Turning Point (15 page)

‘You
have
to go to the police.'

‘How can I, Travers? They're trying to arrest me.'

‘But they're not trying to kill you.'

‘Like hell they're not. Didn't you just say,
armed and dangerous?
You think I should chance it and wind up dead.'

‘So, if they want you dead, what Natasha said is right. They can't afford to be identified because that would be too damaging for what… their cause? Hilary stopped, her eyes frightened. ‘What you said, Travers, about the monarchists.
They
want to break up Europe.'

‘That's crazy talk.'

‘But is it? All those riots – the head teacher was talking about it in school. She said the riots were about one thing only, restoring the monarchy – Belgium, Holland, Sweden, Spain… all of them. Even the United Kingdom. There were protest marches in all the major cities last weekend. People going on strike. They're trying to destroy the European Union, put it back the way it was. Okay, as an American, I'm all for that – I hate Europe.'

‘Not now,' Scott shushed her.

‘So they might, Hilary,' Travers picked up the conversation, sounding angry. ‘But Dad doesn't believe in violence – he'd never go along with it.'

‘But…'

‘Stop it, you two,' Natasha called out. She patted the air. ‘This isn't helping any. What will you to do now, Scott? You can't come to our place if there's a chance they're still watching it.'

‘How come they weren't at the cottage when we needed them?' Scott burst out suddenly. Hilary flinched and dropped her sandwich. ‘Sorry, but it's been bugging me all this time. Tulsa was at the school – who stayed with Dad? Why weren't your blokes there if it was as dangerous as Sean Terry made out? He said he was taking us back to the States this weekend. But what if that was a smoke-screen and he intended to get rid of Dad all along.'

‘Scott, stop it!' Hilary screamed the words. She bent down, fumbling around, trying to pick up the broken pieces of bread from the floor. ‘You can't start all that up again. I know you hate him but he was the one that saved you.'

‘No, he wasn't. That's exactly my point,' Scott gasped wildly. ‘It was you and Travers. You followed me, remember. He had no choice with all those people about. Mr Randal… Beau – too many witnesses.'

‘Hold on, Scott, this is crazy talk.' Travers broke in. ‘A moment ago, Hilary was all set to accuse my
dad. You're grasping at straws – and it's not getting us anywhere.'

Hilary leaned across and, taking Scott's face in her hands, peered at him intently. ‘You don't believe this any more than I do. You don't believe Sean Terry would kill one of his own men…'

‘Pete did,' Scott insisted stubbornly.

‘He's not Sean. I know you don't want to talk about it – because talking about it will make it seem real. But this is real, Scott. It's happened.
Deal with it
. Tulsa's most likely dead and your dad…
he's gone too
. And exactly like before, we're working in the dark. But – exactly like before – we've still got friends.' Hilary leaned back indicating Travers and Natasha. ‘I promise you, we'll work this one out. But you've got to help me. I can't do it alone. And no more conspiracy theories.'

‘As a rule, I don't believe in conspiracy theories,' Scott said more quietly, ‘but, you have to admit, this is one hell of a conspiracy theory. The police… government. Who else?'

‘It's okay, Scott.'

‘No, Hilary, it bloody isn't,' Scott burst out again, his face strained and white. ‘And it's never going to be.' He took in a large gulp of air. ‘I'm sorry but I'm staying angry, if that's what it takes to keep focussed. Travers, will you ring the Brodys. See if they have police watching the house. I don't want to use my phone… in case.'

‘Good job I brought my old one along then. It's a pay-as you-go. Haven't used it for years but it still got some credit on it.' He fished in his pocket, handing the phone to his friend.

‘Thanks.' Scott keyed in the eight digits. It rang once and was picked up. ‘Mrs Brody, it's Scott.' There was a burst of high-pitched noise. ‘No, I'm okay. Thank you, I wish you could convince the police I'm innocent. No, I can't, not yet. They've blown up the cottage…' Scott listened; his friends stared anxiously, watching his expression change running through a gamut of emotions – anger, alarm, disbelief, incredulity. ‘How can it be all tied in?' he burst out. ‘Yes, I know Jay was into computers like my dad. But…
That's it!
I knew there was something.
No, Mrs Brody, I can't explain. But, you might be right, it could all be linked.' He paused. ‘Yes, I know exactly where we're heading… course I can't say. Mrs Brody… please,
please,
don't cry. We'll get him back, I promise.'

