Hard Knocks (26 page)

I wonder.

“McKenna was in the village today,” I said. “I bumped into him after I left the café but, when we got back, he was here waiting for us.”

“I thought you said he had concussion and he’d stayed at the Manor?”

“That’s where he was supposed to be, yes,” I said.

“So how did he get there – and back, for that matter?”

I didn’t answer straight away. None of the students had brought a vehicle of their own to Einsbaden Manor, but that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty available at the school. The Audis we used every day, for example, always had the keys left hanging in the ignitions. Anyone could take one, if they wanted to.

But if they
had
. . .

“Listen Madeleine, I’ve got to go,” I said hurriedly. “I need to check on something.”

Madeleine did her best not to appear offended at my sudden departure. She just told me to keep in touch and let her know if I needed anything.

I tried not to run back downstairs, but I didn’t have to field any awkward questions in any event. I moved quickly across the tiled hallway out of the front door, skirting round the edge of the house to the parking area at the rear.

The school Audis were lined up along the far side, as always, and I took a casual turn along the backs of them. Spotting broken glass wouldn’t have been difficult, but only if there’d been any.

I made a return pass along the fronts, but there were no new dents or scratches anywhere. I felt my shoulders slump a little. So I’d been wrong. I started back across the car park for the Manor again, when a flutter of bright blue plastic caught my eye.

Over in the corner, half hidden behind the trucks, were the remains of the three cars we’d wrecked in the forest. They’d been dragged back and covered over with a tarpaulin sheet. I’d assumed they were all written off.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the house, but nobody was visible at the windows or on the terrace. I moved quickly behind the trucks, out of sight, and lifted the nearest corner of the cover.

The car I’d been in – the one Hofmann had been driving – was a mess, completely undrivable. All the glass was gone and the body had deformed sufficiently from the roll that the doors were no longer capable of closing, even if all of them had been still attached.

The lead car, with Declan at the wheel, was also out of the running. When it had bounced off the track it had hit a tree hard enough at the front to fold the metalwork into a sharp vee, splitting the radiator in two. The rad had sheared right off its mountings and half of the core now dangled out from under the front spoiler on the end of a single piece of rubber hose.

But the last of the three, the one Craddock had run into the back of us, had escaped remarkably unscathed. I worked my way round to the front end. He’d hit us with the right-hand front corner, which was crumpled out of shape and already showing the first tint of rust. All the glass in the headlights and indicators was smashed on that side.

The other corner, though, should have been undamaged. It hadn’t even been exposed to the gunfire from the men in the Peugeot. So how had the lights on that side been broken? And what had caused those shiny new gouges in the paintwork along the wing just above the front bumper? I wiped the dirt from my hands and I stood up slowly.

As I did so I heard a sound very like a gasp.

I turned quickly. McKenna was less than half a dozen strides away from me and had obviously been heading for the damaged cars. He stopped dead when he saw me appear, took one look at my glowering face, then turned and ran.

Not towards the house, but out towards the woods that surrounded us. He had no genuine reason to be running unless it was from guilt. There was only one way to find out.

I set off after him. I’ve never been that fast as a sprinter, but the memory of Blakemore’s senseless death was a stark incentive. Still I might not have caught up to McKenna, had he not tripped over a root as he reached the tree line and gone sprawling.

He started to scramble up straight away, but I dug deep for a final spurt of energy and tackled him before he’d made it to his feet. My momentum bowled him over, sending both of us tumbling. He came to rest with his back thumped against a trunk, winded.

I rolled to my feet. Even with the ache in my breastbone that the rough contact had set off, I had my breath back first. When McKenna had recovered enough to focus on me I realised he wasn’t just breathless, he was terrified.

Of what? Of what he’d done? Or of being caught?

“Why?” I bit out. “Why did you do it, McKenna?”

He swallowed, twisting his head from side to side as though he could escape the blame that way. I grabbed hold of his chin and held his face straight, but he just allowed his gaze to slide away from mine.

“You talk to me now, or you can explain it to the Major,” I threw at him. “It’s your choice.”

That got his attention. His eyes snapped open fully, then began to fill with tears.

I let go and stepped back from him, disgusted with both of us.

For a while he sat there willing his emotions into submission, then he glanced up at me, sheepish.

“I know you’re only here because of your uncle,” I said, more gently this time, ignoring his surprise. “Want to tell me about it?”

It took McKenna a little while to find a way into his story. His hands curled into fists of frustration in his lap. Eventually he burst out with, “He would never have just taken that car like they said. He wouldn’t!”

“Like you wouldn’t just take one of the school cars without asking, you mean?” I said.

He flushed, turned away. “That’s different,” he said, sulky.

“How is it different?” I said, and without waiting for a reply I added, “Oh yes, I know – he didn’t set out intending to kill anyone, did he?”

McKenna’s face crumpled again, folding in all the way this time. I remembered, too late, that his uncle had indeed ended up killing someone. Himself.

Damn
, I thought, and let him cry.

“OK, McKenna, let me fill in some blanks for you,” I said at last. “You played on your concussion from yesterday to avoid going into Einsbaden today, then when we’d all gone you came down here and helped yourself to one of the damaged Audis and set off after us. Don’t try and deny it,” I warned as his mouth opened. How could he even try, when I’d practically tripped over him in the street?

“OK, so you leave before Blakemore and you wait for him on the road back, at a point where you know one good clout will have him over the barrier. Then you scarper back here, stick the car back, and make like you’ve never been away. How am I doing so far?”

