You Can Trust Me: A Novel Page 32

  And then he smiles. “Calm down, Livy. I’m taking you to the children. Trust me.”

  LIVY

  God pours out love upon all with a lavish hand, but He reserves vengeance for His very own.

  —Mark Twain

  Livy found my place. My home from home, for goodness’ sake. Trust Alexa bloody Carling to be right in the middle of that mess. The woman’s not just a whore, she’s a black hole.

  Livy found my box too. Just like Poppy did. Except that stupid Poppy only took the locket to sell to pay her debts. Livy and that idiot boyfriend of Julia’s took the whole box, to expose me.

  How dare they?

  I am white hot with fury. Never have I taken more pleasure in slicing skin and seeing blood spurt and sluice.

  Damian’s death calmed me. Yet it was rushed, a hurried, inelegant kind of murder. Likewise the disposal of the body. With Livy, I will regain my equilibrium, then exceed all former achievements.

  I have a plan. Sheer bliss, this moment of anticipation. And such sweet irony that I will bring the full might of my vengeance down on the sister of the only woman I have ever truly loved.

  If Kara was an angel, then Livy is the devil herself. And, like the devil, she shall be brought face-to-face with her own deepest, darkest shame. Yes. Now … here … through Livy … I will create a new, dark poetry.

  I will not write more. Not yet. Not until it is done. Ah, now … “if it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well. It were done quickly…”

  My thoughts exactly.

  Back I go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It’s Paul. Paul, one of my oldest friends who, only a few hours ago, sat with me in my kitchen, sympathizing over the state of my marriage, sharing his own pain, his own story.

  I’m so shocked, I can hardly believe it. “You killed Julia? You killed Kara?”

  Paul looks me in the eye. In the light from the open trunk, I can see the strong curve of his cheek, the fierce press of his lips.

  “I did.” He sounds proud, almost arrogant.

  My legs buckle beneath me. He’s a killer. The killer. “And Damian? And Shannon?”

  “Yes.” Paul takes me by the wrist.

  “How? Why? I don’t understand. Paul, please, this is me. This is us.”

  Paul says nothing. I look around, desperate. The car he’s just pulled me out of is parked at the top of the cliff. With a jolt I realize it is Will’s Rover. Paul must have transferred me here from Damian’s car, so that I’ve just been lying inside my own trunk, with Zack’s scooter digging into my legs. I turn back to Paul in disbelief. “Where are Zack and Hannah?”

  He still says nothing. I yell out: “Zack! Hannah!”

  I expect Paul to tell me to shut up, but he just smiles. “There’s no one to help you here, Livy,” Paul says.

  The cliff edge is just a few meters away. I’m certain I know where we are now: about thirty or so miles from the vacation house where Damian and I found the box, where poor Damian was killed. We are close to Julia’s favorite spot, Bolt Head. It’s dark as pitch out to sea. What is Paul going to do?

  “Where are the kids? You said you’d take me to the kids?” I can’t take this in, can’t make sense of any of it. Beyond the cliff edge, the rocks slope sharply downhill. Paul gives my wrist a yank. I stumble after him, past the car. Will is inside, his head slumped against the window, eyes closed.

  “Will!” I shout. “Will!”

  Will doesn’t wake. Is he drugged? Is he dead?

  Paul gives my arm a jerk. “Do be quiet,” he says, his voice sharp with irritation. “Will’s had the same drug you did. He can’t hear you.”

  “Will!” Paul drags me beyond the car. “Will!”

  “Enough.” Paul slaps my face. I gasp—more at the shock that Paul has hit me than at the pain. My cheek stings as Paul pulls me a few more meters along the side of the cliff. I’m trying to twist around, to look back at the car. I don’t notice the small hut, part set into the cliff face, until we reach the door. A huge boulder stands outside it. Still holding me by the wrist, Paul reaches for the crowbar propped against the boulder.

  I pull away, straining against his grip, kicking out.

  Paul wrenches my arm painfully back. “Hannah and Zack are in here,” he hisses. “Don’t you want to see them?”

