Kissing the Demons (4 page)

‘She said she was going to the Music Festival,' said Matt quietly.

‘Then she probably met someone from her course there. I say we get on with the meeting without her.' She consulted the sheet of paper in front of her and looked round the table expectantly before moving on to the important topic of cleaning rotas.

And it wasn't until six, when Pet still wasn't answering her mobile, that Caro began to feel uneasy.

THREE

T
here was still no answer from Pet and Matt turned his mobile phone over and over in his hand. Where was she? What was she doing?

‘I'm going out.'

Jason stood in the doorway, armed with his guitar. His face looked pale, although he seemed to be his usual arrogant self.

‘Where are you going?'

‘Down into town to give one of my alfresco concerts – got to earn a crust now I'm one of the Great Unemployed. If I'm lucky I'll catch the punters on their way to their expensive troughs – alright for some.'

Jason's self-pitying attitude was starting to annoy Matt. It was his own fault he'd failed his exams and not bothered turning up for the resits. Jason was bright and if he'd spent less time smoking weed and partying he would have stood a chance. But Matt was in no position to preach.

‘Tracked Pet down yet?'

Matt shook his head. It was almost six o'clock. But she was a grown woman.

‘I shouldn't worry about her. She'll be tucked up in someone's bed.'

‘She's not like that,' Matt snapped in reply.

A knowing smirk appeared on Jason's lips. ‘I'll be off. See you later.'

When Matt heard the front door bang, he picked up his phone and tried Pet's number again but still no luck. It really wasn't like her not to say if she was going to be away this long. And she always kept her phone switched on. Always.

He was just wondering what to do next when he heard a key turning in the front door lock. Typical of Jason to have forgotten something, he thought. And then he experienced a sudden rush of hope that perhaps it was Pet.

He heard footsteps on the bare wood floor of the hallway and the landlord appeared in the doorway. Andy Cassidy was in his thirties; tall with a shaved head and a muscular body. His pristine black T-shirt showed off a pair of tanned arms decorated with an assortment of tattoos; mostly Chinese. Matt often wondered what they meant – or if some Chinese wit had told him the characters represented something heroic or spiritual when they really said something derogatory.

‘How are you doing?' Cassidy said smoothly. He liked to be thought of as one of the lads. Matt knew that he had been a student himself once upon a time – until he had abandoned a graduate traineeship at a well-known supermarket for the world of property development. ‘I hear you had a party last night.'

‘Surprised you weren't there.' Matt saw Cassidy swing round as Caro entered the room. ‘Don't worry, there was no damage if that's what you're worried about.'

Andy Cassidy looked Caro up and down appreciatively. ‘No worries when you're here, Caro. You've got them well trained, eh.'

Caro pressed her lips together. ‘You should give us notice when you want to visit.'

Cassidy shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry. I was just passing and I thought I'd pop in. No harm in taking an interest, is there? Where's the lovely Pet?'

Matt turned away. Cassidy made it so obvious he wanted to get into Pet's knickers; always trying to talk to her; always asking after her when she wasn't there.

‘We don't know,' said Caro. ‘I take it you haven't seen her?'

‘Why should I have seen her?'

‘She's often said that she's bumped into you around town.' She looked the landlord in the eye. ‘I wondered if you were following her. You can get put inside for stalking, you know.'

‘I've never had to stalk anyone in my life.'

Caro caught Matt's eye and she gave him a wink. She loved winding Cassidy up.

‘I'm surprised you lot are in on a Saturday night.'

‘Never heard of student debt?' Caro said sharply. ‘Anyway, we're recovering from the party.' She looked at Matt. ‘Some of us have got hangovers. So are you here for the pleasure of our company or . . . ?'

Cassidy's face suddenly became solemn. ‘Actually, guys, I'm thinking of selling the place. Recession and all that. In fact I'm expecting a mate of mine any moment. I told him about the place a while ago and he's keen to take it on. He's an estate agent and he's going to give it the once over. Sorry and all that but you'll be moving on soon anyway, won't you?'

It was true that they were all fixed up with somewhere else in the next academic year. Matt had arranged to share with someone on his course, Caro was moving in with a friend and Pet was moving into a flat in her tutor's house with another music student. As for Jason . . . Matt wasn't sure.

Matt was about to say that number thirteen hadn't been a happy house but the words seemed a little silly and sentimental. To men like Cassidy houses didn't have characters of their own – they were machines to produce income.

‘This really isn't on,' said Caro. ‘You should have made an appointment.'

‘It's the only time Ethan's free. I promise you won't even know we're here.'

‘It's still not acceptable . . .'

But before Cassidy could say anything more the doorbell rang.

‘That'll be Ethan.' Cassidy gave Caro a nervous smile. Matt suspected that he was a little scared of her. She had that effect on some people.

When Cassidy hurried out to answer the door, Caro turned to Matt, a scowl on her face. ‘Bloody cheek. We could complain, you know.'

Matt sighed. ‘I don't suppose it'll affect us.'

‘It will if he has queues of people traipsing through the place while we're trying to revise. We'll have to be firm. By appointment only. I'd better see what Cassidy's up to.'

But at that moment Cassidy appeared on the threshold. Another man stood behind him; he was average height and slightly built with short dark hair and a long thin face, the sort that doesn't stand out in a crowd. He was around the same age as Cassidy, but unlike the landlord, he wore a smart grey suit.

‘This is my mate, Ethan McNeil. I don't think you've met.'

Matt nodded to the newcomer.

‘Mind if he looks round in here?'

The question was rhetorical. McNeil stepped into the room, his grey eyes taking in every feature. He said nothing but made notes on a clipboard he was holding. Matt noticed that his handwriting was small and neat as his cheap ballpoint pen moved fast across the paper.

