Page 28

Twenty-Five

Back in the car, we sat together in silence for a while. I drove slowly and carefully, and Sarah stared out of the passenger window. As we approached the motorway, I said:

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I was scared back there.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

The way Michael Johnson had broken down would have frightened anyone, not to mention what he’d told us. I remembered her face this morning. Do you want to go on an adventure? But at that point it had still been academic, whereas it was another thing entirely to hear the truth in person, and to witness the effect such an experience had on someone. To have it confirmed that something terrible really was happening, and that you had found yourself caught up in it.

Sarah looked at me.

“Are you okay?” she said. “You seemed angry back there. I haven’t seen you like that before.”

“I’m okay.”

Careful, my son.

The emotion seemed to have caught me unawares in Johnson’s flat, but I understood where it had come from now. What Johnson had told us confirmed what was happening here: that someone out there was targeting those of us who had been at the rest area that day, setting up a chain of victims and killing one after the other. But it also removed the possibility that I had allowed myself to consider, even though I’d known it was dangerous to do so. It was Johnson who had watched Darren Field die. Johnson who was the most recent victim in the killer’s chain. So while my father technically remained missing for the moment, there was no reason to believe that he was the next link in the killer’s plan. The most likely explanation for his disappearance remained true.

But understanding my emotions didn’t make them go away. I felt stupid for allowing myself to hope, and I was also still angry with myself for failing to convince Johnson to go to the police. There must have been something I could have said that would have made him change his mind. The fact that I hadn’t been able to find the right words made me feel small and useless.

We joined the motorway and I accelerated.

Sarah sighed.

“What are we going to do now?”

“Go home,” I said. “Back to the island, I mean. Try to think.”

“We could still talk to the police.”

I shook my head quickly. “No.”

“We can go to Liam. He’ll listen to me.”

“I really don’t think bringing you into this will help on that score.”

She considered that.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But you have the photographs. You have the connection between all the people who were at the rest area that day. And you have the same account of what happened from different people.”

“I don’t have that at all,” I said. “I have what Brian Gill told us, and that’s pretty much all I have.”

“But—”

“ Maybe Darren Field’s story would have been the same. But it doesn’t matter now, because he’s dead and gone, and he can’t tell it. And you and I just heard it from Michael Johnson too, but we can’t report what he said to the police. Not without his consent. ”

“Is that some kind of medical privilege thing? I know you’re a doctor, but you’re not his doctor.”

“No,” I said. “Think about the repercussions if we did.”

It was possible that my father’s conversation with Darren Field had led to Field’s death—that in the killer’s mind it had counted as Field talking to the police. I could imagine the guilt that would have caused my father, but the fact was that he couldn’t have known what the consequences might be when he went knocking on Field’s door. I wouldn’t have the same excuse if something happened to Johnson.

“If I talk to the police,” I said, “I’m making the decision for him. I’d be the one putting him in danger. And that’s not my choice to make.”

“But it’s like you said. The police can protect him.”

“That’s what I told Johnson. But honestly? I’m nowhere near as confident about that as I might have sounded. I don’t know much about the man behind this, but I do know that he’s smart. He’s determined. He’s patient. He’s a planner . He isn’t the type to act impulsively. This is someone who’s more than happy to bide his time, and the police can’t protect Johnson forever.”

Sarah thought about it.

“Okay, so what if Johnson was right? If he keeps the story to himself then the killer will stop.”

“Does that make sense though?”

“Fucking hell, none of it does to me.” She gave a half laugh. “This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Dan. Have you ever encountered anyone like this before?”

“No.”

The truth was that I could attempt to categorize him as much as I wanted, but in my experience, killers rarely operated the way this one did. Serial murders were uncommon in this day and age anyway, because most offenders were caught before they could progress beyond one or two victims, but when they did occur, they rarely displayed this level of complexity and planning. They were simple and brutal: the ugly endpoint of a disturbed and fractured mind. Not one that wanted to make a statement or play games .

“Do you have any idea why he’s doing what he’s doing?” she said.

“No.”

I remembered what I’d imagined the killer saying to me on the ferry.

The truth is you have no idea what I’m doing.

You’ve spent your whole life avoiding thinking about me. Pretending you could just leave what you did to me behind. Protecting yourself.

I looked ahead at the motorway and realized where we were.

“No,” I said again quietly. “Not yet.”

And then, without thinking about it, I signaled.

Sarah looked to the side, confused.

“Where are we going?”

