Page 79

‘Give me your phone,’ he says, holding out his hand. When Erin takes a backward step, he matches her with a forward one. ‘Just for the journey home.’
‘Joe, what is this? Listen to yourself. Surely you don’t—’
‘Thephone, Erin.’
Her jaw muscles bulge. She opens her bag, digs out her mobile and hands it over. Joseph slides it into his pocket.‘Car keys.’ She hands those over, too. ‘OK, we’re leaving. And please – don’t make this any harder than it already is.’
Erin seems reluctant to put her back to him. Finally, squaring her shoulders, she turns and steps through the connecting door. As Joseph follows her out, he picks up a claw hammer from the workbench and slides it up his shirtsleeve.
THIRTY-NINE
Enoch Cullen wakes in his chair, to a ringing so cruelly insistent he wants to yell at it to stop.
It feels like someone drilled a borehole through his skull while he was sleeping and poured in sulphuric acid. He cracks open one eye, just a slit, and pulls himself upright. The sudden movement rocks his stomach and he’s nearly sick.
One thought – to stop the ringing and crawl upstairs to bed. On the coffee table, among the crushed beer cans and congealed Chinese food, stand an empty tequila bottle, an empty port bottle and a bottle that might once have contained ouzo.
Enoch stands, belches acid. His moan is long and heartfelt. As it ends, the ringing ceases. He sways on his feet, wonders if the sound was in his head all along. Then it starts up again – a clamorous electronic trilling. On the arm of his chair lies Drew’s phone, still in its rhinestone case. Its screen is dark. The ringing sounds like it’s coming from behind him.
Enoch pivots, his leg colliding with the coffee table. Beer cans, bottles and Chinese food go tumbling across the carpet. He’s frantic, now. He’s got to stop that ringing before itsplits his head in two. Stumbling into his kitchen, he tries to identify its source.
The light streaming through the window is nuclear bright. Panting, Enoch goes from cupboard to cupboard, yanking the doors wide. When he checks the one above the toaster, the ringing intensifies. He thrusts his hand inside. Tins of soup and corned beef crash on to the worktop like mountain boulders. Finally, he hauls out a phone, the screen lit up with a mobile number he doesn’t recognize.
Accepting the call, Enoch presses the phone to his ear. ‘Drew?’ he rasps. He hears no reply – not even the hiss of an open line – and when he checks the screen he sees that the battery must have died.
He stares at the device, tries to think, wishes he’d memorized the number.
A wave of dizziness hits.
He staggers back into the living room, this time knocking over a stack of DVD cases. When he collapses into his chair, he loses his grip on the phone and hears it bounce across the carpet.
Enoch lays back his head, screws up his eyes. He feels like he’s on the deck of a yacht being tossed by an angry ocean. If he can ride out his nausea, navigate his way to calmer waters, he can find a lead for the phone, charge it up.
Enoch’s chin touches his chest. He only needs a minute. Just one. Within seconds, he’s asleep.
FORTY
Outside, the day is as idyllic as it was. The flotilla of white clouds overhead looks like it’s sailed straight off a Constable canvas. Dell Stephano has put away his hedge cutter and is sweeping up the trimmings. When he sees Joseph and Erin emerge from the bungalow, he waves in greeting.
Joseph waves back. Then he takes Erin’s hand. Holding it firmly, he warns her not to engage Dell in conversation. She does as he asks, which is a relief, because he has no plan should she try to shake herself free. He’s hardly going to club his wife around the head with the hammer hidden inside his shirtsleeve.
Certainly not in front of witnesses,eh, Joe?
Joseph snarls at that voice, tries to smother it.
He unlocks the car and opens the passenger door for Erin. As he walks around to the driver’s side, he slides out the hammer from his sleeve, dropping it into the door well as climbs behind the wheel. Then he tries to settle his nerves and catch his breath.
He’s still sweating. His shirt clings against his skin. Mopping his brow again, he reverses off the drive. Erin watches him, silent.
Joseph follows the curve of his mother’s road, turns rightat the junction and accelerates. Erin can’t open the door, escape. Nor can she call the police. For a while he can concentrate on an even more significant problem – the likely whereabouts of his mother’s Honda, and the resultant whereabouts of Drew.
Could a burglar, finding nothing of value inside the bungalow, have decided to steal the car? Might someone be driving it away from Saddle Bank at this very moment, ignorant of its cargo? If that’s true, Joseph is powerless to control what happens next, but he doesn’t believe that’s the explanation.
Did Max move the car first thing? He hadn’t said anything, and it wouldn’t have slipped his mind. Which means if heisresponsible, he’s clearly lost all trust in his father.
‘I’m scared, Joe.’
‘Me too.’