The Lornea Island Detective Club Read online

Again I've got no idea what she means by this, so I try to go on with what I came here to say.

  "I wanted to say sorry about the police."

  That makes her pause, just for a second, as she's lifting her glass to her cracked, thin lips, I see the withered definition in the muscles of her arm. It must be weird to be old, and have your body decaying all around you. And your mind.

  "I rather brought that upon myself. I do sometimes get carried away, stuck out here all on my own, I get muddled." She takes a tiny sip then puts the glass down. There are coasters on the table and I notice how she puts it precisely in the middle of the one in front of her. I straighten my glass too, so that it's not overhanging the coaster she put for me.

  "The doctors tell me I have dementia." She screws up her face at the word. "It's such a bore – I do hope they'll have found a cure before you get to my age. It makes me forget things. When I first called you I had quite forgotten what happened to Henry. I had myself in a right pickle about it."

  She stops, so I ask her. "But you remember now?"

  "Oh yes."

  I want to ask her if he went to Maui, but I don't know if it's the right thing to do, to remind someone that their husband ran away.

  "I remember where I buried him now."

  I know you won’t believe me, but at that exact moment another cloud goes over the sun, a really big, thick one this time, and everything really does go dark this time. Or maybe it’s just feels like it because, sitting out here with Mrs Jacobs and no one else for miles around, is a little bit scary.

  "Pardon?"

  "I remember now where I buried him."

  I swallow carefully. "Where?" I ask, because what else can I ask?

  But then she starts talking about something completely different, so I wonder for a moment if I imagined what she said.

  "You know, when Wendy and Eric were little they used to love it out here. They would play all summer long. Water fights, they used to love water fights. Do you enjoy water fights Mr. Billy?"

  I open my mouth then close it again. Eventually I shrug.

  “Not much.”

  "Eric loved it like nothing else. He would get himself soaked. And Wendy was very much a serious child, but that was one thing that made her loosen up." She's lost for a moment, absorbed by her own memories. I try to remind myself that, whatever she says, it's just the madness speaking. She doesn't really remember where she buried him, because she didn’t bury him. They're just words.

  "That's why I told you Henry was under the school gym. Because that's what I always told Wendy, when she was little. I thought it would be strange for her, the idea of playing out here otherwise."

  Mrs. Jacobs looks around the garden, and then she smiles.

  I know they're just words, but I can't help myself try to work out what they mean.

  "Why would that be strange?"

  Mrs. Jacobs waits until she sees my eyes fix onto hers, and then she glances down to the ground. It looks very deliberate.

  "Oh come now Mr. Billy," She slides her eyes down a second time, and this time I follow them, and then notice the ground beneath my feet for the first time. It's made up of large stone slabs, each a half-meter square, their tops bleached by the sun.

  "It would have been strange, don't you think? To grow up playing out here, knowing your father was hidden right beneath your feet?"

  I don't believe her. Or maybe I don't want to believe her. "He's in Maui. Or he went to Maui, that's what Principal Sharpe told us."

  "Because that's what we told everybody who asked. Not that many people dared to ask. You didn’t in those days. It was more a hint here, a nudge there, to all the gossips on the island. Just enough that everyone knew where he'd gone, but no one felt able to talk about it." She laughs suddenly. "Do you know I even travelled to Maui? I posted back birthday cards, so they'd have the correct post mark, in case the police ever became suspicious. But they never did. Not until you got involved of course."

  I don’t reply.

  "You don't believe me? Or, you're not sure what to believe any more?" She looks sad now. "You came here to apologize to me Mr. Billy, but it's me who should be apologizing. For everything I’ve done.”

  "Look at me Mr. Billy, tell me what you see?"

  I do what she says, the first part at least. I see a frail old woman, with flesh that droops from the bones on her arms. The skin flakey and cracked.

  "Tell me!"

  I jump, shocked by how fierce she sounds. "An old lady?"

  She smiles at this, then slumps back a little in her chair.