‘Seen anything of your neighbour recently?' Cassidy asked this question every time he visited. When they'd first moved in he'd said he'd been trying to persuade Mr Quillan to sell him the house next door. But now he planned to dispose of number thirteen Matt wondered why his interest was continuing.

‘We're on nodding terms but we hardly have neighbourly chats over the garden fence. Why are you so interested if you're selling this place?'

‘Next door's in good nick – might be a sound investment if I can get it at the right price.'

So Cassidy was after a bargain. Ever the businessman. Or maybe there was something else behind his desire to get rid of the place.

It was eight o'clock and as Joe crossed the bridge over the river the crowds were out in force; locals making for the bus stops after a Saturday afternoon spent shopping and tourists who walked at a slower pace taking in Eborby's sights and sounds. He passed an Italian restaurant and the wafting scent of warm garlic reminded him that he was hungry. He hadn't eaten since one when he and Emily had grabbed a couple of sandwiches and now he promised himself a takeaway. A Saturday treat.

He was hardly aware of passing the cathedral. All he could see in his mind's eye was that image of Jade and Nerys and he found himself scanning the faces of women he passed for a resemblance.

Was there a chance that those two girls were still alive? Probably not but he knew that stranger things had happened.

He walked through Vicars' Green and on to Gallowgate, turning left at the National Trust tea shop, now closed for the evening. As he passed beneath Monks Bar his foot made contact with a discarded chip paper and he found himself facing the main road where the buzz of traffic jerked his thoughts back to reality.

His flat was close by, housed in a small reclaimed brick building huddled in the shadow of the city walls. Joe liked waking up each morning and seeing the grey medieval walls through his bedroom window. And he liked feeling close to the heart of things.

He unlocked his front door and flicked on the hallway light to banish the silent gloom. The place smelled a little stale because he hadn't had a chance to clean for over a week. Maybe he should get someone in, he thought. But he knew he'd never get round to arranging it.

The letter that lay on the hall floor bore an Eborby post mark and a hand written address. The writing looked so familiar that his heart began to thud but he told himself that lots of people formed their letters like that. And besides, Kaitlin died years ago. A fall down cliff steps in the West Country had ended their short marriage. The sea had taken her away and smashed her body on the vicious rocks until she was hardly recognizable. From that day on he had hated the sea.

He tore the envelope open and drew out a single sheet of paper inside, crisp, white and neatly folded. He opened it out and read the short message.

‘King's Head. Seven o'clock, Sunday. K.'

He stared at the paper, his hands shaking a little as he clung tightly to the note, denting the pure white paper. For a few moments he stood there, trying to make some sense of what he was holding, before carrying the paper into the living room and letting it fall on to the coffee table. On second examination he could see that the writing was similar to Kaitlin's, perhaps, but not identical. He took a deep, calming breath and considered the contents of the note. He had no plans for Sunday evening – or for any evening that week, come to that. But that didn't mean that it was wise to keep the appointment.

The flat was too silent. He could hear his own breathing and the clock ticking away the seconds on the mantelpiece so he decided to put the television on. At that moment he needed life. He needed company.

After phoning in his order for an Indian takeaway and prizing the top off a bottle of Theakstons ale, he picked up the telephone, wondering whether to call Maddy. They'd promised to keep in touch after all. He muted the TV and dialled the number but there was no answer. Maddy would be out, enjoying her new life in London. He suddenly felt a wave of emptiness and shut his eyes.

He drained the bottle and opened another. When he was half way through it and the anaesthetizing effect of the alcohol had begun to seep into his tired brain, he returned to the hall and rummaged in his briefcase. He had arranged for the video tape of the two missing girls to be transferred to DVD so that he could take it home and watch it without distraction. At least the puzzle of their disappearance would fill the empty hours.

He returned to the living room and slid the DVD into the machine underneath his TV. After a while Jade Portright and Nerys Barnton appeared on the screen, laughing and fooling around for the camera. Self-consciously posing, their eyes flicking towards the lens as though they were concerned about the impression they were making for posterity.

Joe forced himself to concentrate. Had Barrington Jenks had anything to do with their disappearance? Or had he been telling the truth about his encounter with the mysterious Jasmine who may, or may not, have existed outside Jenks's imagination? Tomorrow he and Emily would visit the address Jenks had given them – number thirteen Torland Place where Jasmine was alleged to have lived – but, if it was a house rented out to students, he didn't hold out much hope of anyone remembering her. Twelve years was a very long time in the transient world of student accommodation. But it had to be followed up.

He put a cushion in the small of his back and leaned back in the leather armchair, his eyes still focused on the TV screen.

He reached for the remote control and paused the image. Then he rewound it a few frames. His initial impression was proved correct. There was a slight movement in the bushes in the background, a screen of greenery planted at the bottom of Jade's garden to give the Portright family a modicum of privacy in suburbia. And when the bushes parted slightly he could just make out a shadowy shape which may or may not have been human. At first he thought it might have been an animal, the family dog, perhaps – whatever it was was too large for a cat. But there was something furtive about the way the greenery parted slightly and then slowly returned to its former state. As though someone was keeping watch and had shifted to get a better view.

He took the DVD out of the machine and took another swig of Theakstons. On Monday he'd get the image enhanced and then there was just a chance they'd discover who, if anyone, had been watching those two missing girls.

It was Saturday night but somehow none of the students at thirteen Torland Place felt like making the effort to go out in search of entertainment so Matt gathered the cans of beer and the half-full wine bottles left over from the party and laid them on the living room table.

Caro stretched out on the sagging sofa while Matt sat on a dining chair feeling awkward. Jason came down last, attracted to the prospect of a drink like a moth to a flame, perched himself on the edge of the table and began to empty the left over bottles with an earnest concentration of one intent on inebriation.