The memory of the beach, p.16
The Memory of the Beach, page 16
‘Joe Murphy’s not a cop anymore. All he wants is to find those children.’
‘No, you can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of them. He owns all of them, including your mate, the cop. Don’t you see? How do you think he’s been able to get away with it all these years?’ said Vic. ‘And there’s more, he’s looking to take another.’
Rick leaned back in. ‘Who is planning to take another? Whitey is dead, Vic. Was it one of his gang? Is there a copycat out there? Who? Who, Vic? I promise, no one needs to know but me.’
‘I just heard it. I don’t know who it is, but I hear things.’
‘Where, Vic? You know where he took them all those years ago,’ Rick said urgently.
‘To a cottage somewhere. I dunno, I’ve never been there,’ said Vic in a whisper.
A cottage somewhere. Something triggered in Rick’s mind.
‘Whitey took the children there?’ asked Rick calmly. ‘Are you sure it was a cottage? Did you hear anything else?’
Vic slowly nodded. ‘He’s got other places too. But you don’t understand,’ Vic started to say.
‘What don’t I understand?’
The guard came in and stood behind them, his baton thumping in his left hand.
‘Time,’ he called.
‘Just a few minutes more,’ Rick said.
‘I said time,’ the surly guard said.
Vic stared at him and shrunk back into his chair.
‘Can’t say no more,’ he said.
Rick had heard enough. It registered in his mind that he was under pressure now. Somebody was out there planning to do what Whitey did all those years ago. He could not let that happen.
*
He gripped the steering wheel as hard as he could. He had to think. He leapt out of the Jag. They were in here somewhere. He ferreted around in his boot. A yellow folder. He found the photos and spread them out on the passenger’s seat of the Jag. Where was it? Had he seen it or was it part of his large imagination? The photos he’d taken were now laid out in front of him. He picked them up one after the other. It was there in the second photo. A dark outline just behind the trees. He stuffed the photo in his pocket.
‘Shit,’ he said as he gunned the Jag then stopped suddenly. He reached across the seat and pulled out his cell phone. He needed to hurry.
He paused before ringing Murphy’s phone. Why didn’t Vic trust Murphy? Was it only because he had been a cop? Or was it something else? Sure, Murphy could be secretive. There were several times Rick thought the old policeman was being less than open about what he knew but dismissed it as being a foible of his old cop days. Was it really because of that? Rick shrugged off his nagging doubt.
Anyway, Murphy was not answering. His phone didn’t even go to the message bank.
He rang Ian’s office.
‘It’s important,’ he told the receptionist.
‘I’m sorry but he’s in court all day. Can I take a message?’
He thought for a moment.
‘Just tell him that I’ve found the place,’ Rick said before throwing down the phone and gunning the Jag again.
If Vic was right and someone was planning to take another victim, he had to go now. He hadn’t a moment to waste.
*
It took him an hour of hard driving to reach the turnoff. He skidded around the last bend and there it was, the Hilltop Retreat, or as young Peter had called it, ‘the castle’. He hid the Jag behind a neighbouring hedge and then charged up the hill. He had no plan. All he knew was that there was a possibility a child was in danger. All he could think of was Jody and her green eyes staring at him, whispering that she was ‘scared’. He ran faster.
The afternoon sun was disappearing down the hill quickly. It concerned him that he would be going into these grounds again but this time with limited light. He hadn’t liked it before when he had plenty of light. It gave him the creeps.
This time he didn’t have to scale the fence. The main gate was ajar. He slipped in as the sun disappeared over the mansion. He was now in the slightly grey post-sunset gloom. A mist descended. He buttoned up his coat against the cold and found the path to the rear of the mansion. He glanced up at the bay windows as he walked the path. Was there someone up there watching his movements? He tried not to look. He couldn’t do anything about that now.
