Author: Robert Bryndza
Category: Christian
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/robert-bryndza/page,19,604248-shadow_sands.html
“On what grounds?” said Henry.
“On the grounds that bodies were dumped there and passed off as accidents; there could be more bodies at the bottom,” said Kate.
“I can’t justify closing down a major power plant and diverting the resources of our marine unit on the hunch of a . . .” His voice trailed off.
“On the hunch of who?”
“On the hunch of an amateur detective, who, if I can be frank, has had her own troubles in the past.”
“Now you’re being rude,” said Tristan.
“No. I’m being plain. I’m being direct,” said Henry. “And I think you need me to be direct with you, before you find yourself looking foolish.”
There was a knock at the door of the police van, and DI Merton came up the steps. “Sorry, guv. Forensics are almost done. It looks like a back window was where the intruder got in. We’ve got broken glass, a partial thumb, and footprints outside . . . You also have a, er, visitor.”
Kate and Tristan followed Henry out of the van.
A tall, thin man who looked to be in his early fifties was talking to one of the uniformed officers at the police tape cordon at the back door of the house. He was dressed in an expensive pin-striped suit, a long black coat, and polished black shoes. He was very pale with graying hair and a blue-tinged five-o’clock shadow on his face.
“Yes, Lord Baker, but I can’t let anyone in until forensics are finished,” said the police officer.
“Of course, I quite understand,” he said. “Ah, Henry,” he added when he saw him with Kate and Tristan.
“Thomas,” said Henry.
“I just heard from the Estate Office,” said Thomas, eyeing Kate and Tristan.
“Yes. We’re trying to piece it all together. It looks like a burglary,” said Henry. Kate was confused as to why Thomas Baker was there, and she must have been glowering at him, because he turned to her and Tristan.
“Have we met?” he asked. “I’m Thomas Baker.”
“Why are you here?” she said, ignoring his outstretched hand. His eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps you could introduce yourself?” he said.
“Kate Marshall. This is my associate, Tristan Harper.”
“Associate of what?” he asked imperiously.
“I’m a private detective, and we’ve been investigating the death of Simon Kendal in the reservoir . . .”
“Kate isn’t affiliated with me or the police,” added Henry. Kate could see they had the attention of the other uniformed officers.
“Why are you here at this crime scene?” repeated Kate. Thomas shifted uncomfortably. He stared at her for a long moment. He seemed to be weighing up his answer.
“Ted Clough’s house is part of the Shadow Sands estate. He was my tenant,” he replied icily. “As the owner of the estate, I am party to any crimes committed on my land and the welfare of my tenants. Is that enough of an explanation for you, Miss Marshall?”
Kate felt her cheeks flushing red under the gaze of everyone around. There was something about the way he spoke, and the way everyone else was reacting, that reminded her of being told off by a schoolteacher.
“You don’t like being questioned, do you?” she said, standing her ground and forcing herself to look him in the eye. Thomas looked to Henry, and his face broke into a lopsided, nasty smile.
“Not by an amateur detective and her, what was it, sidekick?” he said, chuckling.
Henry and the other police officers around laughed along awkwardly.
“Ted Clough was about to go on the record and say that when he was employed at the reservoir, he was given direct orders to lie about two bodies found in the water . . .”
Thomas stopped chuckling.
“In 1989 and 1991 the bodies of two women were found with their arms and legs bound. He was told to withhold this information, and he was told to lie about the location where the bodies were found . . .”
Thomas put his hand up and moved closer to Kate, lowering his voice.
“One of my elderly tenants has been viciously attacked just a few paces from us, and here you are shouting at the top of your voice about serious, and if true, highly sensitive matters. I’d like you to moderate the way you are talking. And I suggest you make a formal statement to Henry, DCI Ko, here . . .”
“She’s already given me the information,” said Henry.
