The Ghosts of Blackbottle Rock Page 2

  ‘Cornwall!’ Sue finished the sentence for him.

  Charlie grimaced as they gazed into each other’s eyes and reached out to hold hands.

  Oh, pleeeease…

  ‘Look,’ Sue said as they rounded a tight corner at the end of a row of cottages.

  ‘Wow,’ said Charlie. ‘A shop! That makes two. I can hardly wait to write another postcard to Gran and tell her.’

  ‘It’s a sort of antiques shop!’ said Dad. He loved old things. Sue said she did too, but Charlie suspected it was just because she knew Dad did.

  After a couple of minutes poking around in the tiny shop, Charlie left them to it and wandered outside, smooching around with his hands in his pockets. An old man, bald, plump, face like a walnut but for his rosy-cheeks, came by walking a little white dog. He grinned at Charlie, but Charlie scowled and turned away. He was surprised anyone could live to that age in this place. How come they didn’t all die of boredom before they were twenty-five?

  Dad and Sue came out proudly clutching a parcel – he neither knew nor cared what it was. They ended up reaching the sea at a spot right on the edge of the village away from the houses, where there was an old ruined building like a castle, but little bigger than an ordinary house. Dad said it was called the Blockhouse. In the old days they used to have a chain slung across the floor of the river between here and a second blockhouse on the opposite side, and if enemy ships were spotted they could tighten the chain to stop them from getting into the harbour. Charlie had to admit – but not out loud – that there were some pretty spectacular views along the coast and out across the sea from the Blockhouse’s windows.

  They returned to the cottage for lunch. Dad did the evening meals when they didn’t eat out, and Sue made the lunches. Charlie had told her what sort of stuff he liked – and she always came up with something that wasn’t on his list. Hummus instead of ham. Wraps instead of sarnies. All sorts of weird stuff. And he always flipping well liked it. And he always made sure he left some and said he wasn’t very keen on it, no matter how much his stomach begged him to finish it off. And she always smiled kindly and flashed those dazzly dark eyes at him, as if she could read his mind.

  Witch.

  Dad was busy unwrapping his new buy at the kitchen table while Sue chopped rapidly and expertly away at the organic bean sprouts or whatever fancy thing she’d come up with this time. Once Dad had cast aside the outer layer of blue wrapping paper and then the protective inner layer of newspaper, he held aloft a silver tankard of some sort as if it was the FA Cup itself.

  ‘This was owned by an old Cornish fisherman – maybe he lived in this very cottage!’

  ‘I’m not surprised he got rid of it – tatty old thing.’

  Charlie was surprised to hear Sue’s laughter. It was a natural laugh, not a forced one to prove she liked him. He hadn’t meant it to be a joke. Well, maybe. Sort of. Now he had made her cry and laugh within the space of twenty-four hours. He wondered – if she had been the one who had made him cry yesterday, would he so gladly laugh at her jokes today?

  In the next instant, Charlie was grabbed by the throat.

  In a manner of speaking.

  It was the headline on the crumpled front page of the local newspaper the tankard had been wrapped in:

  Precious book stolen from Lanteglos Church

  Charlie recognised the unusual name of the church from signs they passed in the lanes around Polruan, and he knew it was very close by. And he remembered the creepy gift shop man poring over the old book inside his storeroom. He knew the old book the Creep was furtively studying could have been anything – but Charlie had a gut feeling about it. And Charlie’s gut feelings were usually right.

  He snatched up the page. The report said that someone had broken into a locked cupboard and had taken one of the church’s old parish registers containing records of nineteenth-century baptisms, weddings and burials. The police were puzzled, because the book was worth very little and was only of historical interest. Many, much more valuable, items had been ignored by the thieves.

  Or ‘thief’, thought Charlie.

  ‘Something interesting there, Chas?’ Dad asked.

  Sue appeared, humming a tune and putting plates on the table. Even though it was only a hum, he was surprised by how good her singing voice sounded.

  ‘I’m not sure… I’ll look at it later.’ He folded the sheet of paper up and stuffed it into his pocket.

