Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) (46 page)

‘“
And Jesus took the Blind Man by the hand and led him out of the town; and when he had spit on his eyes, and put his hands up on him, he asked him if he saw anything. And the blind man looked up and said, ‘I see men like trees, walking.”’

He’d sat downstairs, at the kitchen table, in the silent house, his wife, sleepless, he knew, upstairs, and he’d trawled the sacred texts for healing, for a miracle.

‘In
Biblical times,’ he began, facing the congregation, ‘being ill was also about being unclean, being spiritually exiled in some way. Not something that can be cured by a couple of aspirin…’

The
arms folded themselves more tightly.

‘When
we hear these ancient tales, we have to remember that this is a different way of telling a story. The distinction about what’s true, and what’s false, falls away. There is a blurring of fact and fiction.’

The
two Benfield sisters glanced at each other.

‘A
man with leprosy can be cured with the right words. A woman troubled by demons can have them dismissed. It’s important – ’ he raised his head, surveyed them all – ‘it’s important to be open to the possibility of these stories.’

His
words filled the church. The thoughts of the congregation too, whispered between the pillars of stone… if it’s a three pound bird it better be put in the oven as soon as I get back… Perhaps it should have been an each-way bet on the Kempton Park two-thirty… Mother does hate lunch being late… Look at that damp wall, I don’t suppose we’ll ever get the funds to fix it now Robinson’s gone…

Chad
came to the last page. A brief burst of sunlight through the stained glass. His audience seemed to fade beyond the wash of colour. He spoke again.

‘…and
to finish, I would say, that whatever the story is, it is nothing, without Love. That is the message of the Gospels, and it is as true now as it was then.’

Chad
folded up his notes, and descended the pulpit steps.

‘Dad – ’ Lisa’s voice shook with fear.

‘What
is it?’ He was hunched over a pistol, polishing it.

‘Dad
– you’ve got to let us out of here.’

‘We’ll
be OK, you and me. We’ll be OK.’ His fingers moved feverishly to and fro.

‘Dad
– you’ve been doing that for hours.’

He
looked up, blankly. He went back to the polishing.

‘We’ve
run out of water.’

‘There’s
lots of water.’

She
looked at the rising puddles of sea water at their feet.’

‘I’m
hungry, Dad.’

‘When
it’s safe, we’ll go. When it’s safe…’

‘And
when’s that, Dad?’

Again,
the blank look.

She
could hear the wind rattling the rotten wood above them. She could hear the rhythmic swishing of the waves.

And
the faint barking of a dog.

She
strained to listen. Was that really her?

No.
No dog. A moment of hope faded to despair. Lisa imagined her dog, circling, barking, sniffing at the blocked door. And even if she did come back, what good is that? She’d be out there, loyally standing at her post, waiting for her mistress.

When
we drown, she’ll drown with us.

Berenice allowed her car to roll to a stop. Rain hammered on the roof, on the windscreen. The ruined tower was black against the dark grey sea.

‘…
that the great flood will wash all clean…’

Was
that what he’d said, the author of the book. Water, the purifier, and yet also the destroyer.

And
here I am, she thought, looking out to sea, facing the flood. With a missing girl, a father who’s killed. And with only a dog to help me.

What
am I doing?

Elizabeth
had been effusive in her thanks, ‘I so appreciate you taking her, she’s called Tazer, by the way, yes I know, that’s Lisa for you…’

An
odd woman. Something so detached about her. Perhaps that’s what you need if you’re smashing particles for a living.

An
outsider, in a way.

Perhaps
they say the same of me.

Certainly
now. I used to head a team. I used to have Mary at my side. And now…

She
turned to look at the dog, who sat, waiting, breathing.

‘Now
there’s just me and you, kid.’

The
dog eyed her.

The
book was on the seat next to her. She brushed the leather cover with her fingertips.

‘There’s
something about all this, you see, Tazer. What a crap name for a dog. And a girl dog at that…’ The dog panted, her head on one side. ‘Something that woman wasn’t saying. Or am I going mad? Does this book drive you mad, maybe? So that you end up chasing the book. And in the end, you’re here, at Hank’s Tower. And dead.’ She stared out at the tower, blurred by the rain.

A
need for revenge, she thought. Like the hate mail, with its determination that the flood would come and wash us from our sins…

Something
buried, some deep wrong, emerging into the light.

Murdo
ended up with the book, because of Elizabeth.

And
Alan…

Alan
bought the land.

She
flicked through the pages.