  "An old lady who has lied her whole adult life. Do you know what that's like? A life of deception? I’ve plotted and schemed and connived and covered up, always believing myself and my children on the brink of a terrible peril if the truth were ever to come out. But do you know what's worse than being found out?" She looks away suddenly, and I see water forming in her eyes. When she looks back she's smiling through tears.

  "Not being found out. Left to fade away, alone, and realizing that no one ever really cared. Mr. Billy, I murdered my husband and I hid his body and I made it my life's work to get away with it. Until I found out, I never wanted to get away with it. Not forever."

  There's no way I can't not believe her now. I don't know what's happening to her, but it's not madness. Not craziness. She's telling me the truth now, I'm sure of it. I just don't have a clue what to do about it.

  Mrs. Jacobs begins tapping her foot now, like she's getting impatient. "There's a shovel. In the shed over there," she points. “Would you be a darling and go fetch it?"

  I don't move.

  "Why?"

  "Because I've put you in a pickle. You know where Henry is, but you can't tell anyone, not after going to the police once with your story of him being under the school gymnasium. No one will ever believe you without proof. "

  I don't answer, I just listen.

  "I'm sure you have one of those cell phones on you? They’re all young people seem to look at these days. With a camera?"

  I nod.

  "Well then. A strong young man like you can easily prize up these slabs, and then you can get your proof. I don't suppose there'll be much left other than bones by now. But you can take a photograph. And then you won't have to worry about not being believed."

  Still I don’t move, but she just stares at me with a weird, horrible smile on her face. And even though I don’t want to, I find myself slowly climbing to my feet.

  Seventy-Two

  The tool shed is cool and dark. Neatly organized. It smells of cut grass from a big petrol mower that takes up most of the space. I find the shovel easily enough, leaning up inside the door. I pick it up, feeling its weight. I walk back with it, and I wait for more instructions.

  "You might need to lift up a few slabs Mr. Billy," Mrs. Jacobs says. She's put the tray with the drinks on the lawn, and she's dragged the table over to one side. "I think you should start with this one."

  I don't though. Not for a long time. I just stand there, with the shovel in front of me, wondering how I got into this, and how I can get out of it. I want to throw the shovel down, run back through the house and get as far away from here as I can. I could too. I don't suppose Mrs. Jacobs could do much to stop me. But if I did that, I still wouldn't know for sure. And even after everything I've been through, I do want to know the truth.

  "If you put the edge between the slabs here, you should be able to lever them up." She comes towards me. I can see how frail she is. It kind of gives me the confidence to do what she says. I step forward and scrape away at the dirt that's built up between the paving slabs.

  "That's it Mr. Billy. That's it."

  I put my foot on the top of the shovel and force it down between the slabs. I lean back on the handle, pushing my weight into leveraging up the first slab. It resists, but only for a moment, then it breaks free, cracking the mud all around it. I get a glimpse of yellow sand underneath before the weight of it pulls the slab back down. I think I expe
ct to see something horrific there, but it's just sand.

  "You'll need to get your hands underneath it dear. Then you can drag it onto the grass." There’s enthusiasm in her voice. A weird enthusiasm.

  I lift the slab again, and this time I put my foot on the handle of the shovel, keeping the blade under the concrete so that I can get my fingers under each side. It's heavy, but not too heavy. I manoeuvre it away to the side and drop it onto the lawn. Then I look back. Now there’s a glaring square hole in the patio. Squashed flat sand. Cut into it are channels dug out by ants, they look like a river seen from space.

  "You'll need to lift a few more, and then dig down. Just a little." Mrs. Jacobs says.

  With the first one gone it's easier, and the square of yellow sand quickly doubles then quadruples in size. I have to concentrate so hard on moving the slabs I can almost trick myself into not knowing why I'm doing it. But when I have six slabs moved she tells me to stop. I remember then.

  “Now dig the sand out. Carefully mind.”

  I grab the shovel again, and gently scrape at the sand, cutting through the ant runs. I make myself think about them, instead of what I’m actually looking for. They’re old runs, fortunately, I’m not disturbing an actual live nest…

  "Come on Mr. Billy, put your back into it. He’s further down than that."