  I stop moving, frozen at the menace in his voice. Paul takes the crowbar and levers the boulder from in front of the door. He pushes me inside. It’s dark. Cold. The only light a paraffin lamp in the corner. Two small figures are on the ground beside it.

  Paul lets go of my wrist. I stumble forward. As the door slams behind me, one of the figures hurtles toward me. I see a flash of blond hair and then she’s on me, burying her head into my chest, clinging to me like her life depends on it.

  “Hannah.”

  “Oh, Mummy, Mummy.” She is sobbing, loud, hysterical.

  I hold her. “Hannah.” My voice is croaky. I turn. Paul has gone. I push at the door, putting all my weight into opening it. It won’t budge.

  Hannah’s sobs slowly subside. I lead her across the room, to the lamp. Zack is lying curled up beside it. His eyes are shut. I bend over him, holding Hannah tight. I shake his shoulder. “Zack?” He’s still unconscious. My head throbs as I wrap my arms around Hannah again and slump to the ground. After a moment, my eyes adjust to the lamp’s dim glow. The hut has a low ceiling, less than six feet off the ground. Apart from the lamp, it is empty—bare concrete walls and floor. A draft whips in under the locked door. There are dried bloodstains on my top and my hands from Damian. I rock my daughter back and forth as she sobs. “What happened, Hannah?”

  “Paul brought us here, he made Zack sick, he tied Daddy up.” Her voice is tiny and terrified, her words tumbling over each other.

  I hug her to me. “Hey, slow down. I’m here. Tell me what happened.”

  Hannah shakes in my arms. “Daddy picked me up from Romayne’s. He already had Zack. He was in a bad mood and he had already let Zack sit in the front, which meant I couldn’t, so I had to get in the back.”

  “Go on.”

  “So we get home and Paul comes over before we’ve even got out of the car and he and Daddy talk about a motorcycle, then Paul gets in the back next to me, which was weird. Then he got out a knife and … and he was going to kill me unless Daddy drives.” She dissolves into tears.

  “Oh, my God.” I hold her tighter, stroking her arms. She is shivering. I pull her closer. “What happened next?”

  “So Zack starts screaming. And Paul says to him to stop but he doesn’t, so Daddy tells him. Then the man gets out a water bottle and makes Zack drink some. Then he makes me drink some but it’s salty but he makes me. And we drive along. And then I don’t remember anymore.”

  I nod. The image of Damian with his throat cut fills my head again. I almost vomit. I glance down at Zack. If all three of us have been drugged, why is Zack the only one still unconscious?

  “Why is this happening, Mummy?” Hannah curls herself into a ball at my side. She seems so young, almost as little as Zack suddenly.

  “I don’t know.” I lean against the wall behind me, letting my head clear. Unbelievable though it is, Paul killed Damian and Julia and Shannon—and my baby sister. I think of how Kara was brutalized before she died and my blood runs cold at the thought of what Paul is capable of.

  “Mummy, there’s something else.” I open my eyes and Hannah looks up at me, her expression full of fear and pain. There’s a dirty smudge on her cheek. I smooth it away.

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “I took something…” Hannah’s voice shakes. “A while ago.”

  I frown. “I don’t—”

  “It was the day we found Julia.”

  I stare at her. “What do you mean?”

  Hannah clasps her hands together. She is trembling.

  “It’s okay,” I say, trying to reassure her. “Just tell me.”

  “It was Julia’s ring,” Hannah confesses with a
sob. “I took it from her bedroom while you were outside with Zack. I’m sorry, Mummy, I know it was wrong. I just saw it there and…” Her words dissolve into tears.

  “Hey, Hannah, it’s okay, it’s all right.” I hug my daughter to me, rocking her to and fro again. “It doesn’t matter.” I thought it was Will. I accused Will.

  “I hid it in Daddy’s toolbox, ’cause you’re always saying he never uses it, so I knew no one would think to look there!” she wails.

  “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter now.” I chew on my lip. So Will didn’t take the ring. He had nothing to do with Julia’s death. And now he is tied up in our car, outside.

  What is Paul going to do to him? Why isn’t he in here with the rest of us? A cold chill creeps through me. I don’t care what Will has done, the affair with Catrina … I still love my husband. I didn’t know how much until this moment. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose my children.

