The Coniston Case (23 page)

‘They’re in the car,’ said Simmy, thinking quickly. ‘I can’t drive in them, can I?’

Melanie frowned at her. ‘When …?’ But Simmy quelled her with a look. A faint idea was stirring. If she could get some time alone in the car park, she could phone Moxon and tell him what was going on. While Baz was behaving with superficial reasonableness, there was a look in his eyes that she found alarming. Whatever the truth of it, by his own admission he had forcibly prevented Kathy from returning to Troutbeck the previous evening, and that made him potentially dangerous.

‘We’ll all go, then,’ said Baz. ‘Stay together. Go on.’ He ushered them out like a shepherd with a nervous flock. Simmy glanced back at the man on reception, hoping he
would have finally detected something unusual. But he seemed to regard them as just another walking group.

They all moved out into the car park, and Simmy realised her stratagem was never going to work. Even so, she approached her car, with Melanie and Ben close behind her. Baz hung back with Daisy.

‘Can you distract him while I make a phone call?’ she whispered to Ben.

‘I doubt it. He’s sure to see you.’

‘Not if I’m half inside the boot of the car, rummaging for my boots.’ Even in the drama of the moment, she heard her father’s ghostly chuckle at the two meanings of the word.

‘Okay – I’ll try. Mel – you’ll have to help me. Go and say something to him.’

Melanie obediently turned round and took a few steps towards Baz. ‘How far is it?’ she called. ‘I’m not walking about out there if it rains. Not for anyone.’

Ben followed her and stood at her side, creating a screen to shield Simmy. ‘You’ll miss the fun if you don’t,’ he said. ‘You won’t like that, will you?’

‘It’s a mile or so,’ Baz replied. ‘You’re coming, whether you like it or not.’ He looked at Ben. ‘This is just a game to you, then, is it? Like something you’d play on your computer. Well, let me tell you, it’s real this time. People have really died because of all this, and they’re not going to be the last. It’s a war now. Total bloody warfare.’

Simmy had her phone in her hand, her head and shoulders crouched inside the car boot, starting to key in Moxon’s number, when she found she’d forgotten part of it. It would be in the memory somewhere, after making so many calls to him, of course. But then she realised she
wouldn’t be able to say more than a few words before Baz snatched it away from her. A text would be safer. But it was hopeless, as she’d known already. Baz was only a few yards away. He would be losing patience after about half a minute. Even so, she had to try. If only her brain wasn’t working so slowly, with none of that surge of brilliant inventiveness that gripped people in books when this sort of thing happened to them.

‘Warfare?’ Ben repeated. ‘Who’s against who, then?’

‘Not now. We’ve got to go. I’d have thought you’d be more bothered about your friend in the mine. She’ll be cold and scared, wouldn’t you say?’ He became aware of Simmy’s fumblings and stepped sideways to get a better look. ‘Hey! What’re you doing?’

‘I can’t find my boots. They’re not here. I was
sure
I had them.’

‘That’s a phone,’ he accused, marching forward and grabbing it. ‘Who’re you calling?’ He squinted at the screen. ‘What have you done?’

‘Sent a text to the police,’ she bluffed. ‘They know where we are now.’

‘Garn!’ he said, rudely and rather funnily. ‘You haven’t had time.’

‘It doesn’t take long.’

‘You’ve got the cops’ number in your phone, have you? Don’t tell me you texted 999, because nobody does that. It’s not doable.’ He put the phone in his pocket, and made his shepherding gesture again. ‘Okay, you others – I want all your phones, now. Come
on
. We’re not going anywhere till you’ve done what I say.’ Reluctantly, as if parting with precious treasure, three phones were handed over. Baz took
Simmy’s out of his pocket again, and threw all four into the boot of the car. ‘They’ll be here waiting for you when you get back,’ he said.

‘Good try, Sim,’ muttered Ben.

They straggled out of the hotel grounds and turned southwards, Simmy leading the way and Ben close behind her. ‘You know where we’re going, then?’ he asked her quietly.

‘No idea, but I’m worried about Kathy. He’ll say if I go the wrong way.’

‘Aren’t you scared? He’s acting very strangely.’

‘A bit. But there’s four of us against just him. I don’t expect there’ll be any trouble. But poor Kathy! She’s been up in these fells all night by the sound of it. He can’t be right in the head, can he?’

‘Seems not.’

‘Sshh,’ warned Daisy. ‘He’ll hear you.’

But Baz was arguing with Melanie, who was loudly protesting that she couldn’t possibly walk a mile uphill on rough ground. ‘You don’t have a choice,’ he said firmly.

‘If I just turned round and ran back to the hotel and told them what you’re doing, how do you think you’d stop me?’ she demanded. ‘Why’ve we all got to go, anyway?’