  Why was it that when you really wanted to look at something through binoculars – really wanted to look – not only did they go all wobbly, but the lenses started to steam up? Charlie yanked up the bottom of his T-shirt and rubbed. There wasn’t actually anything to look at as yet – the grey door to the mysterious room at the back of the Beachcomber was shut, and there had been no sign of the Creep in the hour or so that Charlie had been at his look-out post. But a spy had to put up with hours of boredom yet stay on the alert. He lay the binoculars in his lap to give his eyes a rest for a while. A minute later, a grey Royal Navy ship came gliding down the river. Several sailors in smart blue uniforms moved about the upper deck, and on the side, near the prow, it had P714 marked out in bold letters. Charlie wondered what the ‘P’ stood for. He was interested in stuff like that, and had already learned that ‘F’ stood for frigate and ‘M’ was a minesweeper, but he hadn’t come across a ‘P’ before. Maybe it stood for ‘port’, because, being small it was attached permanently to guard a particular port rather than sail the open seas. Or perhaps it could be… Charlie grabbed the bins.

  There he was.

  The Creep.

  The little man pushed his dark-rimmed glasses, with their lenses like the bottom of Coke bottles, further up his piggy nose as he plodded up the steps to his storeroom. Just as before, he checked the coast was clear before unlocking the door; but this time, having opened it he went back down the steps to the car park on the quay. His expression never seemed to alter, like a mask – yet you could see from his darting eyes that his mind was working overtime, gnawing away at something. Within thirty seconds he was back, carrying something he must have removed from his car, which Charlie knew he always parked just outside the shop. This was suspicious enough – but it was what he was carrying that made things much more interesting. Charlie quickly raised the bins to his eyes.

  Why was it that when you really wanted to see something through binoculars in a hurry, you never seemed to be able to line it up or even find it though the lenses? He pulled them away from his eyes, lined them up and tried again. He was just in time to see the Creep hauling not a suspicious book, but a long rolled-up rug.

  The kind murderers in films used to hide bodies in.

  And it looked heavy.

  Charlie’s heart put on a sudden spurt, and the binoculars began to shake in his hands, distorting the image.

  No wonder the Creep was acting so strangely and making sure no one could see what he was up to…

  Had someone discovered he was the precious parish register thief and he’d done away with them?

  Charlie let out a shaky breath and adjusted the focus to see if he could make anything out inside the room, but it was just too dark. He scanned around, twiddling the focus knob again, but now it all looked different. Not darkness, but something blocking his view. Soon, he realised he had an extreme close-up of some sort of textile – the sort of stuff a jacket might be made out of…

  He slowly scanned upwards. The Creep’s face filled his field of vision, ice-blue eyes magnified by the thick lenses of glasses. Staring right at him.

  Charlie gasped and let the binoculars drop as if they burned his hands. Now, their naked eyes met. Distantly, but definitely. And even though the Creep’s expression never changed, Charlie picked up a gut-wrenching sense of fury, even hatred in that deep, burning gaze. Panicking, he slid down in the chair so he was below the level of the window – and as soon as he did so he could have kicked himself. If he had only stayed put and acted innocently, pretended to look at the boats out
on the water, the brightly painted houses lining the Fowey side of the river, the seagulls. Anything. Then he might have brazened it out. To dive for cover was an admission of guilt. But who was he trying to kid? Their eyes had met. The Creep knew he was being spied on. The man who had probably murdered someone over a mouldy old church book knew that the boy in the holiday cottage behind his storeroom had discovered his secret. The next edition of the local paper flashed into his mind:

  Young holidaymaker goes missing in Polruan

  Slowly, cautiously, Charlie raised his head until his eyes were peeping above the window-ledge. The shopkeeper had gone. The grey door was shut.

  But what was behind it?

  And more to the point – where was the Creep headed?

  three

  ‘Anything to report from your look-out post, Charlie?’