  Her words bring me back. I stop for a moment, but then I try to empty my head completely, and I crunch the shovel properly into the sand. I balance a load on the shovel, then lift it out. I start a pile on the patio. It's years since I made a sandcastle, but that's what I think of now. Summer days with Dad, when I was little.

  Quickly the sand builds up. A couple of times I unearth a stone, and get a jolt of panic that it's something else. I can hardly look at the hole I'm digging. I'm expecting to see a ghastly death mask of Henry Jacobs, with flesh still falling from his face, and I wish now I hadn't started this. But it's hard to stop. Then my shovel hits something hard.

  She claps her hands together and leans right over me.

  “I think you’ve found him. Scrape the sand off Mr. Billy. Careful now.”

  I do what she says, revealing something buried in the hole.

  The color is the off-white that bones turn when they're old. I know it well enough from identifying animal skulls I've found in the past. And from the shape I can tell this is a skull too. The back of it, although I've never seen a human skull before. Very carefully I insert the shovel to one side, and gently extract more sand so that more of the bone is revealed. I do this a couple of times more, until it's quite clear what I'm looking at – the rounded back of a skull, and part of a jaw bone. Then I stop and look at Mrs. Jacobs.

  She's standing by the hole, watching what I'm doing, and she's got her hands clasped against her chest. And she's crying again.

  "Oh Henry," she says, then she gives me a goofy look.

  Then I put down the shovel and pull out my phone to take a photograph. I'm a bit worried when I do this, that she might try to stop me, but she doesn't even seem to notice. I pull the phone from my backpack, I frame a photo so that it's clear what it is, and I press the shutter. Then I take another shot, this time pulling back to get the hole and Mrs. Jacobs’ house in the background – so the police know exactly where the body is buried. Then, since Mrs. Jacobs is still ignoring me, I attach the photo to a text message for Amber. I quickly type out the words.

  You were right. Sorry.

  "I'm going to go now Mrs. Jacobs.” Again I'm half-expecting her to try something to stop me. But I guess she knows I'd be stronger and faster than her. So she just gives me a smile.

  "Not yet dear," she says.

  I don't know what she means by this.

  "Why not?"

  "She'll be here any second."

  "Who will?"

  And then a voice calls out from inside the house. The last person I was expecting to see.

  "Mother?!"

  Seventy-Three

  Principal Sharpe moves quickly, like a spider when a fly lands in its web. She puts herself between where I'm standing and the door. I look around, there’s no other obvious way out.

  "Wendy, how nice of you to arrive so promptly," Mrs. Jacobs says. Then she turns to me.

  "Wendy installed a panic button. She said I had to use it if you or that girl ever came to harass me again. That was the word she used: ‘harass’. I did tell her you've only been perfectly polite, every time we’ve spoken. But I did press it Mr. Billy, all the same. I pressed it when you first arrived." She tilts her head onto one side, and goes back to gazing into the hole.

  Principal Sharpe takes in the scene. She's holding a purse, and she suddenly starts rifling through it, and I don't know what she's going to pull out, but then I'm shocked, and I guess maybe a bit weary to see it's a gun. It's only a small one, much smaller than the one that Vinny had, but it's still a gun. In my school principal's hands. She points it at Mrs. Jacobs for a second, but then she points it at me. I see the barrel wobble with how her hands are shaking,

  "What's going on? What on earth is going on?"

  "I wanted to introduce young Billy here to your father," Mrs. Jacobs says. She seems to be standing more upright now. Principal Sharpe puts her free hand over her mouth. Then she leans forward, looking into the hole I've dug.

  "Oh Christ," she says. "Mother. What have you done?"

  "I did tell you Wendy," Mrs. Jacobs says. She sounds totally calm. "That Henry was here. After they dug up the gym I told you. Don't you remember?"

  Principal Sharpe doesn't answer, she just takes in big gulps off air, like she's struggling to breathe.

  "And now I've decided to do the right thing."