‘No prizes for saying what that little lot was about,' Travers said as Scott closed the connection. ‘No word from Jay, the police have called there too, and Mrs Brody thinks Jay's disappearance and your problems are connected.'

‘That's what was bothering me. It was ages ago now. We were talking about kids disappearing. Don't you remember, Travers?'

‘Sorry,' Travers rubbed his forehead. ‘Brain's gone dead.'

‘It was the day I…' Scott stopped dead. He fixed his gaze on the pack of sandwiches in his lap, his ears tinged red. ‘It was the day I first spoke to Hilary,' he mumbled.

‘Aah! No wonder you remember it so clearly.'

‘Honestly, Scott?'

‘Yes,' he glanced up, his expression shamefaced. ‘But it didn't get me anywhere. You hated me, remember.'

Hilary smiled. ‘Admit it, you were rather a pain.'

‘Come on, Scott. Put us out of our misery?'

‘I was mucking about, Travers, boasting that Wesley was trying to steal Jameson's brain. You see Jay was…'

‘I remember that,' Hilary interrupted. ‘Jay was telling us how he was obliged to hide in a cupboard to avoid the Weasel, who was always tagging along wanting to know what subjects he was going to study at university.
Oh my God!
' Her tone changed as did her expression. ‘I'm so sorry – I never swear. And I've done it twice now.'

‘I know,' Scott tried hard to rummage up a grin, still angry with himself for losing control. It only made things a hundred times more difficult and things were grim enough without his help. ‘But you have to admit, there are some occasions where swearing is the only thing that helps. So?'

‘Maybe they were planning to abduct Jay even back then,' Hilary said.

Travers whistled his astonishment. ‘If they were, I'll find out. You can most definitely leave that bit to me. Look here,' he glanced down at his watch. ‘We need to get back, pronto. Mum'll be having a nervous breakdown. ‘So where are you heading?'

‘Exeter – that's where the guys hang out.'

‘Where in Exeter? It's a big city.'

‘An industrial centre – don't worry, I'll find it. And they'd better be there. Scott and me, we did this once before – only somehow, this is worse.'

‘I don't think you should go anywhere,' Natasha said, her voice sombre, sounding deadly serious, totally at odds with the light-hearted girl whose ambition it was to drive a Maserati. ‘Stay here till Dad gets back. He'll sort it. Or Beau! He could fly you out of the country if need be.'

‘That's all very well, sis,' Travers argued. ‘Ideal scenario and all that guff. But where? We can't take them to our house – theirs is in ruins, and a hotel's out of the question. They'd be picked up in no time. Besides, what happens if Dad doesn't appear, we do this all again tomorrow?'

‘No point arguing about it,' Hilary responded fiercely. ‘We can always head for London, if we have to. I can claim asylum at the American Embassy – and take Scott in with me.'

Scott bit his lip, to stop himself coming out with the words,
but they can't be trusted
.

‘I don't like any of this – it's like fishing in the dark.' Natasha pulled out her phone, scrolling down a list of contacts and quickly dialling. ‘I've got a friend – she'll let you borrow her floor for the night. ‘Gladys, it's Natasha. I know, darling, it's ages since we've met up. I'm based in London now – come up and visit, why don't you?'

Scott tuned out, his attention focussing on the dense blackness of the wooded shoreline, a hint of moonlight reflecting off the lake, wishing they could hide out in the woods until everything was sorted. Natasha was right – they should stay. It made a hell of lot more sense than wandering about. But where? They'd already checked the building for an open window or flimsy door and found both covered with impenetrable steel mesh, designed to stop hooligans and ram-raiders. A distant star glinted on a patch of frost already decorating the grass and leaves. Abruptly, he shivered. There really was no choice; a night in a bullet-ridden car wasn't an option unless they wanted to wake up dead. Scott flinched, wishing his mind would stop honing in on that particular word – like the words of a song, remorselessly repeating over and over.

‘I promise they'll be no bother. Bath, blankets, and breakfast – that's it. Key under the mat.
Eternally grateful, darling. Love you, do the same for you any day. Kisses!' Natasha snapped her mobile shut. ‘All arranged. You'll be quite safe there. Gladys – God, what awful names some parents cripple their kids with – is the stay-at-home type; bookish, never ever watches television. Absolutely perfect.'