I didn’t answer. But as I drove down the exit off the motorway, I saw her settle back nervously in her seat beside me, and I knew that she didn’t need me to.

“Have you been back here since?” Sarah said.

There were so many parking spaces that it was difficult to be exact, but I tried to park in roughly the same spot my father had on that afternoon all those years ago.

“No,” I said. “You?”

“Of course not. Why would I? I can get an out-of-date cheese sandwich and a packet of crisps anywhere.”

She peered out through the window.

“And this is just… a place.”

“Maybe,” I said.

It was a place that hadn’t changed much. The motel remained to one side: a different chain now, but no different apart from the signage on the front. The tiled slope ahead that led into the main building was exactly as I remembered it. Just a place. That was true on one level. But looking around, I found it easy to picture a figure smoking against the wall of the motel, and a van selling flowers to one side of the entrance. For a brief moment, I even sensed the shadow of a vehicle parked beside us, its dirty metal sides patterned with small handprints beneath a rusty grille over the window .

“Why are we here, Dan?” Sarah said.

“Because I need to talk to him. The man who’s doing this.”

“What—you think he’s here?”

“No. I mean in my mind.”

She hesitated.

“You know that sounds really weird, right?”

“Probably,” I said. “I’ve been trying to put myself in his head for a couple of days now, and it’s not working, but maybe I spent so long not thinking about him that it’s hard to do it properly now. Perhaps if I want to understand him, I need to start from first principles.”

I took a deep breath.

“And that means being here.”

I opened the car door. I wasn’t sure if Sarah was going to follow me, but after a moment, she did.

We walked across the car park together.

And then inside.

It had changed in here. The amusement arcade was gone now, replaced by a sprawl of beige tables and chairs. What had once been the burger counter was now a currency exchange window in the wall. And while the shop remained in the same place I remembered, the layout was entirely different. Everything seemed brighter and more open than I recalled it being.

The toilets were still at the far end of the concourse.

“I guess I’ll wait here,” Sarah said when we reached them.

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

I looked at her and did my best to smile.

“I really don’t know.”

But there was no point in hesitating.

I turned around and pushed open the door.

The corridor had been renovated. The tiles on the floor and the walls were clean and new, and the air smelled of fresh lemon disinfectant. The lights above didn’t flicker or hum. There was none of the sense of threat I remembered. No feeling that this was an adult space in which I didn’t yet belong. The corridor ahead seemed much shorter than it had when I was a child.

I walked down and turned the corner at the end.

The layout was the same. The toilets were long and narrow, with the cubicles on the right-hand side and a urinal along the opposite wall. The sink and mirror were at the far end, just as they had been back then. My reflection stared back from the mirror. It seemed to approach me as I walked forward.

I stopped halfway across the room and closed my eyes.

I’m here , I thought.

Then I waited.

After a few seconds, the temperature dropped, and I sensed the lights begin to dim and flicker. From somewhere in the back of my mind, the faint sound of whistling drifted free. A shiver ran down my spine at the noise. It was the same deliberate and careful melody I’d heard back then, somehow both familiar and impossible to place. My heart started beating faster. On a rational level I knew that all of this was just my imagination. That I was alone in here. But it no longer felt like I was.

Okay then , I thought.

Let’s take a look at you.

I opened my eyes.

The little boy in front of me was exactly as I remembered him. Skinny frame all but lost in the baggy old clothes; a streak of dirt across his cheek; eyes wide and desperate. He did look a little like Robbie Garforth, but it was clear to me now that it was not him, and I wondered how I had ever allowed myself to be convinced otherwise.

The whistling was coming from the closed cubicle beside him. The boy looked at it for a second, and that reminded me of the moment when I had ducked into a cubicle of my own to hide. But this time, I remained where I was. As awful as it felt to be back here, I knew deep down that nothing was going to hurt me right now.

A moment later, the boy’s terrified gaze returned to my own.

Help me.

And I wanted to. So desperately. If I had been an adult back then, I would have walked across, picked him up in my arms, and carried him out of here to safety. But it was too late for that now.

I can’t, I thought.

Please.

I can’t. That’s not why I’m here.

I hate you. His face contorted in rage. I hate you all so much!

I know.

Then I glanced at the closed door to the cubicle.

Why didn’t you run? I thought. When he was locked away in there?

Because I could never be fast enough.

Nobody could.