  "The right thing? This isn't the right thing." Principal Sharpe turns on her and snaps. "You stupid woman. You stupid, crazy, deranged old woman. The right thing was keeping your mouth shut."

  Her eyes are crazy, swiveling this way and that.

  "You're so selfish. You think you can excuse your part in this, so you get to disappear with a clear conscience. But you don't think about others, you never did!"

  The gun isn’t pointing at me anymore. Principal Sharpe is waving it all over the place, and her attention is on Mrs. Jacobs. I look behind her, at the door. If I can slip behind her I can run. Maybe I can lose her somewhere in the house.

  "Have you considered it might be you I'm thinking about?" Mrs. Jacobs voice rises up now, like she's not calm anymore. "You think you can keep this hidden your whole life. But believe me, you don't want to keep it hidden."

  "Oh right? You know what I want do you? You know best? I'll tell you what I wanted, I wanted you to stay on the fucking medication and not embark upon this absurd..."

  "Language!" The tone of Mrs. Jacobs voice makes Principal Sharpe stop at once. It makes me freeze too, just as I’m about to sneak past Principal Sharpe’s back.

  "I did not bring you up to have cussing in my house."

  "Mr. Billy," Mrs. Jacobs turns towards me. It makes Sharpe notice me as well, and she snatches her arm across so the gun is pointing at me again.

  "We should really explain all this, since you've found yourself witness to an awkward family argument."

  Principal Sharpe actually looks at me now, I mean actually looks at me. I think she realizes she's pointing a weapon at one of her students. That’s not normal for school principals. It’s hard to get back from that. There’s a moment when she seems to acknowledge it with a twist of her lips. Then Mrs. Jacobs goes on speaking.

  "Wendy here was just a girl when it happened. She was unlucky enough to interrupt Henry doing what he did with her brother. I don't have to tell you what that was, do I Billy? I don't like to speak about things like that.”

  I don’t reply. I don’t take my eyes off Principal Sharpe.

  "I knew of course. About Henry and his tastes. I knew it was happening with some of the children at the school, but he always promised me it would stop, or that they liked it. Or that he'd be discreet – or whatever he thoug
ht I needed to hear. And times were different then. People didn’t make such a fuss as they do these days."

  "Mother!" Principal Sharpe’s voice is a warning to Mrs. Jacobs to stop, but the old woman carries on.

  "I confronted him about it, and... Well, you can see for yourself what happened." She gestures towards the hole in the patio, where the skull of Mr. Jacobs is still partially uncovered.

  "Eric was too young to know what had happened. I told him that Henry had gone away, just the same as I told everyone else. But that was never going to work with Wendy. So I made it our secret. I said her father had been so naughty, I’d had to put him under the school gym, and no one could ever know. And you might think a little girl wouldn't be able to keep such a secret, but Wendy did. She sucked it inside herself. She absorbed it. That secret became her. She even decided to become a teacher, so as to take a job at Henry's old school, and make sure the gym was never dug up. It was a little late, by then, to tell her that he was never there in the first place."

  Principal Sharpe glares at Mrs. Jacobs at that, and the hurt is visible in her eyes.

  “And that might have been the end of it,” Mrs Jacobs continues. “But then Eric started asking questions. Awkward questions."

  "Be quiet mother!" Principal Sharpe warns again. But again it has no effect.

  "He wanted to know where Henry was in Maui. Why he'd stopped writing birthday cards – Oh I couldn't keep disappearing to Hawaii. I should have had him move somewhere more convenient." She smiles.

  "It became an obsession with poor Eric. This wondering about his father. And he sensed there was something - something between Wendy and myself, that we weren't telling him. I don't know, perhaps a part of him remembered what happened when he was little?"

  "Mother, I'm warning you. I will use this thing." Principal Sharpe stops pointing the gun on me now and aims it at Mrs. Jacobs.

  But the old woman either doesn't see or doesn't care. "Of course by then, Wendy was a young woman. She'd grown up with our secret, and the belief it had to be kept whatever the cost." She stops for a moment, looking sad.