‘You’ve got nothing to accuse me of. I just thought you’d want to make sure your friend’s okay. You can leave if you like.’

‘You took our phones,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s theft, for a start.’

Simmy turned round to speak to him. ‘Our friend is the mother of your girlfriend. She’s not going to think very favourably of you after this, is she?’

‘Who cares?’

‘How did you do it, anyway? Make her stay out here all night, I mean?’

‘With this,’ he said tightly, and pulled his waterproof jacket aside. On his hip was the sheath containing his knife. ‘It’s very sharp and I’m very quick with it, if I have to be.’

‘You killed Mr Braithwaite with that,’ said Simmy faintly. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘Now keep walking.’

Simmy was breathless with fear and exertion, stumbling over the rough ground in soft trainers. It was stony underfoot, despite the path being well used for most of the year. Baz had a knife around his waist, in a sheath, like a cowboy with a gun. Even though he hadn’t shown them the blade, she could all too vividly imagine it. A knife had killed Mr Braithwaite, which made it obvious that Baz was the killer, even if he did deny it. And everybody knew that if a person had killed once, it was all too easy to do it again.

Her damaged bones were starting to complain at the climb as the path grew steeper. The mountain above looked huge and indifferent, no more benign than it appeared from a distance. Sheep peeped at them from behind the rocks and a sharp wind whipped at their faces. Baz and Ben had hoods. None of the women did. The ones with long hair found it blowing across their eyes and their noses ran.

She tried to imagine Kathy, alone somewhere up
here, bewildered and frightened. Her friend’s suffering completely outmatched anything she herself might be enduring. As for Melanie, who regarded walking on the fells as one of the daftest of activities, her complaints were quickly becoming annoying. She had asked to come, after all. Ben remained silent, which gave Simmy cause for hope that he was working out some clever ruse for overcoming Baz and setting everything right.

The sense that all four of them were spineless and pathetic for so meekly obeying Baz began to fade. What if he was the only person who knew where Kathy was? If they collectively attacked him and got him carted off by the police, he might refuse to speak for days – in which time Kathy would die of cold or thirst. The only possible thing to do was to let him show them the place. After that, things might become very different. She clenched her fists at the prospect of punching or kicking the lunatic following behind them. If they could grab both his hands, he wouldn’t be able to use the knife. If four people – five with Kathy – couldn’t accomplish something as simple as that, then they ought to be ashamed.

They walked for half an hour in the cold, deserted landscape. The settlement of Coniston was scarcely visible below them, its church and few shops every bit as indifferent as the Old Man above them. Stone walls and rough paths were the only signs of human activity, and they gave no comfort. Farm buildings might be glimpsed on the slopes running down to the lakeside, but their occupants would have no interest in the small dots of humanity meandering up the hill towards the old copper workings. They would be tending their sheep or completing their claims for subsidies beside the warm fire, and not watching walkers.

Suddenly Baz called ‘Stop!’ and they all obeyed, looking around in confusion. All Simmy could see was a rough semicircle of rocks, some piled on top to suggest a sort of crude, low doorway. The mossy ground covering had been scuffed, with small black clods of soil showing.

‘That’s a copper mine,’ said Ben, with implacable certainty.

‘So it is,’ Baz smiled. ‘Or, to be more accurate, it’s a side vent, made for emergency evacuation, as well as providing extra ventilation.’

‘Not very deep, then?’

‘Wait and see.’

‘Are we meant to go down there?’ Melanie’s voice was a squeal of panic. ‘Is that why you’ve made us come all this way?’

‘Um …’ said Ben. ‘Can you see what I see?’ He pointed to a hollow, fifty yards away.

Everyone looked. Simmy saw the top half of a blue Transit van. ‘Is that yours?’ she said to Baz.

He smiled again. ‘This is where we part company. I’ve done the decent thing. You can take it from here. I’ll be on my way, if it’s all right with you.’

Nobody spoke for a moment, all blinking at Baz and each other. Then Ben spoke. ‘No. It is not all right with us. You’re a killer and a kidnapper. We’re not going to just let you go.’

‘That’s right,’ confirmed Melanie uncertainly.

‘I’m no killer,’ shouted Baz. ‘Why do you keep saying that?’

‘Because you’ve got the murder weapon round your middle,’ said Simmy impatiently. ‘You showed it to us.’

Baz spluttered in frustration, sensing a checkmate situation. He took a step towards his vehicle, and then stopped and stamped his foot. ‘I’m no killer,’ he said again, like a little boy. To emphasise the point, albeit irrationally, he drew out the knife and waved it at them. ‘Just stop saying I am, okay?’

