Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [147]
Zoë nodded. Pippa hadn’t said it but she clearly still believed Ralph had killed Lorne. Earlier, when Ben had gone to the station to get her one of the unit mobiles to replace the one that was now in Kelvin’s possession, they’d crept through a back door into Ben’s office and done a quick intelligence search on Kelvin. They’d been stunned by what was there. He had been hauled in over and over again for petty offences. Even before enlisting – at about the same time she’d been travelling the world – he’d been a nightmare to the constabulary. Over and over again he’d sent up huge warning flares that he was dangerous. Yet over and over again he’d been freed on some technicality. Amazingly, it was only after the conviction for the assault in Radstock that his five-yearly application to renew his gun licence had been turned down. Up until that point he’d been allowed complete access to a twelve-bore shotgun. If Pippa was having trouble forgiving Ralph, how was she going to feel when she heard about Kelvin and how the entire system had failed her?
‘I wasn’t going to ask that,’ Zoë said eventually. ‘I was going to say sorry. About the way it’s all gone.’
‘Me too, Zoë. Me too.’
Wearily she got to her feet, and held the door open. Zoë zipped up her jacket and pulled up her hood even though it wasn’t raining, Pippa put a hand on her arm and peered at her face. At her swollen nose and the red welts on her cheekbones. ‘Zoë? Do people ever really walk into doors?’
‘All the time.’
‘I never have. Never at all.’
‘Then you’ve never been as drunk as I was.’
Pippa tried to smile, but it was a twisted, sad thing. Something pitiful. Zoë pulled the hood tighter and pretended to be struggling with the zip. Then she held up a hand, goodbye, and walked quickly away down the wet path, the scarf snug in her pocket.
41
The rain had gone and the clouds had cleared but the sun was almost down now, the liquid orange light dissolving around the houses and churches on the hills above Bath. It was cold. Sally pulled her duffel coat around herself and watched Zoë come down the path from the Woods’ house. She had her hood up but she’d taken off the sunglasses and her face was naked in the twilight. The bruises and swelling had got worse in the last two hours, yet somehow she didn’t look broken any more. It was as if something in her had mended.
She got inside the car and slammed the door. ‘You OK?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. You can drive now. Go up to the main road and turn left so we stay close to the canal. I’ll tell you where to stop.’
While Sally started the engine and pulled out of the drive into the evening traffic, Zoë took off her jacket and rummaged in the pockets. She placed a plastic bag on her lap and unravelled an orange scarf on top of it. Then she fumbled inside the jacket again, pulled out a tiny Ziplock bag, and opened it. Inside there was a condom, filled with semen.
‘Oh, God,’ Sally muttered.
‘Well, don’t look if you can’t handle it.’
‘I can handle it. I can.’
‘Put the heater on.’
Sally turned it on full and concentrated on the traffic, glancing from time to time at her sister, who, biting her lip with concentration, was undoing the condom and carefully distributing the contents across the scarf. She folded the scarf and rubbed it together. Then she placed it on the carrier bag on the floor near the heater.
‘Disgusting.’ She returned the condom to the Ziplock bag, and used wet wipes to clean her hands. ‘Disgusting.’
She sat back in the seat, pushed her hair out of her eyes and ratcheted the seat back so she had room to stretch her legs out. She was so tall, Sally thought, and her legs were amazing – so long and capable. If Sally