“Good. Then I can leave that with you, Henry. I trust that you will investigate these allegations robustly, and of course, if I can be of any help, I will cooperate with you on every concern,” said Thomas. A man from the forensics team appeared at the back door and told Thomas Baker that he could come into the house.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, ducking under the police tape and disappearing into the house. Henry followed.
“Make sure they’re escorted off the premises,” he said to DI Merton.
Kate and Tristan drove back down to the main road, followed closely by DI Merton in his car. He stopped behind them at the gate and watched until Kate had pulled out onto the main road.
There was a horrible silence in the car.
“Are you angry with me?” Kate said finally.
“No. I’m just confused. Pissed off with the way he spoke to you . . . I wish I’d opened my gob and said something,” said Tristan. “Stuck-up twat.”
“Thank you,” said Kate.
“Henry’s made me question everything so far . . . Kirstie . . . Geraint . . . The other victims,” said Tristan.
“What about Ted? Why didn’t he tell us his house was on the bloody Shadow Sands estate and that he rented from the Baker family?”
“We’ll never know. He’s dead . . . ,” said Tristan.
“A burglary is logical. It’s also bloody convenient . . . And Magdalena? Do you really think she came off the road and fell into a storm drain?”
Tristan rubbed at his eyes.
“She was a crazy driver, Kate . . . I saw the way she used to take corners on that scooter. There’s always stories of cars coming off the road and ending up in ditches . . .”
“Fuck!” said Kate, slamming her hand into the steering wheel. “We hung our whole theory on what Kirstie told me.”
“Do you think Henry could have falsified the police reports?” asked Tristan.
Kate shook her head. “I watched him log into HOLMES, the central police database. Those records could have been falsified, but it’s a huge risk . . . And I saw. There were multiple report entries in the file, by several officers on different dates, all reporting on stalking incidents concerning Kirstie. Any cover-up would involve a huge number of officers from different ranks and locations.”
“What the hell do we do now?” asked Tristan.
“I don’t know,” said Kate. She didn’t know what or who to believe anymore.
39
Magdalena had woken from being drugged, feeling sore and bruised. When she felt his disgusting stickiness between her legs, something had snapped in her head.
No. This won’t happen to me again, said a voice in her head.
“He’s not going to do this to you again, you hear me?” she said. “You are going to survive.”
Magdalena said it in Italian, and then in English, just to be sure. She was going to survive. She had to beat him and survive this.
She hadn’t eaten in days, her clothes felt loose, and she kept having to hitch up her jeans, but she had access to clean water. This would keep her alive and lucid. She remembered a documentary she’d watched about the US Navy SEALs. One of them had been interviewed, and he’d said fear was his constant companion on a mission. He said fear creates a huge amount of adrenaline and energy, and you could harness this and turn it around so it works for you. He also said that whenever he was in a dangerous environment, he had to use everything he had, however small and insignificant.
Magdalena got up from the bed and started to explore the dungeon. It was time to fight, not to cower in the dark. She felt her way down the length of the corr
idor, from the lift doors to the room with the bed and the sink. The bed base was a square of concrete, the mattress was fitted onto it and made of thin foam with a sewn-in sheet. The sink was heavy porcelain, and both it and the tap were screwed down firmly in place. She moved her hands over every inch of her prison, mapping the walls with her hands. She felt for any loose tiles, noticing sticky residue in places, but the tiles were all firmly grouted in. The floor was smooth and cold. It felt like concrete.
When she got to the small room in the corridor with the toilet, she steeled her nerves and felt all around it. The toilet bowl was made of heavy porcelain and had no seat. She felt around the soil pipe behind it, which was firmly plastered into the wall. Yuck, so sticky.
A thin pipe led from the bowl up to an old-fashioned cistern, high above the toilet. The long chain that would have been attached to the flush mechanism had been removed.
Magdalena carefully climbed up onto the toilet bowl, balancing her feet on either side, and reached up to the cistern. It had a porcelain lid that was too heavy to lift. As she slid it to one side, it went past its tipping point and fell, landing on the concrete floor with a deafening crash. Magdalena slipped, and her left foot plunged into the bowl, followed by her right.
