Chapter 13
DAY THREE
Brody opened the door and let Deryn into Mason’s living room looking decidedly bleak.
“I’ve had a call from my bosses in New York,” he said.
“They want me back. Apparently I’m popular again.
I can only pretend to be unable to get a flight for a day, maybe two.
I know we can find Mason, I know we can, but not two of us, not in twenty-four hours. ”
“Can they do that?” Deryn asked, despite working for an organisation which happily and thoughtlessly cancelled leave without warning.
A look at Brody’s face told him the answer.
Of course they could. Brody wasn’t here officially, and the search for Mason wasn’t officially sanctioned either.
Deryn stared blankly at the window as the cat stalked across the room and jumped heavily onto the sofa, taking up his usual spot between Deryn’s shoulder and the sofa itself.
They needed the whole police force out searching for Mason, or they needed some kind of leverage to use on Phillip, neither of which they were likely to get.
“He’s in mine workings or a tunnel,” Brody said. “Somewhere underground. The note on the calendar, and the flashlight both point that way. He was still alive when he was in your brother-in-law’s car. If we find him, we can link his kidnapping to Phillip, and you’re off the hook.”
This was what Deryn privately thought of as a belling the cat problem.
The old fable says that all the mice agreed that if the cat wore a bell, they would be warned when he was close.
Mouse lives would be saved. What none of the mice could do was work out a way to get the bell round the cat’s neck.
It was true that if they could link Phillip to Mason’s disappearance, Deryn could tell Glover everything he knew.
But like the mice, knowing the answer didn’t solve the practical problem.
“We need help,” he said. “People who know the area, to look at the maps and scout out likely places.”
The cat — who did have a bell — slid down onto Deryn’s shoulder.
“Scouts,” Brody said. “The Scouts could search. Only the older ones, obviously.”
He sounded so hopeful, as if imagining teams of young people enthusiastically combing the forested hills until Mason was discovered alive and well.
Deryn hated to rain on his parade. “It wouldn’t be safe,” he said.
“Too easy to get lost, and too many collapsing workings. It’s a job for trained police or mountain rescue, not teenagers. ”
Brody’s face hardened. “We can’t do nothing. If you won’t look, then I will. Someone knows where he is; someone must have seen something. It would have been nice to have your help, but it looks like I’ll have to manage without it. So, why don’t you get lost and I can get on with it?”
For the second time in an hour, Deryn was being dismissed, and for the second time he went.
Phillip was the key, but Phillip was in hospital, and thus out of reach.
His sister wasn’t, so it was back towards the hideous house on the hill that he turned the car.
He wasn’t sure that threatening Branwen was a good idea, or even possible, but going on like this wasn’t an option.
His stomach hurt all the time now and he realised that the ache in his face was the result of his permanently clenched teeth.
Brody was a decent man, could have been a friend, only he’d now joined DI Glover in the pissed-off-with-Deryn camp. Branwen had been in that camp for a long time. One way or another, she was going to tell him what had happened to Mason Abruzzi.
A shout from the side of the road brought Deryn’s awareness back to his surroundings, which included the pedestrian crossing where he had failed to stop. He slowed down and tried to think. By the time he arrived at the electric gates, he knew what he had to say to his sister.
For once, the gates stood open, and with a sinking heart, Deryn saw two cars parked in front of the garage door.
One of them, a black Range Rover Evoke, he recognised as his brother-in-law Shane’s car.
Shane was as unpleasant as Phillip but did most of his “work” closer to Cardiff.
Deryn rarely saw him and his sister Heulwen.
The other car was an obviously new navy-blue Tesla. It looked like he wasn’t the only visitor to Branwen’s house. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to call. As the thought crossed his mind, the front door opened. His mother stood in the doorway, arms folded. She didn’t smile.
Deryn left his car where it stopped and walked over to meet her. “Mam? What are you doing here?”
She looked him up and down, taking in his unshaven face and less than perfectly ironed clothes.
“You weren’t at home,” she said. “Branwen was certain you’d come here, and here you are.
You may take your sister for a fool, but she isn’t one.
There are things you need to know.” She turned away and walked into the house.
Deryn followed her into the kitchen, utterly baffled.
His mother never got involved in family affairs, beyond hosting Christmas and welcoming new grandchildren.
The kitchen was sparkling and shiny once more. His sister sat on one of the high stools with a mug of tea in front of her. Of Shane, or any other family member, there was no sign.
“Take a seat,” Branwen said. She didn’t offer him tea.
Deryn obediently pulled out another stool and sat. His mother perched on another.
Branwen fixed her eyes on his. He’d seen the same behaviour from suspects about to tell a wholly made-up story.
As if the direct stare was a guarantee of truth.
“Now listen. For your own sake, even if you don’t care about anyone else.
That bloke, Mason whatever-his-name-is, he’s gone.
Left the country, won’t be back. Stop looking for him.
We don’t want his kind here. He’s a filthy paedophile who was using the Scouts to make friends with children, and that’s what I’m going to tell the police. ”
“That’s why you kidnapped him?” Deryn asked.
“No one kidnapped anyone,” his mother said, and Deryn thought she believed it. At least she didn’t try to look him in the eyes, which in this case seemed like a good thing.
“Mam, there are witnesses. And there is blood in Branwen’s car. Mason Abruzzi was kidnapped, and I want to know where he is.”
“Branwen has told you. He’s gone back to America. Why won’t you leave it alone?” Branwen was nodding vigorously.
“He hasn’t left the country. I know because I checked, on my DI’s instructions. He isn’t a child abuser. He’s in some old mine workings, and someone in this family knows where. I hope for everyone’s sake that he’s still alive.”
“You’re wrong,” his mother said. “But I can see there’s no convincing you.” She picked up her handbag and left the kitchen, heels clicking on the tiled floor.
Which was when Shane and two of his mates came in.