‘What, then?’ Ben challenged. ‘What’s this all about? What the hell are you playing at?’

‘Ask her.’ Baz tipped his chin towards Daisy. ‘She knows.’

The girl’s eyes widened and she put up a defensive hand. ‘Don’t you put this on me, you pig. I’ve been trying to stay out of it all along.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ Simmy exploded. ‘My friend’s down there in the dark and you lot just stand here arguing. Kathy’s what matters, now. How do we get into this mine, anyway?’ She kicked at a stone, jarring herself painfully. ‘Ouch!’

‘She’s right,’ said Melanie crossly. ‘We’re supposed to be a rescue party.’ She pulled a face. ‘Otherwise there’s going to be a second body out here on the fells.’

‘Not to mention a third down there in Coniston,’ muttered Ben.

‘The entrance is behind the rocks,’ said Baz. ‘It’s got a stone slab over it. Just lift it up and there should be enough light to show you the way. I forgot to suggest you bring a torch.’ There was still a childish sulk in his voice, as if he was being badly misunderstood and didn’t like it. ‘I’m going now, so don’t try to stop me,’ he added defiantly. ‘I’ll be out of the country by teatime, and in a few days, the results of our experiment will be hitting the headlines.’

Simmy ignored him and walked round the stones to discover a square concrete slab, as Baz had described. ‘Help me do this,’ she ordered, addressing all three youngsters equally. ‘It looks heavy.’

Daisy was the first to join her, and they had the trapdoor lifted a few inches before Melanie came to their assistance. Together they heaved it aside, ignoring the men who were still squaring up to each other like stags or fighting cocks. Simmy had a pang of alarm at the thought that Baz might actually stab Ben, but her greater worry was for her friend.

‘Kathy!’ she shouted. ‘Are you down there?’ The tunnel ran obliquely downwards, as far as she could see, which was only eight or ten feet in. Beyond that it was invisibly dark.

A muffled cry floated up, producing a mixture of fear and relief in Simmy. ‘She’s there! Come on, we’ve got to get her out.’

‘Um …’ said Melanie, eyeing the tunnel. ‘There’s not space for all of us, is there? I mean – just one person can do it, don’t you think?’

‘Melanie Todd, you’re a coward,’ flashed Simmy. ‘Kathy! It’s me, Simmy. I’m coming to get you.’

She crawled head first into the hole without another thought. Realising there were rungs fixed to the side of the tunnel, she withdrew her head and turned round, backing in, and feeling for the strips of metal with her feet. The tunnel was about four feet in diameter, the walls dry and reasonably smooth. The worst thing was the darkness, which became almost total as she blocked the light with her own body. Something scratched her cheek, but she kept going, trying not to think about the return climb, with Kathy somehow beside her.

It was a much shorter distance than she had expected. She felt something under her foot as she took another fumbling step down. The thing was making wordless sounds. She cautiously lowered herself, realising she had passed the final rung, reached out and found a shoulder, then a face, with hair. It was cold. ‘Simmy!’ Kathy croaked. ‘I tried to scream, but my throat’s too dry.’

‘It’s okay now. It’s all going to be fine.’ She realised the shoulder she’d felt had been at an odd angle, and traced her friend’s arm down to the bound hands behind her back. ‘Gosh, this must be painful,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll see if I can untie it.’ But the knotted cord had pulled tight, and in darkness it was impossible to unpick it. ‘Sorry. I can’t do it. We need a light and a knife. Hang on.’

‘Ben!’ she yelled. ‘Her hands are tied behind her back. We’ll never get her out like this. We need a knife.’

The boy’s voice came back to her, much closer than she’d expected. ‘We haven’t got one,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to push her out between us. Stand clear – I’m coming down.’

‘Where’s Baz?’

‘We let him go,’ said the boy tersely. ‘For now.’

‘Good. Except we could use that knife of his.’

Suddenly the boy was on top of them, literally. The resulting tangle took some moments to sort out. Simmy felt a patch of cold dampness somewhere on Kathy’s lower regions and realised with a sad sort of horror that she’d been forced to wet herself. That alone implied that a lasting trauma might well result from her experience.

‘Kathy, Kathy,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll have you out in no time. Then we …’ she stopped, wondering what exactly would happen next. They had no water with them, no
means of carrying Kathy back to warmth and comfort. ‘Then we’ll get you some help,’ she finished feebly.

‘What’s happening?’ called Melanie from the top of the tunnel. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘We’ve got Kathy, but she’s tied up. We’ll try and push her up to you. Can you reach in and help her when we get near the top?’ Simmy’s voice sounded muffled in her own ears, the underground acoustic subdued by the enclosed space. Claustrophobia threatened to grip and paralyse her, the air feeling thick and cold in her lungs.

