‘Yeah, well, men are different from women.’
‘Brains in their underpants, tell me about it.’ She shook her head, trying not to think about Marc. ‘Wagg even invited her to the New Year party, but she played hard to get. She and Arlo didn’t want to bump into each other in public, and besides, Louise Kind was in the way.’
‘What about the wine-throwing incident?’
‘My bet is that Wanda told the truth.’
‘Don’t tell DCI Larter. She’d rather believe that pigs do fly.’
‘Arlo provoked her as a distraction from any possible link with Cassie.’
‘Over-elaborate.’
‘Like everything about Arlo is over-elaborate. He’s a drama queen, same as his hero, De Quincey. Once the party was over and done with, Cassie persuaded Wagg to drop Louise like a hot potato. As soon as she packed her bags and left Crag Gill, Cassie and Arlo seized their chance. The MO varied each time, but they were variations on a single theme. They relied on making people vulnerable. Provoking a kind of crazy desire for Cassie. Then destroying them because of it.’
‘Dangerous lady.’
He was right, Cassie was bad news.
She shivered, remembering that Bethany had worked for Marc, and now Cassie did too. What if Marc were with Cassie now?
The cold woke him. That, and the pain. As consciousness returned, he became aware of the throbbing of his head and arms. His wrists and ankles felt as though they were on fire, but the rest of him was freezing.
Where in God’s name was he, what was happening? He didn’t have a clue how much time had passed since he’d rung Cassie’s doorbell. His eyes were shut, and he dared not open them. He dreaded the truth.
‘Coming round?’
A man’s voice, soft, yet not in the least reassuring. Marc tried to speak, but no words came. He couldn’t open his mouth. Someone had taped it shut. His hands were bound up above his head; impossible to move them an inch.
‘Open your eyes.’
Marc did nothing. For as long as he did not see, he could imagine the possibility of escape. Hope, he must cling to hope.
‘Open your eyes!’ the man shouted.
Marc obeyed.
He was in a small, circular room. Old stone walls, rough floor hewn from rock. A single narrow window, boarded up with a couple of dirty old wooden planks. Ten feet above his head was a brick roof. He was naked, his body shrivelled and defenceless. No wonder his arms ached; they were covered in bruises, and so were his chest and legs. Someone had manhandled him on the way to this place. His wrists were fastened by thick black cord that cut into his flesh. The cord was tied to a rusting hook on the wall. His ankles were bound to each other.
The man stood in front of him. He was wearing a bright yellow fluorescent jacket, but Marc’s eyes were dragged away to something lying on the floor. A nauseous fear seized him at the sight of it.
A huge creature lay sprawled on the rough ground, motionless.
Sedated, must be.
It had a fawn and white coat, red nose, tail thick and tapering to a point.
No muzzle.
An ugly, savage beast of the kind that growled and slavered through the worst of nightmares.
A pit bull terrier.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘Marc, where are you?’ Hannah hissed into the phone.
His failure to return her calls was eating into her nerves. At first she’d assumed his silence was payback following their row. Now her anxieties were growing like bindweed. He fancied Cassie, and she wouldn’t put it past him to try his luck with her. If Cassie got a thrill out of provoking Arlo Denstone into jealous crimes of vengeance, she might encourage Marc’s advances.
Why didn’t he answer?
‘Everything all right, ma’am?’
Greg Wharf had come up behind her. On his way to see the chairman of the Culture Company and check out Arlo Denstone’s background.
‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘Fine.’
Talking the case through with him had helped sort it out in her mind, but she wasn’t in the mood to confide her anxieties. He’d interpret it as a sign of weakness.
A sceptical glint lit his blue eyes. ‘If I can help, ma’am, let me know.’
‘Thanks, Greg.’ She forced a weary smile. ‘And…the name’s Hannah.’
Phoning Mrs Amos was a last resort. Right or wrong, the old lady always took her son’s side. Hannah didn’t blame her, perhaps she would understand better if ever she had a child of her own. But did a mother have to be so blinkered? Rather like Daphne giving birth late on to Bethany, Mrs Amos had had Marc at an age when she’d never expected another baby. It helped to explain why she spoilt him rotten.
Negotiating the conversation was a test of her powers of tact and diplomacy. At first Mrs Amos made it plain there was nothing for them to discuss, and that she had no intention of disclosing Marc’s whereabouts. She might not know the details, but she was clear that Hannah had blown the relationship apart, and it didn’t come as a huge surprise. Police work wasn’t a suitable job for a woman.
‘There’s a serious problem, it’s connected with the shop,’ Hannah said when she managed to get a word in.
‘What sort of problem?’
‘One of my colleagues needs to question someone who works for Marc. I wanted to give him advance warning, but he isn’t answering his phone. I’m worried something has happened to him.’
She didn’t want to be unkind, or to play on a mother’s fears for her favourite child, but needs must. She was desperate to get Mrs Amos to open up.
‘I already said, he isn’t here right now.’
‘When is he due back?’
‘He doesn’t tell me everything, you know. And he wasn’t even sure he’d be home tonight.’
Home? Hannah clenched her fist. Undercrag was his home.
‘What did he say to you?’
‘He just told me not to stay up late.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘He didn’t say, except that he wasn’t due in the shop today. Or in Sedbergh. He told me he was off to buy a collection of books. I don’t pry, you may be surprised to hear. He has his own life to lead.’
What she meant was that she didn’t pry successfully, but this wasn’t the moment to start a row. If something happened to Marc, it would shatter Glenda Amos. Hannah’s relationship with her was uneasy, but she didn’t want to see her harmed.
‘The fog is dreadful.’
‘So, they said on the radio.’
The reedy voice betrayed a note of uncertainty. Hannah hated herself for planting seeds of fear in the mind of an old woman, but it was the lesser evil.
‘I’m worried he might have had an accident. You know what these country lanes are like when visibility is so poor. Every bend a potential death trap. Have you really no idea where he was heading?’
‘He…he never said.’
‘Are you sure he went to buy books? Not to see someone else?’
‘I don’t know.’ Glenda Amos paused, and then the words started to come in a rush. ‘He spoke to someone on the phone, I heard that, though I couldn’t make out the words. I’m not as deaf as he thinks. He didn’t want me to listen in, I can say that. He went up to his room and shut the door while I cleaned downstairs. But I knew what he was up to. He’s my boy, and I can read him like one of his own precious books.’
But you never got past Chapter One.
‘He’s involved with someone else,’ Hannah said. ‘I’m aware of it, Glenda. But she’s about to cause a lot of unhappiness for him, and I’d hate that.’
‘You think he’s driven somewhere to meet her?’
‘I hope not,’ Hannah said. ‘If he has, he’s made the biggest mistake of his life.’
Ten minutes later, she was steering through the fog-wrapped Kendal streets. Fern was off to a press conference about the latest developments in the Stuart Wagg case. It was too soon to give out detailed information about their interest in Arlo and Cassie, but they could give the registration number of Cassie’s Micra. The priority was to trace the pair before they did any more damage.