“Great. Disgusting,” she said. She managed to stay standing upright, and gripping the walls, she stepped out of the bowl, shaking off her wet feet, thankful she had flushed the toilet.
Climbing back up on the toilet bowl, she reached up and felt around inside the cistern. The ball cock was firmly attached, and she couldn’t feel whether anything else was loose, no other mechanism. The water was very cold and quickly left her hands numb and useless. She climbed down, perched on the edge of the toilet bowl, and dried her hands on her jeans, rubbing some warmth back into them. The hunger pangs had returned. They came in waves, and this time her stomach contracted and she doubled over in pain. She gritted her teeth and waited for them to pass, which they did after a few minutes.
Her bare foot touched the edge of the cistern lid, and she could feel that the thick porcelain had broken into pieces when it hit the floor. She knelt down and carefully felt the pieces. To her excitement, there was a corner piece with a sharp, spiked end. It had a smooth edge, which fit neatly in the palm of her hand.
It was a weapon.
40
“You should get some sleep,” said Kate to Tristan, when she dropped him back at his flat. She could see dark circles under his eyes.
“You too. Things will look better in the morning,” he said, leaning into the open door. He didn’t sound convinced. “Want me to bring breakfast over first thing tomorrow?” he added. “Fried egg and bacon on a floury bap?”
“Yes, something to make me get up tomorrow morning,” said Kate.
“Do you want to come in for some food?” asked Tristan.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Kate could see he was worried about her, and for that she was grateful, but she just wanted to go home and have some time alone.
Her house was freezing cold when she opened the front door. She came inside and built a huge fire in the hearth, made herself cheese on toast with an iced tea, and ate it in the dark living room, staring at the flames.
It felt like things were slipping away—her hold on the facts of this case and belief in herself. She wanted to talk to Kirstie. She wanted to believe that Magdalena was washed out to sea. She also knew she should go to her AA meeting later, but she just sat in front of the fire; her legs and face were growing hot from the flames, but she couldn’t shake off the chill on her insides.
Her phone pinged with a text message, and she pulled it out of her jeans pocket. It was Jake, asking if she was around to Skype. She texted back that she would be ready in ten minutes. She hurried around the living room tidying up old plates and paperwork and switching on the lights. She went to the bathroom and brushed her hair and splashed cold water on her face, hoping that Jake would be confirming that he was coming to visit for half term next week.
Kate sat down in her favorite armchair by the window with her laptop just as he rang.
When she answered the call, the video screen popped up, and Jake was sitting on the sofa next to Kate’s mum, Glenda. They had already eaten dinner, because her mother was still wearing her apron with I YORK CATHEDRAL written on the front. Jake had on a black T-shirt, and his hair was still shoulder length.
“Hey, Mum,” said Jake, raising a hand.
“Hi, love,” said Kate.
“Catherine, we’re just waiting for your father. Come along, Michael. We’re waiting for you,” she said, looking past the camera.
“Is everything okay?” asked Kate. Her mother sometimes popped her head in on Skype chats with Jake, but she rarely joined the call unless there was something serious to talk about, and Kate’s dad joined in only if it was very serious.
“How is the weather there, Catherine?” trilled her mother.
“Cold. As you’d expect it to be,” she said.
Kate’s father, with a mop of gray hair and his glasses around his neck on a gold chain, lumbered into the frame and sat down heavily next to Glenda. He was dressed in a bright-red jumper with a yellow diamond pattern.
“Hello, Catherine, love,” he said, picking up his glasses on the chain and slipping them on. He peered at the screen. “You’re looking well.” He always said that. Kate mused that she could be shot in the face at point-blank range and her father would still comment that she was looking well.
“Yes, I’m swimming still, every day,” she said.
“I see you’ve got the fire going!”
“Yes.”