The boy was shaking his head with vigour. “No,” he muttered, “you’ve got it wrong. I didn’t kill Blakemore – even if the bastard deserved it.”

I leaned against a tree, folded my arms and indicated with a raised eyebrow that I was still listening.

“Yeah, I took one of the Audis, but I didn’t know any of the damaged ones would still run. I just took the first one I came to that had enough fuel in it. I drove down to the village because I needed to talk to Blakemore before I left.”

His eyes flicked up to mine, daring me to disbelieve him. I kept mine neutral. “You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “Yeah, the taxi’s on its way. I’d already had enough before any of this happened, but now I just want out of here while I’ve still got the chance.”

“What did you want to talk to Blakemore about?”

“Why they covered up my uncle’s death. Why they hinted that he’d stolen the car he was driving. We all know they do driving drills on the road. We’ve seen them and we all know how bloody dangerous it is. Look at yesterday!”

“That wasn’t quite on the open road,” I pointed out. “And the circumstances were a little different.”

“Yeah,” he burst out, “but how do we know something similar didn’t happen then?”

I glanced behind me. The afternoon light was turning dull, dropping from pale blue towards a darker shade. Lights were already coming on in the house and the view back across the grass to the car park was hazy with twilight.

“So what did Blakemore say?” I asked.

“Nothing,” McKenna muttered. “I never got the chance to speak to him alone. There was always someone else around.” He threw me a reproachful look and I realised that I’d been one of those someones.

“So after we bumped into each other you decided you wouldn’t talk to him at all,” I said, my voice cold, “you thought you’d kill him instead.”

“No!” he squawked, pushing himself to his feet and looking poised to flee. “Look, you’re not going to pin this on me. No way! I got back into the car and I drove it straight back here. I passed another Audi on the road, parked up. I’m sure it was one of the school cars, but I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t get a good look at the driver. He had his head turned away from me. Why don’t you go looking for him instead, if you’re so desperate to know who killed Blakemore? Me, I don’t give a shit. I’m out of here.”

“So why did you run just now?”

“After everyone got back and they told me about what had happened, I wondered about the car I’d seen, that’s all, so I came to check,” he swallowed, embarrassed. “Look, I don’t know who was in that car. I didn’t see them clearly, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t see me. They could think I’m a witness, you know? I don’t want to get caught up in that, and if it
was
someone from the school who’s responsible, well, I don’t want to become the next victim, either.”

“What about your proof?” I asked. “Wasn’t that what you came here for?”

“What good’s proof if I’m dead, too?” he threw back. “This place is a death-trap. I don’t know what game the Major’s playing, but he’s gambling with lives. I’m not going to hang around long enough to find out if he’s on a winning streak.”

He pushed past me, started out across the grass. After only a few strides he paused and turned back to me. “If you had any sense, Charlie, you’d be doing the same.”

It took me a few minutes after McKenna’s departure to put my thoughts in order.

To begin with, out there at the scene, I’d been so certain that the Russians were responsible. I remembered the fear and the loathing on the Peugeot driver’s face after Blakemore had threatened him. His need for retribution had been fierce and blazing, to wipe away that paralysing moment of weakness. Was it enough to override the danger to the child?

But after I’d spoken to Madeleine, McKenna seemed to fit as a suspect on all fronts. Yet when he’d told me about seeing the other school car my instinct had been to believe him. I wasn’t entirely sure why.

I looked up. Evening was dropping rapidly over the Manor now. The interior lights were harsh in their brightness, beginning to cast outwards. It was cold, too. I shivered inside my sweatshirt and wished I’d stopped long enough to put on a jacket.

With a sigh, I trudged back towards the house. I walked across the parking area and up the steps to the smokers’ terrace. I was halfway up before I realised someone was standing out by the French windows, in the shadows, waiting.

I climbed the rest of the way cautiously. It was only as I reached the top that the figure moved out into the light and I recognised him.

“Charlie,” Hofmann greeted, his voice expressing neither happiness nor displeasure at finding me. “Was that McKenna I saw you talking to?”

For a few seconds all I could do was stare back at the big German, my mind furiously working up a reasonable excuse for my actions.

Eventually, I said, “Yes, he told me he was leaving. He just wanted to say goodbye,” I added, hoping Hofmann hadn’t been around for long enough to see me grappling McKenna to the ground. I might have a little trouble convincing him that kind of behaviour was an English tradition for those departing.

“We were just realising how close a shave we had the other day,” I went on quickly, hoping to distract him. “Something like Blakemore’s accident really brings it home to you.” I waved a hand in the general direction of the blue tarpaulin that covered the wrecked Audis over in the corner. “We survived a roll and being shot at, and walked away without a scratch, yet Blakemore makes one mistake and poof, he’s gone. Doesn’t it make you think how lucky we all were? How fragile life is?”

Hofmann considered for a moment, his heavy face reflecting the slow turn of the machinery inside his head. “Motorcycles are dangerous things,” he said at last.

I felt my shoulders drop a fraction at his response, made to move past him, but as I did so I noticed the narrowed shrewdness of his gaze as his eyes rested on me.

The next moment he’d turned away and that dull, almost vacant air had settled over him again. Like his mind was totally occupied with the processes of walking upright and operating his lungs.

So, I wasn’t the only one who’d come to Einsbaden Manor pretending to be less than I was. But why had he?

Before I could form that thought into a question that stood any chance of an answer, Hofmann said abruptly, “I was sent to fetch you. Major Gilby wants to speak with you in his study.”