The Taken (9 page)

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the huge array of dials, it seemed that Daniel Rose was starting to feel the strain.

The retired traffic policeman’s face was serious and intense as he switched on his equipment, only the slight shaking of his hands belying either his age or his shock at the news of the vicar’s death. Simon and she had told him everything—the words written in wax on the altar, how the vicar had been alive when they’d found him, and the words he’d managed to spit out before he’d died.

Even without the added detail of messages in the night and children pointing the way, it was a chilling enough tale. And those details were ones she hoped to put behind her.

Daniel had said very little since bringing them up the old twisted stairs to his radio room, and looking at the lines in his face, which created a network of canyons and valleys in the loose skin, she wondered at the comfort she felt just by being in the presence of age and experience. It was a false security, of course; she knew that. She couldn’t imagine that age would make much difference to fear. In fact, wasn’t it children that were never scared of heights or death or anything real? Carry that idea further, and the elderly must be the most afraid of them all. It would make sense. Their dreams were dust, no time left to chase them; the future just held shadows and the possibility of pain. She winced at the stabbing ache inside. Maybe she and Daniel Rose had more in common than he knew.

Lightning chased its tail of sound through the playground of the sky, and the bulb above them flickered slightly. Simon stared at it thoughtfully. “That would be all we’d need. No electricity.”

Daniel shook his head. “That’s one worry you can let 83

go of, son. I’ve got a generator. So does the pub. Most people do out here.

Those of us who have lived here a long time, anyways. The electric’s more reliable now than it used to be, so it hasn’t been used for a time, but I get it serviced regular. Habit, mainly.”

“So, can you get the police direct on this thing?”

“No.” Daniel looked up at Simon and shook his head. “No, the radio won’t let us get into their bands. I can listen to them, but not transmit. I’ll have to get hold of another ham and they’ll have to fetch someone on the phone.”

“Someone you know over the airwaves?”

Relaxing now that he was talking about something he understood, Daniel’s voice slowed down and softened. “I think that’d take too long for what we need. We could waste time calling for people who aren’t listening. I’ll make a CQ call and see what we get back.”

“CQ?” Simon was perching on the edge of the crowded desk.

“It means ‘seek you,’ just the ways it sounds. It’s a general call. Anyone can answer. My aerial is omnidirectional see, sends out all the way round. Some bugger’ll pick us up.” He started to turn the dial, which whistled back at him.

“Just let me get to the two meter band and then we’ll be on our way.”

Alex sat silently in the spare chair, watching the two men. Daniel had better be right. They needed to get the police out there, and if it took too long the storm would cut the village off.

“CQ, CQ, this is Golf Three Quebec Sierra Tango. Any station comeback?” Daniel released the microphone button and sat back. “Now,” he muttered, under his breath, “let’s be having you.” He pushed the button 84

down again. “CQ, CQ, this is Golf Three Quebec Sierra Tango. Any station go ahead.”

The moment of silence seemed like forever. Alex touched Daniel’s arm.

“Is that it?”

The old man smiled slightly. “No, it just means we’ve got to go looking for them. Don’t worry. We’ll get someone.” He twisted the dial again, his head tilted to the right as if maybe his hearing in that ear was better, and the machine wailed at them as he searched the frequencies. Slowly, the noise faded.

“Bingo.” Out of the static came a conversation, tinny, but gloriously alive.

Alex covered her mouth as she listened, her eyes glancing up at Simon’s and seeing her excitement reflected there in those depths of blue. How good it would be to get help and pass this buck over to the authorities.

When a natural pause arrived between the two men, Daniel opened up the mike, cutting in.

“Sorry to interrupt, this is Golf Three Quebec Sierra Tango. I’m calling from Watterrow, Somerset. We’ve got a bit of an emergency here and need the police, but the phones aren’t working. Are you close by?”

One of the two men came back straightaway. “I’m about ten miles the other side of Taunton. I know where you are. Is it something to do with this awful weather?”

Hesitating slightly, Daniel responded. “Likely a bit more serious than that. We need to get the police out here, especially before there’s too much flooding.

Can you call them for us? Tell them I’m a retired policeman myself. I don’t want them to think we’re causing a fuss over nothing.”