“When did you last have the chimney swept?” he asked.
“Um, last year, I think.”
He tutted.
“You should get that swept again, Catherine. You don’t want a chimney fire; that would be bad news.”
“Michael, we’re not here to talk about Kate’s fireplace,” said Glenda. Jake glanced across at Glenda and Michael. Glenda nodded.
“Mum, I need to talk to you about this week, half term,” said Jake. Here we go, thought Kate. He’s bailing on me. She took a sip of her iced tea. “I’d like to come over tomorrow, if that’s not too short notice, and I’d love to stay for a couple of days.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” said Kate, thinking she’d misread the situation. Although she’d hoped he’d stay the week. Especially now everything was in disarray, a bit of normality would suit her.
“Mum. There’s something I want to do. Need to do . . . ,” said Jake, clearing his throat. “You know I’ve been seeing a counselor, after what happened in the summer?”
“Yes.”
“He’s been great, and he’s been helping me with some other stuff.”
“What other stuff?” asked Kate, a little sharper than she intended.
“Stuff to do with . . .” Jake seemed very uncomfortable, and he was looking down at the floor. His long hair fell across his face.
“Jake, look at your mother when you talk, and don’t hide behind your hair,” said Glenda.
“Grandma! I’m trying to talk,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ears.
Jake took a deep breath.
“Roland, that’s my counselor. He got me to talk about my father in my sessions . . . I know who he is, and I know what he’s done, but I’m going to go and see him.”
“Go and see who?” asked Kate, confused for a moment.
“My father. Peter Conway,” said Jake.
Kate forgot to breathe. The sound of the waves on the beach below roared in her ears. On the screen, Jake carried on talking, but she couldn’t hear him, could only see his mouth moving.
Kate took a sudden intake of breath, and Jake’s voice came back loud and clear.
“I’ve really thought about it, and I’m sixteen. I can legally see him if I want to . . .”
The three faces on the sofa looked back at her expectantly.
“He won’t want to see you,” said
Kate, finally. Her voice was quiet, and it was difficult to speak. Her mouth was dry. She cleared her throat. “I’ve been told he hasn’t wanted to see anyone.”
“Peter has already agreed to see Jake,” said Glenda, smiling awkwardly. “We got in contact with the hospital, where he’s, erm . . . er . . .”
Kate felt a sudden surge of anger toward her mother. After everything that their family had been through, she was sugarcoating things.
“Staying? Mum. Is that what you were going to say? He’s being held indefinitely, in a secure mental hospital at Her Majesty’s pleasure. He’s a multiple murderer.”
“Kate, please. I’m no more thrilled about this than you are, but Jake has a right to see his father.”
“Stop calling him his father!” shouted Kate, standing up. “He’s not anything. He’s nothing! He’s no more than an accidental part of—”
“Mum. MUM!” said Jake. Kate was still fuming; her heart was thumping. “Mum. You need to respect my decision. I need to go and see him. I need to. You have to understand that. I don’t want to be best friends with him . . .”
“What do you mean, best friends? You’ll barely get close to him being civil. He doesn’t care,” said Kate. “He’s a monster, and I say that as someone who believes in people’s ability to reform. He tried to kill me, Jake. Twice. And the second time you were there, and he was pretty violent with you too. He wanted you to watch!”
“I know, Mum.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you have any loyalty to me?” asked Kate.
“Now, Catherine. I understand how you must feel,” said Michael. “But that’s enough about loyalty. Jake is only just an adult, and he’s done nothing but love you, despite your problems in the past . . . which we’re not blaming you for.”
“Peter Conway gets a free pass during this discussion, does he? But my problems in the past are still being held against me?”
Michael put his hands up. “Kate. We know you’re sorry. We’re proud of how you’re getting, how you’ve got your life back on track. The lad just wants to sit down and talk to Conway. Just for an hour. Jake has a right to be curious about his biological father. Jake is under no illusion as to who Peter is, and what he’s done . . .”