Heathen/Nemesis

Seventy-One

Julie Craig sat at the wheel of the Fiesta, her head bowed. She sucked in a deep breath then looked up, squeezing her eyelids tightly together as if to clear the fuzziness which clouded her vision. But it wasn’t her vision that was affected, she realized; it was her mind. She felt as if someone had wrapped her thoughts in a blanket. Reasoning seemed difficult; actions were a major effort.

‘Do you want me to drive?’ Donna asked, looking across at her sister.

‘No, it’s okay,’ Julie replied, starting the engine.

The rain slowed to a fine drizzle which hung over the countryside like a dirty curtain. The yard in front of the house and the dirt track were little more than liquid mud. The rear wheels of the Fiesta spun, trying to gain purchase in the sucking ooze. Finally Julie stepped harder on the accelerator and the vehicle moved off. She flicked on the windscreen wipers. One of them squeaked but neither woman seemed to notice the irritating sound. Both kept their eyes fixed firmly ahead.

Donna dared not settle herself too comfortably into her seat in case she dozed off. She doubted she’d had more than three hours sleep the previous night, and Julie only a little more. It showed, too; despite their make-up, they both looked pale and wan. Donna had managed to disguise the worst of the bruising on her top lip beneath some foundation cream and a little rouge had given at least some artificial colour to her cheeks, but as she pulled down the sun-visor on the driver’s side and peered into the mirror she realized she looked as tired as she felt.

She had no idea how long the drive into Portsmouth would take. Two hours, perhaps less? The road conditions and Julie’s emotional state weren’t going to help. Again Donna asked if she should drive but Julie merely shook her head.

‘This man at the waxworks,’ she said. ‘What’s his name? Paxton? Have you ever met him?’

‘No, but Chris got on well with him. He helped him a lot with research about the history of the building, how the models are made, that sort of thing.’ She sighed. ‘Chris must have trusted him in order to hide the Grimoire there.’

No one is to be trusted.

‘But he didn’t say whereabouts he hid it?’

‘No. I doubt if Paxton knows either,’ Donna said, looking at the piece of paper she’d collected the day before. Beside the address of the waxworks, it also had two phone numbers. One she guessed was the owner’s home number; as it was Sunday, she might well need it. Off season, she doubted if the attraction would be open. It was hardly the weather to attract day-trippers, either.

‘So what do we do when we find it?’ Julie asked.

‘I wish I knew,’ Donna confessed. ‘Read it?’ She smiled thinly.

She glanced at the dashboard clock.

1.56 p.m.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Portsmouth the rain had practically stopped, but the sky was still slate grey and threatening. There wasn’t much traffic on the roads until they approached the city centre, and then roads became a little more clogged. Julie had cold air blowing into the car in an effort to keep them both alert. The crushing weariness was a formidable enemy, though, and she felt her eyelids drooping as if they’d been weighted.

‘I’m going to have to stop for a while, Donna,’ she said finally. ‘I’m practically driving asleep.’

‘I know how you feel,’ her sister said, pointing at something up ahead. ‘There’s a café there. Let’s get a coffee.’

Julie checked the rear-view mirror and prepared to swing the car across the road into a parking space. At the last moment she stopped the manoeuvre and drove on instead.

Donna looked at her in bewilderment.

‘I thought you were stopping,’ she said.

Julie didn’t answer, but drove on towards the traffic lights, glancing again in the rear-view mirror. They were amber as she swung the car round to the right and through them, heading down a side street, taking another right then another until they were back on the street where they’d started.

‘I appreciate the tour of the block,’ said Donna, smiling, ‘but what’s wrong?’

‘We’re being followed,’ Julie said flatly.

Donna’s smile faded immediately. She sat forward so that she could see into the Fiesta’s wing mirror.

‘How can you be sure?’ she wanted to know.

‘Because whoever’s driving went through a red light to keep up with us.’

‘Which car?’

‘The Granada,’ Julie said, and Donna saw the dark blue vehicle behind them.

‘What shall I do?’ Julie asked.

‘Pull in,’ Donna said unhesitatingly. ‘See what he does.’

Julie nodded, indicated again and this time swung the car into a gap in front of the café.

The Granada drove past, disappearing around a corner.

‘They spotted me,’ Brian Kellerman said into the two-way radio.

‘Where are they now?’ Farrell wanted to know.

Kellerman told him.

‘All right, we’ll follow them from here. You keep out the way. I’ll let you know where we’re heading, but keep back. If they spot you again we might lose them.’ Farrell switched the two-way off and jammed it into the seat pocket beside him. He gave Ryker directions, then sat back in his seat.

‘Now we’ll see,’ he murmured.