Hilary flung her arms around Natasha, hugging her tightly. ‘I was dreading spending the night in the open. Now Scott can wait in the flat while I go searching for Sean Terry.'

‘No way,' Scott retorted. ‘I'm not letting you go anywhere without me.'

‘Why are you always so stubborn, Scott Anderson?' Hilary flared angrily. ‘You know perfectly well, you can't go chasing about Exeter as if nothing had happened. You're wanted, remember?'

‘No one will recognise me on the bike. Not with a helmet and goggles.'

‘They will if there's a police post checking identities.'

‘We'll avoid them then – that's what we did before.'

‘Shut up, you two. I've thought of that.' Travers fished in his pocket pulling out two plastic cards. He passed them to Scott. ‘They're our new IDs – me and Natasha's. Came by courier this morning.'

The pictures on the squares of plastic were small and slightly blurred but still identifiable as Travers and Natasha. ‘You'll need to change the colour of your hair,' Travers muttered. ‘You, too, Hilary.'

‘That's all under control.' Natasha unzipped her holdall, pulling out a couple of cans of non-drip hair-dye. ‘Dark chestnut. But, first, I need to trim your hair, Scott.' She showed him a large pair of scissors. ‘Don't worry, I'm pretty good at it; I moonlighted in a hair salon on a Saturday when I was in the sixth form.' She opened the car door. ‘I know it's bitter out, but be an absolute darling and perch on the step for a few minutes while I wave my magic wand.' She brandished the scissors in the air. ‘Hair is an absolute beast to get off upholstery and, even for you, I refuse to spend tomorrow vacuuming the interior of the car; I've got better things to do.' She swivelled round inspecting Hilary closely. ‘I think you're okay, Hilary. Your hair's a bit longer than mine – but it will pass.'

‘That's a relief.' Hilary watched intently as Natasha quickly and expertly began to reduce the length of Scott's hair. ‘I hate myself with short hair.'

‘Me, too.'

‘Me, too.' Scott added. He stuck his hands firmly over the crown of his head. ‘No way are you shearing it as short as Travers wears it. His face can stand it; mine can't. I'll look like a dork.'

‘Honestly, guys!' Natasha heaved a sigh. ‘They're worse than us girls.' She peered in her bag and pulled out a hand mirror, passing it to Scott. ‘Here! Though what good it will be in this light… And I don't much care what you want, Scott,' she snipped briskly at the layers, ‘if it will keep you safe.'

Scott gazed into the mirror, the interior light bright enough for him to watch the face he knew so well disappear under a shower of falling hair. The one emerging looked at least five years older, the planes of his cheeks more angular, his expression grim and determined.

‘Whoa!' he exclaimed.

‘That's amazing,' Hilary echoed. ‘You look so different.'

Travers grinned. ‘He might look different but if anyone asks, you play fly-half. You're too light to play prop.'

‘Shut up, Travers.' Natasha rounded on her brother. ‘You know perfectly well, hobbies and pastimes don't appear on your identity card.' She dusted off her hands, replacing the scissors in her bag. ‘First thing in the morning, change the colour of your hair. And you'll have to buy some coloured contacts too. If police stop you to check, Hilary, you won't stand a chance with fair hair and blue eyes. They won't bother about height – they never do…'

‘You mean this has happened to you?' Travers butted in suspiciously.

‘Happens to everyone in London, if you visit the clubs. Beau's always being picked up. As I was saying, they won't check any further as long as you match the general description and look approximately the same age. Being dark'll make you look older too.'

Travers nudged his sister, showing her the time on his wristwatch. ‘Mother'll be spitting poison if we're not back p.d.q.'

‘I'm sorry.' Natasha kissed Hilary on the cheek. She scrambled down to the ground, shivering violently as the cold struck.

Leaving Hilary to stow the canisters of hair dye into the box on the back of the bike, Scott climbed reluctantly onto his feet, shrugging on the helmet and gloves Travers had brought with him. If only something could happen to stop them leaving. It felt like he and Hilary were in a boat, being cast off from a jetty heading out… to where? Last time, it was the thought of tracing his dad that had kept him focussed, spurring him on. This time, there was nothing except an empty space where his dad had once stood.