I kept looking at the closed door. It occurred to me what arrogance the Pied Piper must have had to leave the boy out here like that. There had been moments when the boy had been wandering the rest area all but unattended as well. It was hard to imagine possessing that degree of confidence and control. I had no idea what the boy had gone through before that afternoon, but it must have been terrible enough for him to see his captor as all-powerful. For it to be impossible for him to fight back by then.

I looked at the boy.

What did he do to you?

He broke me down. That’s enough for you to know.

I’m sorry, I thought. I’m so sorry.

You will be. All of you will.

But there was an itch in my subconscious, and I forced myself to run back through my thoughts, trying to work out what had caused it. The sense of control—that was it. The Pied Piper’s behavior that day appeared arrogant and brazen, and there had been no obvious need for him to take the risks that he had. But nothing he did would have been unnecessary; in his own warped mind, there would have been a reason for everything. And that included the way he had put the boy on display. It had been done for a purpose.

Nobody sees, I thought. And nobody cares.

That’s right. None of you saw me. None of you cared .

And that’s why I’m hurting you now. To punish you all.

I stared back at the boy. His eyes were full of hatred, and I could feel that same emotion mirrored inside me. The guilt and self-disgust rising to the surface, threatening to overwhelm me. I did my best to fight it back down. Because however keenly I felt it, what the boy had said— that’s why I’m hurting you now —wasn’t the whole story.

No, I thought. That’s not quite right. Because all of us did the wrong thing that day, and I can understand you hating us for that. I hated myself for it and I still do. But that’s not why you’re doing this, is it?

The boy didn’t reply.

I looked at the closed cubicle door again, chasing the idea.

You give the people you attack a choice, I thought slowly. They can do the right thing or the wrong thing. You reward them for doing the wrong thing—it’s only if they do what’s right that you punish them. And at that point you hurt them very badly, don’t you? The violence is ferocious and out of all proportion. You are raging when you kill.

I looked back at the boy.

But it’s not them you hate, I thought. It’s you.

The whistling stopped.

And immediately, the boy’s demeanor shifted. All the fury seemed to leave him, and in my mind’s eye he was just a child again, one who looked even smaller than before. Emaciated. Frightened. Broken down.

And then he began crying.

Nobody sees me, he sobbed. Nobody cares about me .

You in particular?

Yes! I didn’t matter to anyone. Nobody loved me enough to look for me. Nobody missed me. I meant nothing to the world. He was teaching me that I was worthless. That I didn’t deserve to be saved.

And he was right, wasn’t he?

No, I thought. He wasn’t. You were never worthless.

I want to believe that.

The boy wiped his nose with a trembling hand.

I’ve tried so hard to. I’ve told myself that it was your fault—all of you—and I’ve done my best to hate you instead. But it’s me that’s disgusting. It’s me !

He began pounding his small fist against his chest.

The hollow sound echoed around the toilet. It was sickening to hear, and even though I knew there was nothing really there in front of me, I still felt the urge again to walk across and comfort him.

But it was too late for that.

That’s why you punish them if they do the right thing?

Yes! If they do the wrong thing, that means they were bad people all along. They’re the worthless ones—not me. They don’t see or care about anyone. Every second they keep silent, I can pretend to myself that it wasn’t about me.

But if they see? I thought.

If they care?

Then it means the man was right.

The boy stopped hitting himself. And then suddenly he was directly in front of me, screaming into my face.

AND I CAN’T BEAR THAT!

Despite myself, I took a step back, bringing my hands up. The wave of white-hot rage burning in front of me offered a glimpse of what his victims must have faced in their final moments. The self-hatred simmering inside him bursting suddenly and horrifyingly into flame, and—

I heard the door to the corridor behind me opening.

Immediately, the vision before me disappeared.

The light was normal again. The boy was gone.

I stepped quickly over to the sink, my heart pounding.

Help me , the boy whispered.

I pressed down hard on the tap. Once. Twice. Work. In the mirror, I saw a father and son walking into the toilets behind me. The man was encouraging the child with a gentle hand on his back.

“Just go in there, champ. I’ll be out here the whole time, I promise.”

I looked back down again. The water was running now. I made a show of washing my hands, watching in the mirror as the little boy stepped nervously into one of the cubicles and closed the door. The lock clicked. His father folded his arms and waited.

I moved over to the hand dryer. The roar of it filled the air.

Help me , the boy whispered again .

I can’t, I thought. It’s too late.

So what are you going to do?

I tried to get myself under control.

What someone should have done all those years ago, I thought.

I’m going to find you.