“Roger. Keep this frequency open. Stand by.”

Creaking the wooden door open, Daniel’s wife, Ada, 85

carried through a tray with large mugs of coffee and a plate of sandwiches and held it out toward Alex, then Simon. “There you go.”

Looking at the food, Alex felt her stomach turn. The pain that was literally eating at her, combined with finding the vicar dead, had destroyed her appetite.

Still, she was grateful to take the steaming-hot liquid, enjoying the burning ceramic in her hands. She noticed that Simon didn’t seem interested in eating either. Maybe he wasn’t as tough as he appeared after all. Ada sat the tray down on top of the gas heater, and sipped her own coffee. The ham and pickle sandwiches remained untouched, and Alex figured that they all took comfort in their own ways. Maybe Ada’s means of soothing herself was to prepare food, even knowing that no one was going to eat it. Daniel and Ada were both regular churchgoers, and the loss of Reverend Barker would have hit the couple quite hard. Alex wondered if, like her, the idea of the reverend committing suicide out of the blue seemed highly unlikely to Ada Rose. She imagined that it probably would, and perhaps it was contemplating the alternative that was adding to all their edginess. Why would anyone want to kill the vicar?

“How are you getting on up here?” Ada stared with concern at the back of her husband’s head. “The storm’s getting right fearful out there. I think some people may have lost a tile or two by tomorrow at this going.”

Before Daniel could answer, the machine spat out the disembodied voice it carried. “Calling Golf Three Quebec Sierra Tango. Are you still there?”

“Still here. Go ahead.”

“It doesn’t seem to be your night. I’ve spoken to the 86

police. They can’t get out to you at the moment. A highsider’s overturned on the B2338 in the wind. That’s the only road into your village isn’t it? They can’t—”

The voice was cut off by a high-pitched mechanical screech and Daniel’s jaw clenched.

“Jesus, what’s that? Feedback?” Alex could feel the roots of her teeth tingling with the sound as she flinched.

“I’m not sure.” Daniel turned down the volume and checked the settings. “I’ve never had anything happen like that before.” He clicked the button down again.

“This is Golf Three Quebec Sierra Tango. Are you still there?” Only a crackle came back at them. “I don’t understand it.”

Simon sipped his coffee. “Could the storm have knocked the aerial out of line or something?”

Daniel let out a sigh. “It could have. Or the lightning could be affecting it in some way.” He smiled grimly at them. “But I’m sure that we’ll get them back. I may just have to fiddle around up here for a while.”

Alex and Simon sat in silence for ten minutes, hoping in vain for another voice to join them through the hulk of metal that Daniel poked and prodded, before Paul turned up, dripping and windswept. Alex stepped out into the hall to speak to him.

“Is Mary okay?”

Paul shrugged, and exhaled. “Well, I’m not sure if ‘okay’ is the right word. But she’s better than she was before. Maybe being in the pub will be good for her.”

He paused to take a mug of coffee from Ada, who’d been more than glad to have one more soaking stray to cater to. “How about you two? Did you manage to get hold of the police?”

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Alex shook her head. “Daniel managed to get hold of someone on the radio, but there’s a lorry overturned on the road, so there’s no way the police will be able to get to us today.”

“Jesus.” He banged the back of his head gently and absently against the wall while absorbing the information, as if knocking for entrance to a secret passageway. “So, what are we supposed to do?”

Alex was saved from her inability to answer by Simon, who joined them, Daniel dwarfed in the shadow of his large frame.

“I guess we’ll just have to move the body into the church and lock it up. I can’t think of a better solution. Once we’ve done that, maybe we should ask the residents if they’ve seen anything or anyone unusual around. Maybe try and get down to the caravan site as well.”

Alex knew he was thinking of the strange children they saw earlier, and she was too. It was easier to think of strangers doing something like that rather than anyone from the village, and maybe it was just a childish prank that went horribly, horribly wrong. “Maybe we should try to get people together in The Rock later. At least that way we can break the news to the whole village at once and stop any rumors or gossip.”

Paul nodded. “And a drink or two at the end of this wouldn’t go amiss, either.”