He reached the part of the garden where he had taken the photos. He took out the crumpled photo and held it up. Yes, the mound was still there and the tiny turret made of mud and weeds still lay on the ground. He looked further into the woods. It was dark now and seeing was hard. He pocketed the photo and kept walking. Whatever was down this path, he was sure he would find the answer. It had to be here. If Whitey owned the Hillside Retreat, then it stood to reason that there might be a caretaker’s cottage on these grounds. A piece of wood with a barely legible sign stood in the centre of the path. For a second, the breath he had been holding threatened to make him pass out. This is what he had captured on his phone camera. It read ‘border private lane’. He had thought it looked like the outline of a cottage.
He stopped. A false lead. He exhaled heavily. The sign was on the borderline of the property. He looked behind the sign. The lane petered out. Nothing but shrubbery and thick dense trees.
He was disappointed. He turned to go back.
Something moved in the bushes to his left. An animal? He stood as still as he could. A large rat scampered away through the bush. He heard a splash then a gurgling sound.
Intrigued, he parted the bushes with his hand and saw a large pond full of reeds and swamp slime. To the right of the pond was a path along its edge. It seemingly followed the pond around to the far side. He stepped over the bushes and onto the pond’s trail.
He was walking close to the edge of the pond. It was wet and slimy. He had to be careful he didn’t slide right in. He stepped surely. On the far side of the pond, he noticed an old rowboat that had been pulled ashore and tied off at a tree. On board were two paddles and an old tarp. It looked like it had been there for years.
To his right, the last vestige of sunlight was beginning its final travels for the day. A red-orange glow made it hard to see. He shielded his eyes and for a brief second, he saw a building nestled in the corner of a field. As he got closer, he could see that it was made of stone. The roof was almost totally covered by Lucerne and moss. A narrow brick chimney stood out against the background. Rick thought he saw smoke but the longer he stood and watched, the surer he became that it was his vivid imagination.
The path he was on led to the front door.
He remembered an old childhood story that had scared him witless at the time. Hansel and Gretel had come across a cottage in the woods. The home of a wicked witch, she had them both in her cauldron before the children knew any better. He wondered whether this had been the cottage that Whitey had taken the children to. The thought sent a shiver right through him.
The windows and front door were boarded up and there was no sign that anyone had been here for a long time. He followed the path around the cottage to the rear but it was so overgrown that he couldn’t make his way. He returned to the front and pulled at the boards covering the left-hand side window. One came loose.
His head began to spin just a little – a symptom of the head trauma he obtained in a car accident back when the band had stopped for a hiatus. He put his hand to his temple to stop the vertigo. In times of stress, it reared its ugly head. He paused to re-engage his damaged brain.
He picked up a stone lying near the front door and used it to smash a pane of glass in the left-hand corner of the window. He stood back to listen, then hearing nothing he smashed the right-hand pane. It broke inwards, the shattered glass tinkled onto the ground making little noise. Soon, he had a hole big enough to crawl through. This was it. He landed on the cold hard floor. Brick or stone, it was well-weathered.
Luckily, he had the torch on his phone. He took time to look around the front room he had entered. There was an old chair in the corner and a rickety table with a lamp on it. Apart from the few bits of furniture, the room was empty.
The door to the back of the cottage was jammed shut. He pushed it open and shone his torch in. To the right, a passageway led to several rooms. To the left, a kitchen and a side door. A basic standard pattern for a cottage made in the last century. Rick breathed in through his nose. A smell he couldn’t quite identify flooded his nostrils. He felt growing nausea. The smell was overpowering. It seemed to be coming from the rooms on the right. He steeled himself and crept along slowly.
The first door was locked so he moved to the second. When he gave it a push, the handle broke off in his hand. Inside this room was a makeshift bed and mattress up against the far wall. Beside the bed were two iron hoops embedded in the wall. Another shiver went through his body. On the side was a small table. He shone his torch over the walls. Writing and initials were scratched into them. Nothing seemed legible. He found an old iron bar used to stoke fires and held it up to the light. He could use it to open the locked door.