  He was vaguely aware that Sue was trying to make conversation. He had just come down to the first floor, where the main living area was because it was lighter and there was a view of the river; and to say the least, he was distracted. In fact, Charlie was actually shaking, though he did his best to hide it. He kept glancing over Sue’s shoulder through the window to the narrow alley down which the Creep would have to come.

  ‘Yes. Er…no, not really. Nothing interesting. Navy ship. What does ‘P’ stand for?’ He blurted all this out quickly. All of Charlie’s animosity and surliness towards her had been vaporised by shock and fear, and he had discovered a sudden desire to be a fully paid-up and warmly accepted member of the ‘family’. If the Creep came looking for him, he wanted to be deep in conversation with Sue or Dad, acting perfectly naturally. He suddenly needed their protection. It was funny how having a killer on your case could instantly solve all sorts of relationship problems.

  ‘What does ‘P’ stand for? I’m not sure what…’

  ‘Navy ships always have a letter in front of their number. If you saw one with “F200” on it, the “F” would mean it was a frigate. “M100” would be a minesweeper,’ he jabbered. ‘They all have something like that. But I just saw one outside with a “P” on it. I’ve never seen one with a “P” on it before, and I was wondering if you knew what “P” stood for. I mean, it could be “Port”, but I don’t think…’

  He trailed off, suddenly aware that Sue, and Dad behind her, was staring at him as if he had grown an extra head. Maybe his attempt at acting natural wasn’t going too well. Maybe spewing out more words in thirty seconds than he had spoken to Sue in the last six months was over-doing it a bit. Maybe—

  Charlie’s eyes caught movement in the alley, and his legs suddenly felt as if they were about to give way.

  The Creep was coming this way…

  ‘IT’S HIM!’ he yelled, his voice almost breaking with panic.

  Dad and Sue turned to the window, following Charlie’s gaze. But the Creep had already passed out of sight.

  ‘Who? Who’s coming?’

  ‘Quick, call the police!’

  ‘Charlie, what’s wrong, mate?’ asked Dad.

  He was about to explain – try to explain – when the knock came.

  Charlie thought he was going to faint. There was a sickening, gurgling warmth in the pit of his stomach, and the room began to swim before his eyes. He wanted to tell them not to answer it, to pretend there was no one in. But by the time he had clutched the back of a chair, taken a deep breath and steadied himself, it was too late. Dad had gone downstairs, with Sue following close behind.

  Charlie made his way to the stairs on wooden, unwilling legs. He crept halfway down, crouching, just in time to see through the bannisters Dad open the door to reveal the Creep: shifty eyes behind thick glasses, an aloof but polite smile on his face.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, but I wonder if you might be the owner of a red Honda parked on the quay? It’s blocking a delivery van.’

  He was courteousness itself. But all the time his eyes were looking beyond Dad and into the cottage, searching…

  ‘No, ours is a silver Ford.’

  ‘Ah, of course! I remember seeing you about the place now. Where was it you said you were from?’

  ‘I’m not sure we’ve ever spoken to be honest, but—’

  Charlie wanted to scream DON’T TELL HIM! DON’T TELL HIM ANYTHING ABOUT US!

  ‘—we’re down from the Midlands. Long drive – but worth it!’

  ‘Glad you like it.’ He grinned, all full of mock friendliness. ‘You have that nice little boy with you, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Dad grinned back. ‘Charlie!’

  ‘Ah, yes. Charlie Thompson, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Er…no. Meadows, actually, but—’

  ‘Oh, my mistake. Anyway, as I say – sorry to bother you.’

  Without warning his eyes suddenly flicked upwards and locked on to Charlie’s, almost as if he’d known he was there all along. It was just a split-second, but Charlie felt as though the Creep had reached into his soul and wrenched it out. And then he was gone.

  ‘Strange bloke,’ said Dad when they were all back together upstairs.

  ‘He was fishing for information,’ Sue agreed. ‘Probably a holiday cottage salesman or something.’

  Charlie stepped between them, trembling and pale. It was time to get it all out into the open.

  ‘That man – the one who runs the Beachcomber…’ The words came out jerkily, as if he had just run a marathon.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think he’s a murderer. Or thief – or something.’

