hard.’

Sarah was under the blanket, some warmth tingling back into her feet, the mud cracking off her skin, when she heard the screech of the door moving on its runner, just audible over the sound of the heartbeat blasting through the speakers. There was the crunch of feet in the dirt again, but faster than normal. Sarah peered over the top of the blanket. She saw the familiar hood, but the shape of the head looked different. Leaner, smaller. It was the other one, the one who had come to her when she had been in the box.

She shrank back, shaking suddenly. She remembered the time in the box.

It had been waiting for her when she first arrived in the room, after the cramp of the car ride, squashed into the boot, gripped by panic, hyperventilating, her breath coming out as short rasps that echoed under the lid. There had been voices in the car, just murmurs, too quiet to make out, not rising above the hum of the tyres on the road. Sarah had tried to work out where they were going from the turns and the stops, but she got lost pretty quickly. The car was old, so the suspension had bottomed out of every pothole, sending a kick to her back.

When the car came to a stop, Sarah had been pulled out by the rope around her wrists, her arms twisted back, and then dragged along a path, sharp gravel under her feet, hands over her eyes. She was taken down some stairs and thrown into the room, her chest breaking her fall in the dirt.

He had untied the rope, his mask still on, but then she had been dragged to the corner of the room, towards the box.

The box was lying on the floor, long like a rifle chest. Entry was at one end, and she was put in head-first, like a corpse in a mortuary drawer, on her back, her arms by her side. It was only just wide enough, so that her arms were wedged against the sides, impossible to move. Her head pushed against one end, and when the open end of the box was slammed shut, it banged against her feet so that she had to curl her legs up to fit.