A tapping noise sounded from the room he’d just come from. Poised with the iron stoker across his chest like a sword, he braced himself by the door. The noise stopped. He crept along the corridor to the locked door and paused. No further sounds.
The handle wouldn’t budge. He jemmied the iron stoker into the architrave next to the lock and pushed it in as far as he could. He then levered it down. The wood split and the lock gave way in a cascade of splinters. He paused again but heard nothing. He levered the iron stoker one more time and the door jamb came apart and forced the door open.
He stood for a moment, catching his breath. He shone his torch into the room. At first, he couldn’t see anything the light was too dim. Then slowly, he could see more. The room was packed with furniture and items. It was like an office. Computers and security screens all showing the outside of the cottage and another blank screen were positioned around the room. The computers were blinking in front of him. A giant battery UPS system lay under a table. His phone light flickered. His battery was giving out. He felt the walls for a light switch. He found one and turned it on. A bank of fluorescent lights flickered on. He stood in the middle of the room and stared.
The first thing he noticed was a red lamp that stood on a cabinet in the corner. It was blinking at him. He wondered whether it was connected to the security camera. If it was, someone would probably know he was standing there right now. He started to back out of the room but something caught his eye. A computer on the far right. On its opening screen was a picture of a girl.
‘Jody,’ Rick whispered. He went closer. No, it wasn’t Jody. This girl had blue eyes. But it was close. Too close for Rick. He reached down and hit a few keys but the image suddenly disappeared and a password screen bobbed up. He hit it again but nothing happened. He needed to see her picture again but the computer had gone to another screen.
He heard another noise. But this time it seemed to be coming from down the passageway to the right not where he had entered. Was there another entry to the cottage? Was somebody coming for him right now?
He took a closer look at the security camera screen. It gave a long shot of a darkened room. He sat down in front of the screen. In the middle of the keyboard was a toggle switch. He moved it and the camera followed. He pushed it in and the camera zoomed in. He pulled back and the camera sprung back, ultimately showing the whole room. The picture was dark. There was little light in the room. Then he saw a bed with shackles at the head and foot. Another shiver went through his body.
Where was the room?
There was only one room left to check. His mind raced. This was it. This was where the monster kept his prize.
A voice swept through the room.
‘Welcome, Eric. It has indeed been a long time,’ a wheezy voice said.
Rick froze. A sudden feeling of familiarity made him tense. This was a voice that he’d not heard for so long. It was the voice of his nightmares.
‘How do you know my name?’ he asked, looking around to see where the voice emanated.
‘Oh, I know all your names. It was such a long time ago but I remember, don’t you?’
The voice was coming from the second computer with a blank screen. Sound but no pictures.
‘Where are you?’
‘You won’t be able to see me. Oh, I could send you a picture alright. I’ve got all that set up but you know what I look like. I must admit, I have changed a little. Age gets to us all, doesn’t it? I can see that you have changed too, Eric, or should I now call you Rick? No longer the innocent child. Quite the man. A rock and roll star, I’m told. Quite a legend. But I like the innocent days better. Back then, you all had an essence that I enjoyed,’ said the voice.
‘Whitey!’ whispered Rick.
‘I always hated that name. It was so uncouth. I am an educated man, Eric, but you children, well, like your friend, Gino, wasn’t it? He helped me a great deal. Got a bit needy towards the end. I had to do something about that. But it all worked out well in the long run,’ said Whitey.
Rick stood and looked to the door. He raised his stoker. He would be ready for an attack.
‘Violence. I normally try to avoid it but on occasion, I have been known to use it. Eric, just give up and we’ll come to some arrangement, I mean, before you die. As you are aware, I cannot let you leave. That wouldn’t be nice. I’ve prepared a nice bed for you. Made it up, especially for you.’
‘You want to murder me just like you murdered Caruso and the children.’
‘Yes, yes, Gino was tedious and messy, not like the children. They were so sweet and innocent.’