  These thoughts circle me like an animal as Hannah’s sobs subside again. I stroke her cheek, wiping the tears away. She looks younger than ever, and so beautiful, her eyes bright blue and shining, her skin pale and clear.

  “It really doesn’t matter about the ring, Hannah. I found it and I was just talking to Daddy about—”

  “I know.” Hannah’s mouth trembles. “I heard you arguing. You thought he took it, didn’t you? That was why you got angry. That was why he left, wasn’t it?” Her whole face crumples.

  I stare at her, horrified that she has understood—and yet misunderstood—so much.

  “No,” I start, eager to reassure her. “Daddy and I were having problems nothing to do with—”

  The sound of a key turning, then the door slams open. Hannah and I jump. Turn. I scramble to my feet as Paul walks in. He is still dressed from head to toe in his white plastic suit and tight rubber gloves, though without the mask over his face.

  He’s making sure he leaves no trace.

  Hannah scrambles behind my back. I shield her, glancing to check Zack, still unconscious on the floor.

  Paul stares at us.

  “Why are we here? What are you going to do?”

  He says nothing.

  For a second I consider grabbing Hannah’s hand and trying to rush past him. I can’t see his knife, and the door is wide open, the cold sea air whipping in and sending goose bumps up my arms. Then I remember Zack. There is no way I could make it through the door with both children. I doubt I could even pick up Zack. And what about Will?

  Paul just stares. His eyes are bright, glinting in the lamplight.

  “What do you want?” My voice falters.

  No response.

  “Hannah, come here.” Paul holds out his hand.

  Hannah shrinks away, clutching me, whimpering.

  “No,” I say, panic rising.

  Paul strides toward us, hand still outstretched. I shove Hannah behind me. “No,” I repeat. “Please, no.”

  Paul smiles and his eyes crinkle. For a sick second it strikes me that he thinks he is being charming. “She’s so like Kara,” he says. “I didn’t really see it before, but tonight…”

  I gasp. He grabs Hannah by the wrist. She goes limp, releasing me, surrendering to him.

  “No.” Instinct takes me forward. I put my arm up to force his away. But with his free hand, Paul pushes me back. Hard. I fall to the ground beside Zack.

  Hannah screams. “Mummy! Mummy!”

  Paul has her halfway across the room now. “Quiet!”

  “Hannah!” I scramble to my feet, but he’s dragging her through the door. Slamming it shut in my face. Hannah’s cry fades into silence.

  “Come back!” I yell. “Bring her back!”

  But they are gone. I press my ear against the cold stone door, but all I can hear is the faint whoosh of the waves outside.

  I thump on the door. “Help! Come back!” It’s useless. I turn away, too shocked, too scared to cry. I can barely breathe. Zack is still unconscious. I go over, bend down and touch his face, smoothing his hair back. He still doesn’t wake. For the first time I’m glad. I don’t want him to see me like this, so utterly terrified.

  I pace up and down. The room is only ten paces long and five paces wide. Solid concrete. No windows. No way out apart from the door. I check Zack again. I can’t find anything physically wrong; he’s just not waking up. What is Paul doing with Hannah? I think about what the killer did—what Paul did—to Kara before he killed her.

  Oh, Jesus. Bile rises into my throat; my breath is jagged. I can’t keep still.

  Think, Livy. I force myself to sit. To breathe. I have to try to work out what to do.

  I count ten slow breaths, but jerky images fill my head. Damian covered in blood. Will in our car, unconscious. And now Hannah, her mouth open in a scream as the man who has taken her presses one hand against her throat, forcing her down. I make myself stare at Zack, trying to follow his own, steady breathing.

  “Help me,” I pray into the void. “Help me.”

  My mind won’t keep still. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. I realize I have absolutely no idea what time it is. From the way the sky looked outside, I’d say somewhere between 3 and 4 A.M., but I can’t be sure.

  The door opens again, and Paul comes in. He’s alone. I stand over Zack. “Where’s Hannah?” I demand. “What have you done with her? Where’s Will?”

  Paul tilts his head to one side, watching me. It’s unnerving. A beat passes. A new resolution forms in my guts. I will not let this man harm my family. I will die before I will let that happen.