‘…the
Tree of Life, the Lord emerging from the Tree, the first Adam and the last. Who can say, I am worthy of this knowledge….’ ‘Entelechia… whereby matter comes to be the thing in itself…’ ‘One drop of baptismal water may be equal to the flood of Noah in washing clean our sins. At that moment does the man stand on the threshold, where there is no time, no God, where the moment endures forever.’

She
closed the book. She stared at the angry sea, the driving rain. She turned to the dog.

‘Come
on, kid, let’s get wet.’

She
got out of the car. She picked the hair-band out of its wrapper, and gave it to Tazer.

Tazer
sniffed at it. She jumped down from the car, still sniffing. She began to circle, her nose in the sand, then, barking loudly, headed for Hank’s Tower.

Lisa heard it first, the barking of a dog.

It’s
Taze, she thought. They’ve found us.

‘What
the fuck is that - ’ Her father stared through the darkness. ‘Your fucking dog - ?’ He looked at his phone. ‘It’s morning. Were we asleep?’

‘You
were,’ she said. He had gradually slumped sideways, until he’d ended up asleep and snoring. She had stayed awake all night, watching him, hearing the sea encroach, hearing it withdraw again. The water levels had risen with the tide, lapping in the mud only feet away from them. There’d been sirens, police cars, and she’d thought at first they’d come to rescue her, but they too had faded with the dawn.

The
barking drew nearer.

Clem
stumbled to his feet. ‘That’s it, girl - ’ He moved towards the door, and for a moment, a brief moment of relief, she thought he’d changed his mind, that he was going to let her go. But all he did was kick the beam to check it was still there. Then he went to the bench and began to drag it, too, towards the door.

‘Dad
– what you doing?’

‘Your
fucking dog. She’ll bring the feds, won’t she?’

‘If
we stay here, Dad – ’

‘We’ll
be safe,’ he said. The bench left thick gouges in the mud. In the thin torch light Lisa could see wires, dials, churned to the surface.

‘Dad
– if we stay here we’ll die.’

‘I’m
not having them stealing from me.’ He stood back, panting with effort. The bench, too, was blocking the door. ‘All my life they took my dreams away. They won’t do it now. Not now.’

Lisa
began to cry. Cold, wet, hungry, she crouched down in the mud, among the old wires. At her feet something glittered in the torchlight. She dug into the mud, picked it up. A watch. An old one, with a chain.

She
held it in her hand and gazed at it. She wondered how it had come to be here, who had owned it before. She wondered if he, too, had died in the mud, and his watch was all that was left of him.

Tazer was standing by Hank’s Tower, barking at an ancient strip of wood. Berenice approached. ‘Here?’

The
dog barked in reply.

She
approached the wood, saw that it was a door. ‘Holy crap, Taze,’ she said. ‘If they’re in there, they’re in trouble.’

Tazer
barked and jumped, running to and fro.

Berenice
grabbed her collar. ‘More to the point – if we go in alone, given his passion for firearms – we’ll be in trouble too.’

She
dragged the protesting dog back towards the car, grabbed her phone, clicked on Mary’s number, heard it go to voicemail.

‘Mary
– I’ve found the missing kid. Holed up with her Dad. Call me.’

Helen heard Chad’s car on the drive as she was putting the roast potatoes back into the oven. She heard his key in the door, looked up, ‘They’re not quite ready,’ she smiled.

He
gazed at her blankly.

‘Are
you all right?’ she said.

He
leaned one hand on the kitchen table, standing stiff and awkward in his coat.

‘Your
sermon…?’ she began.

He
shook his head. ‘I don’t suppose they heard it. It was about truth, and stories, and how we all hear the stories that we need to hear.’

‘It
sounds very interesting,’ she said.

He
was still staring at her. ‘You’re having an affair, aren’t you?’ he said.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

‘
I
have
no
husband
.
I
have
no
child
.
I
,
Amelia
van
Mielen
,
am
once
more
alone
.
With
these
pages
I
finish
my
story
.
’
Amelia
lay
down
her
pen
next
to
the
bottle
of
ink
.

The
pages
lay
on
the
mahogany
desk
in
front
of
her
.
At
her
side
,
a
vase
of
white
roses
caught
a
shaft
of
sunlight
from
the
open
window
.
From
the
garden
there
wafted
the
scent
of
rosemary
.

Rosemary
for
remembrance
,
she
thought
.

There
is
nothing
more
to
say
.

I
wanted
so
little
in
life
.
A
home
in
which
to
raise
my
child
.
The
love
of
my
husband
.

All
of
it
is
gone
.
My
child
,
my
home
.
And
the
love
of
my
husband
was
never
mine
.