  Their faces were suddenly full of concern – but to his dismay Charlie knew in his heart that it was concern for his sanity, not his safety.

  ‘Look, Charlie,’ Dad said. ‘I know that you feel excluded and that it’s messing with your head, and—’

  ‘No! This is real!’ He explained about the old book and the body in the rug, and pulled out the page he had saved with report about the theft of the parish register.

  ‘But lots of people own old books, Chas,’ said Dad. ‘And the body, well, you only caught a quick glimpse. You might have got it wrong…’

  ‘I know what I saw!’

  ‘Okay, okay. But things aren’t always what they seem. He hardly looks like a master criminal, let alone a murderer. There could be any number of explanations.’

  ‘Well you should have seen his face when he realised I’d seen what he was up to.’

  ‘I dare say I wouldn’t have been too pleased if I saw someone spying on me through binoculars!’

  ‘But it is quite a coincidence,’ Sue ventured. ‘The bloke and the book, the newspaper article – and whatever it was in the rug.’

  Charlie could almost see the wheels turning inside his dad’s head: I don’t believe all this for a minute…but then maybe Sue doesn’t…maybe she’s trying to show support for Charlie and win him over…maybe I’d better at least seem to go along with it if only to back Sue up…

  ‘Well, you might have a point…’

  Yaaay! Charlie didn’t care whether they believed him or were pretending to believe him right then. He just needed them on his side, otherwise it was him alone against the Creep.

  ‘But,’ Dad added quickly, ‘we can’t go to the police just with that. They’d never believe us and we’d end up looking fools.’

  ‘But we can’t just ignore it either! What if I’m right? How would you feel if he struck again?’ Charlie didn’t add and the victim was me, but that’s what he was thinking.

  ‘You’ll just have to keep spying on him, mate. Come up with some more evidence.’

  This angered Charlie, because he knew for sure now that his dad was simply humouring him. He turned on his heels and marched up to his room.

  The grey door was shut and there was no sign of the Creep. Charlie repositioned his chair so that he could no longer see it – or be seen from it. This had all become too much. If Dad didn’t want to get involved, he certainly wasn’t going to risk his neck alone. All he needed to do was keep his head down, stay out of the man’s way for
a few days. Then he could go home and forget about it.

  Even the river seemed less fascinating now. He got his laptop from the table in the corner of the room, sat back down and fired it up. At least they had an internet connection here. Dad’s phone, on a different network to his and Sue’s, couldn’t even find a signal, much to his annoyance. And they thought this was the best place in the world!

  Once he’d booted the computer, he went into ‘networks’ the way Sue had shown him and selected the one he needed. (He had listened on in grumpy silence, grunting every now and then to show he understood, and ended by saying he’d probably never bother to go online anyway. He’d logged on at least twice a day since then.) His first job was to do a bit of googling and find out what the ‘P’ stood for on the side of Navy ships. That was harder than he thought – and he had to wade through loads of irrelevant American information before he finally got his answer. Patrol Vessel. Hmmm. Bit of an anti-climax. Then he logged into Gmail and saw he had new messages. There was one from Mike in Chicago. It would probably be the middle of the night there by now so that could wait. Another was from the devastatingly gorgeous Anna in Edinburgh who he’d met on some site or other and stayed in touch with. Why couldn’t they have had a holiday in Edinburgh? And there were three from Danny, his mate at school. He was following a link from Danny to a whacky video on YouTube when he heard the brief jingle that alerted him to someone wanting to chat. His heart leapt. The gorgeous Anna?

  No such luck. The username was one he didn’t recognise: Nemesis.

  Charlie didn’t know what it meant, but somehow he didn’t like the sound of it. Probably just because the Creep had spooked him. He sat transfixed for a moment by the blinking box in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen.

  Nemesis

  A little voice told him to delete it. Block it. Log off. He hovered the cursor over that last option, and his finger rested on left-click button of his touchpad. But curiosity won out over bad feeling. He had to know.

  We have a problem, Charlie. You probably know that by now.