  “I need Zack,” Paul says.

  I glance down at my boy. Agonizing tears roil up inside me. “No, you’re not taking him.” I clench my fists, ready to fight. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

  Paul chuckles as if I’ve missed the point entirely. “No, Livy. You’re coming too. Pick him up.”

  I try to haul Zack into my arms, but he’s too heavy. I end up half carrying, half dragging him across the room. Outside, I look around for the car. It’s still there, but I can’t make out whether or not Will is still inside. It’s lighter now, almost dawn. Paul directs me down the cliff edge, to a small, rocky ledge high above the sea. Hannah is already lying there.

  I gasp.

  “She’s just unconscious,” Paul explains. “I gave her some more GHB, same as everyone else has had.”

  “GHB?” I turn to him. “What’s that?”

  “A date rape drug,” he says. “Like Rohypnol, but it acts faster. No trace after a few hours.”

  “Date rape?” I stare at him. “Have you—? Are you—?” I can’t bring myself to ask the question.

  Paul shoots me a contemptuous look. “For goodness’ sake, Livy,” he says. “She’s a child.”

  He directs me to lie Zack down beside Hannah. His dark head nestles next to her blond one. They look like they are sleeping.

  “What are you going to do to them, then?” My whole body is trembling, but I am hyperalert, seeing everything sharp and clear.

  Paul smiles, and I remember the many evenings he and Becky and Will and I have spent together and how kind he was when he came to the house earlier. My head spins. How can someone so normal, a person I have been friends with for almost twenty years be doing this?

  “Aren’t you concerned about your husband?” Paul asks dryly.

  “Yes, of course.” I look over toward the car again. I can just make out its shape in the light that seeps out from the hut door. I turn back to my captor.

  Paul smiles again, sensing my confusion. “My mother called and told me that she was almost certain one of her clients—an Olivia Small—had taken the set of keys Poppy was using—”

  “Your mother? You mean Alexa Carling?”

  Paul nods. “Remember I told you I’ve been staying in one of my mother’s properties while our house is remodeled and Becky is away? We talked about it at Leo and Martha’s party. I mentioned it earlier today as well.”

  Memories of these conversations filter through my brain. So Alexa
was the link, the reason why everything kept coming back to Honey Hearts.

  “Poppy’s my half sister,” Paul says. “I told you about her too—years ago.”

  I shake my head. I have no recollection of Paul ever talking about a sister. I vaguely remember his contempt for his mother back when we met as students. Paul was angry she had remarried. I definitely recall him saying he hated his stepfather, but did he mention a little sister? I can’t be sure.

  “Poppy got into drugs years ago. Not surprising, considering what a bastard her dad was. She hasn’t kicked it, though from time to time she persuades our mother she has.” Paul sighs. He doesn’t sound angry now, just sorrowful. I can’t make him out. It’s like we’re having a normal conversation. “Poppy got chucked out of her last place, so Mum insisted she stay in the rental with me for a few weeks. Then when she stole that locket … I couldn’t explain why it mattered so much. Mum was all about giving Poppy a second chance. And Poppy was trying. But I couldn’t have her stay after the locket, so I made it easy for Poppy to start using.” He sighs again. “It didn’t take much.”

  “You took that locket from my sister.” My head can’t process what I know to be true. “You took it when you killed her. She was only eighteen.”

  “I know,” he says. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she? An angel.”

  He seems genuinely moved by Kara’s memory. I don’t understand him. I don’t understand any of this. “How could you?”

  Paul rolls his eye. “Such predictable questions. Don’t you want to ask me about my father? It’s his fault Poppy found you earlier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Poppy overheard me talking about you on the phone to Dad … Leo … this morning. That’s how she worked out you were looking for the locket.”

  I frown. “What’s Leo got to do with this?”

  Paul smirks. “Poor Julia thought Leo was your sister’s murderer.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I told Poppy the box containing the locket belonged to my dad, that I was storing it for him. Poppy told Shannon. Shannon told Julia.”

  “Does Leo know you said that? Does he know what … who you really are? Does anyone … Martha? Becky?”