‘You won’t get away with this. My friends are on their way. Probably be here in the next few minutes.’
The air inside the cottage became hard to breathe. Heat rose from the rows of screens and he started to sweat like a pig. If he didn’t move, he feared he would pass out.
‘Well, that’s nice but I don’t think they have any idea where you are. You see, I know for a fact that you couldn’t contact them. How do I know that? Well, let me see, the old detective is currently unreachable and your friend Ian is in court, unable to receive any calls. Nobody is coming for you, Eric. All your friends are either dead or have better things to do. So, all in all, you haven’t got a leg to stand on, so to speak.’
Rick could only grit his teeth. ‘This is where you brought the children, isn’t it? This is where you murdered them.’
He put a hand to his forehead and mopped away the sweat.
‘Oh, my boy, you have a limited imagination. There have been many children. Yes, some of them were in that room but I have other places too. I don’t limit my activities to one place.’
‘You’re sick.’
‘And there’s always room for one more.’
‘Like the girl on the computer,’ said Rick. ‘Where have you got her?’
‘A special place. Don’t you think she looks familiar? I thought so myself. Except for the eyes though. This one has blue eyes but I prefer them with green eyes, don’t you? Of course, you do. I remember that day on the beach. It was a glorious day – sun, laughter, children. What fun we had.’
‘You like them young, don’t you? You pervert.’
‘I do. Unlike some who liked the boys but I wasn’t so choosy. I could take either.’
‘I’m going to kill you when I get hold of you.’
He leapt to his feet and immediately went to his knees. The blood rushed to his damaged head too quickly.
‘Such violence, Eric. But if it were only that simple then I wouldn’t have had to kill Gino either. Alas, he made me. Just as you’re leaving me no choice but to kill you.’
‘You have to come in here first. Then we’ll see who kills who. You’re a sick old man.’
‘Old, yes! But old has its ways. Oh, I won’t be killing you myself. I have others to do that.’
Suddenly, the door sprang open and a man leapt at Rick. He turned before the man reached him. He jammed his stoker up and into the man’s arms. It deflected off and Rick watched it as it sailed across the room.
‘Goodbye, Eric,’ said Whitey. ‘It was good of you to drop by.’
The chair collapsed under the weight of the two men. Its wheels sent them crashing into the security camera, which made the lights blink even faster. Rick brought both of his arms up in a defensive move that caught the man off guard.
Then the power went out and they were grappling in the dark. Rick swung his fist around and caught the man in the face. He felt the bone crunch and blood ooze as the man fell back. Rick got to his feet and stumbled towards the door. Or where he thought the door was. He went face-first into the wall. The man took hold of the computer chair and swung it around his head. Rick found the door and crashed into the passageway wall. It shook him to his core. The man came after him without the chair this time and they bear-hugged each other to the ground. Rick took hold of his arm and pushed up. He felt a bone give way and the man’s sudden exhaling of breath. He knew that he would have to act fast to get away. The back door was open. It was where the man had entered from. He ran to it with the man right behind him. He stopped just as he got to the door and forced back his elbow, which caught the man in the windpipe. He felt him go down in a heap. He made it out the door. He ran towards the pond but slipped and slid right into a giant elm tree. He slammed his head into it and slid to the ground. For a second, he thought he was back in the hospital. Back in neurosurgery. Instinctively, he put his hand to his head, then he blacked out.
*
He stared up at the night sky. Tiny dots were dancing before his eyes. The tree he had run into towered over him. He opened one eye then the other. His head hurt like a bastard and he knew that he was in big trouble. In the distance, he could see a torch. It was looking for him. He had fallen into a narrow ditch by the side of the elm. It must have been what saved him from being discovered when he was out like a light. He tried moving both his arms and legs one at a time. All seemed to be functioning, but still, he wasn’t sure about standing just yet. The hit to the head not only knocked him out but caused blood flow of an undetermined amount. He could see, barely. That was a start.