‘Okay.’ Melanie sounded doubtful. ‘Hurry up, then. There’s something happening over by that van.’

‘Come on,’ Ben urged.

‘There’s no way she can get up there with her hands behind her back,’ said Simmy flatly. You’ll have to go and find something to cut the string. Even then, she’s going to be dreadfully sore and stiff.’

‘Can’t we
pull
her up somehow?’

‘If you can get that box open, it might have something useful in it,’ croaked Kathy. ‘Baz said it had his equipment in.’

‘If it has, he’s going off without it. It can’t be anything important.’ Simmy felt desperately useless. ‘I can’t see a box, anyway. I can’t see
anything
.’

‘It’s there just behind you. Made of wood with sharp corners.’

Simmy felt cautiously around, and located the chest. To her surprise, the lid lifted easily, once she had grasped the front two corners. Kathy, of course, could never have managed it with her useless hands. Inside was a jumble of clattery objects that felt like tools, some balled-up paper
and a piece of rope. The tools raised a hope that she might find something to cut Kathy’s binding, but they resolved themselves into two hammers and a trowel; nothing so useful as a saw or chisel. ‘Rope!’ she said, trying to assess its length. ‘Or some kind of halter, maybe. It’s got a knot in it that slides up and down.’

‘Let’s have a feel,’ said Ben. She clumsily passed it to him. ‘If we can loop it round Kathy, under her arms, one of us can go in front and use it to take her weight. Then the other can guide her from below. She can step up the rungs, can’t she? So the rope would be more for balance.’

‘Sounds very risky to me,’ worried Simmy. ‘How do we loop it under her arms, for a start?’

‘She can step into it, and we work it up her body.’

‘Who’s going in front?’

‘Me, I suppose,’ said the boy. ‘It’ll have to go round my middle, because you’re still getting over broken bones in that area.’

‘Is it long enough for that?’

‘Just. I think.’

‘We ought to get Melanie down here. She’s stronger than either of us.’

‘She’s too big,’ he said.

It was true. Melanie’s size would be a hindrance for several reasons. ‘Try it, then,’ she invited him. ‘Kathy, he seems to know what he’s doing. Is it okay with you?’

‘Just get me out,’ rasped the prisoner.

In a darkness that had slowly grown less absolute, they fumbled and wriggled, with false starts and slipping knots, until Kathy and Ben were bound together in a clinch that saw her head wedged between his knees. Somehow
he straightened them out, and began a slow painful climb upwards.

Kathy was a dead weight at first as she failed to find any purchase with her feet, and Ben groaned from the strain and urged Simmy to do what she could from below. Simmy did her best to raise her friend far enough for her feet to connect with the lowest rung. Her legs were rubbery, the whole exercise impeded by her numb exhaustion. But gradually, rung by rung, they crawled upwards. It grew lighter and Mel’s voice sounded closer as she kept asking for a progress report. At last Kathy’s weight lessened, as Melanie grabbed her under both arms and exerted her own not insubstantial efforts. Like a painful forceps delivery, Kathy finally slid out onto open ground, leaving Ben and Simmy to scramble out after her, panting hard.

They all lay there for a minute, blinking at the light. Simmy heard men’s voices shouting not far off, and looked round. ‘Where’s Daisy?’ she asked.

‘Over there,’ said Melanie, pointing at the hollow containing the blue van. ‘There’s a man.’

‘What man?’ The question was foolish, but Simmy’s mind was not functioning quite as it should. Almost all of her attention was on her friend, who was weeping helplessly.

‘Kathy, you’re all right now. All we need is a knife to cut this bloody string round your wrists.’

‘Here. Let me see,’ said Melanie. ‘Gosh, that must hurt! It’s cutting right into your skin. I think I might have something, though. Hang on.’ She rummaged in her jacket pocket and brought out a cluster of keys. ‘I can probably unpick the knot with one of these.’ She knelt behind Kathy
and set to work. ‘Fancy using such thin string. He’s a real amateur, isn’t he. Sorry!’ Kathy had squealed as the key accidentally jabbed her sore wrist. ‘It’s coming now.’ Using her fingernails, she gently loosened the knot, strand by strand, until it was free. ‘There!’

Kathy’s arms parted slowly and stiffly. ‘Aargghh!’ she moaned. ‘That hurts.’

‘She needs water. And a blanket,’ said Simmy. ‘Ben?’ She blinked. ‘Where is he?’

‘Over there,’ said Melanie again. The whole group seemed to be reforming in the hollow, where important action was clearly going on. ‘We’re going to have to phone for help or else use that van. It’s not over yet, Sim.’