At the end of this. Alex wondered exactly when “the end of this” would be. She couldn’t forget the desperation in the vicar’s eyes as his blood carried his last words to her. Warn them. Come for us. Our sin. Maybe it was nothing; maybe he was just rambling after lying broken and dying out in the rain for God only knew

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how long, but deep inside, in the part of her that truly accepted that cancer was killing her, she didn’t believe that. Something else was going on in Watterrow, something she didn’t understand, but something she was sure had to do with Melanie Parr.

Ada joined them in the corridor. “He’s checking the fuses, but I’m sure he’ll have it working again soon. He spends that many hours tinkering around in there that he can more than likely take that radio apart and put it back together again in his sleep.” She managed a small smile at Paul. “How’s your mother? Has her headache gone?”

Paul nodded, his eyes slipping slightly sideways. “Yes, but she’s still not quite herself. She’s having a sherry at The Rock.”

“Well, I might just go and join her. I think a sherry would do me nicely right now. And Crouch will be happy for the profit.”

Simon looked down at Alex. “Crouch?”

“Crouch the Grouch, we call him. He’s the landlord.”

Leading them down the misshapen stairs, Ada paused at the bottom to pull a coat from the closet, before passing the others theirs. The damp material was cold, and Alex was shivering by the time she’d got it on and done up, and she sensed that Simon must be feeling the same beside her. The idea of going back to the church and dealing with the body sent a wave of fatigue through her.

Simon zipped his coat right up to his chin, making his voice seem muffled. “When we ask people about what’s happened to the vicar, we should mention that girl that went missing, Melanie Parr, to them. Maybe it’s nothing, but it seems strange that your aunt mentioned

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her name and then Reverend Barker. Maybe someone will be able to shed some light on it.”

Ada’s face twitched and jumped as she stared at them. “Melanie Parr?”

Alex nodded.

“But she went missing thirty years ago. She can’t have anything to do with this.

She can’t.”

“Well, maybe, but maybe not. A few questions won’t hurt.” Alex pulled the door open, letting the storm’s furious curiosity surge past them and peer noisily into every corner of the snug cottage.

Daniel had followed them down to see them off, and turning in the doorway, Ada clutched at the arm of her husband. “You didn’t tell me. You didn’t say anything about Melanie Parr. …”

Daniel ushered her out, and the rest of Ada’s words were swallowed up by the wind.

Pausing for a moment to fall behind the older woman, Alex once again felt that there was something going on in her village that she wasn’t a part of, but now she knew she was being dragged into it against her will. Her and Simon. Whatever it was about Melanie Parr that bothered these people, she was determined to find out.

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The rain was hammering into the kitchen window as Kay stuffed dirty washing into the machine, and somewhere not too far away thunder rumbled toward them. For a moment she stared out over the garden. To her left she could make out the edge of the woods and felt just a twinge of maternal worry. They’d better not have gone into the woods, not with the storm whipping up as it was. She trusted Laura, she really did, and individually she trusted the Granville kids, but from her own childhood she could remember what it was like in a group of friends. It was easy to be persuaded and to get carried away by the collective mind.

She filled the soap section and pushed the On button, feeling the vibration through her hands as the machine tumbled into life. Emma would be fuming if they came home with muddy clothes. She had enough washing to deal with between the littlest ones and Dave’s work clothes. On reflection, though, Kay was 92

pretty sure the kids would stay away from the river and woods.

The kitchen table was still covered with breakfast debris, and putting the kettle back on for another cup of tea, she covered the jam and the butter and put the plates in the dishwasher. Thank the lord for modern appliances. She’d vacuumed yesterday so there was no need to do that, and once she’d sorted the washing and figured out what to cook Laura for dinner, the day was pretty much her own. And the wonderful thing about a rainy day, once you were over the age of about fifteen, was that it really did encourage you to do absolutely nothing.

She’d got the new Martina Coles book from her book club and she hadn’t started it yet, and that was looking like her plan for the day. To curl up on the sofa, maybe eat the bar of chocolate at the back of the fridge, and lose herself in the exciting big-city world of one of Martina’s characters. There were definitely worse ways to spend the day.