John paused at that, and his mind went back to what he knew about Henry before he arrived, and what he had been told. He shook his head. ‘I know him differently now.’
‘From what? The petty thief? The burglar? The fraudster? What about the sex offender, that kid at the party? Did you know about that? He doesn’t mention that too much, does he, how he went to prison for buggering some teenage boy.’
John swallowed. He glanced back and could see people gathering outside the house, just visible through the trees, cast against the light shining through the doorway.
‘Why do you think he ended up hanging around with the likes of us?’ Dawn continued. ‘Because he was shunned everywhere else. For his violence, his attitude, the way he thinks the world owes him for his own failures.’
‘You need to keep your voice down,’ John said. ‘We’ve all trodden difficult paths to get here.’
She screeched with laughter and then wiped her mouth with her hand. ‘Do you believe all that? It was fun, John, that’s all. But Henry had to take control, because he does that, likes being the focus, except that this time people listened to him. And if they want to believe it enough, they start to believe it, because it gives them answers. But it was never meant to be like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘Murder.’
John’s eyes widened.
‘We were peaceful, loving,’ she continued. ‘Not killers.’
‘Who has he killed?’ John’s grip loosened on her arm.
‘Look around you,’ she said. ‘The stones you’re so fond of, the Seven Sisters.’
John was confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t know, do you?’ When he didn’t answer, she continued, ‘It’s not a memorial, or a legacy, John. It’s a graveyard.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘People have tried to run away in the past, or have stood up to him, or not done as he said.’ She flicked her hand towards the field. ‘They are all there, under the ground, a stone for each of them.’
John looked over, the blood rushing through his head making sounds disappear, the shadows amongst the trees getting darker.
‘Seven?’ he said, eventually.
‘Get a spade, John,’ she said. ‘Dig around the stones and you’ll find them, the ones who tried to leave. That was the message – that if you threaten Henry, you die. Fear keeps us together, not love, or fellowship, or revolutions.’
John tried to take in what Dawn had just said. He looked back towards the field again, and the stones seemed different now. Darker. Colder. He looked at the woman in front of him, and he thought back to the nights he had spent with Henry, the truths that Henry had asked him to believe.
‘I’m scared, John,’ Dawn continued, her voice broken by sobs. ‘That’s why I’m still here, because I’m a coward. Henry made us take part, like it was some kind of thrill taken too far, our joint secret.’
‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘You’ve heard of Billy Privett, and that poor girl, Alice, who was found in his pool?’
‘Billy Privett? What has he got to do with this?’
‘Because he’s got money, and Henry wanted it, like he wants yours. That’s all you are, an asset to be stripped. You’ve got a house, and you’ve got money. Henry saw it in the paper.’
‘But what about the girl at the party, Alice?’
Before Dawn could explain, Gemma appeared further along the path, striding towards them. Her mouth was set, her fists clenched.
Dawn looked up at John, her eyes pleading, tears making a slow trail down her cheeks.
Gemma marched past him and grabbed Dawn by the arm.
‘Back to the house,’ Gemma barked at her, and then looked at John. ‘Henry said someone would betray us. Don’t listen to her.’
And with that, Gemma pulled on Dawn, making her get to her feet. Once she was standing, Gemma gripped her hair and started to drag her, stumbling, back along the path.
‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ Dawn shouted, her voice desperate. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
John walked behind them. He looked at the standing stones as he got closer and started to think that he should have let Dawn escape, because what if she was telling the truth, that there were people under the ground? Then Gemma turned to smile at him, and he felt the same flutter in his chest whenever she did that. A glow, a warm feeling inside, despite what had happened. He knew then that he couldn’t leave just yet, because he couldn’t abandon Gemma. He loved her, he had known that from the start, and so he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Charlie moved quickly along the alley, despite the pain in his shoulder, always keeping an eye on the exit, waiting for someone to appear. The walls were high, and so for as long as he kept in the shadows he was safe. Then he passed an open gate, a thin stream of light just reaching across the bricks. He glanced in and saw someone he recognised. A client, sitting on his back step, smoking.
‘Patrick?’ he said, sighing in relief.
The smoker stopped and peered into the gloom, his cigarette disappearing into his hand. ‘Who is it?’
Charlie stepped into the light that was coming from the kitchen door.
‘Fucking hell, Charlie Barker,’ Patrick said, laughing. ‘What the fuck are you doing, creeping around behind my house?’
Charlie shrugged, and then winced as his shoulder sent a sharp stab of pain. As he looked down, he saw that his suit was ripped where his knees had hit the floor. ‘Trying not to get killed.’
Patrick must have noticed Charlie’s blood-stained and torn clothes, because his gaze went to his body and then back up to his face. His look grew serious. ‘Oh yeah, man, I heard about Miss Diaz. It was on the news. What the fuck’s going on?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ Charlie said, breathing heavily, the relief chasing the adrenaline away. ‘Except that some people don’t like the idea.’ He looked at his hand. It was shaking. ‘Look, can we go inside, Patrick? I need some help.’
Patrick nodded and got to his feet. ‘You’ve always been there for me, man. Come in.’
Charlie mumbled his thanks and followed Patrick inside.
The house was a typical terraced house, except without the kitchen extension. There was a room at the back and one at the front, and then straight onto the street. Once the door closed, Patrick opened out his palm to reveal what he had been smoking outside, and Charlie got the hot, sweet smell of relaxation.
Charlie reached out for it, and as he passed it over, Patrick looked surprised. Charlie inhaled deeply, the roach wet from Patrick’s lips, but it was what he needed. ‘I wasn’t always a lawyer,’ he said, and the pain began to recede from the wound in his shoulder.
‘What the fuck happened to you, man?’ Patrick said, his voice low.
‘I fell down some steps,’ Charlie said, and then passed the reefer back. ‘Have you got a car?’
‘Depends who’s asking,’ Patrick said, and grinned.
Charlie smiled, despite himself. ‘Call it legal privilege.’
‘I