Читаем Finders Keepers полностью

An enormous feeling of goodwill swept through him. The skateboard meant nothing. He would apologize to Davey and explain about the money. Maybe even give him some cash. Maybe. For the first time in his life, Steven felt so much like a grown-up that he knew he could lose a battle without losing face. It was a good feeling.

Without the moon, the Milky Way seemed closer – touchable – like stars stuck on a blue velvet ceiling. He smiled up at Orion, and reached a single finger out into the universe to darken the mighty Mars. Em loved him and he could do anything.

Anything.

‘Hello, Steven.’

Steven’s heart jerked in his chest.

He dropped his arm and looked around.

It took him a couple of turns. Then, in the blackness a few yards down the hill, he saw the vague form of Jonas Holly sitting on the stone steps that led from his garden gate into the lane.

‘What are you doing?’ The fright made him blunt.

‘Waiting for you,’ said Jonas Holly.

Steven’s neck prickled like a dog’s. He didn’t want to ask why. Not here in the darkness between the towering hedges that made the lane feel like a funnel.

During the silence, Mr Holly just sat there, forearms on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. Steven wondered how long he’d been there. Wondered whether he’d watched him and Em walk up the hill. He didn’t like that idea.

‘I wanted to ask you something.’

Again, Steven gave him no encouragement.

‘Why did you put the money on Lucy’s grave?’

The question took Steven by surprise.

‘What money?’ he stalled.

‘This money,’ said Mr Holly, and leaned to one side until Steven heard the chink of coins and the rustle of notes coming out of his pocket. ‘Sixty-two pounds thirty.’

Steven was quiet again. The dark let him be so, when in daylight he would have felt compelled to answer immediately.

Mr Holly said nothing for a long while. And when he did speak again, it was not about the money.

‘People hurt children, you know,’ he said softly.

Steven’s heart began to beat hard. ‘I know.’

He started to edge down the hill until he was level with the policeman. Another few yards and he’d be beyond him, and then he could run if he had to. He thought he might have to, however stupid that would look.

‘Of course you do,’ said Mr Holly, nodding his head slowly. ‘We both know that.’

‘I have to get home now, Mr Holly,’ said Steven. He took the few paces that meant he was past the gate.

The man crossed the distance between them silently and with disturbing speed.

Steven retreated but found the sharp hedge at his back. He flinched at the contact he knew was coming. ‘What do you want?’

Jonas Holly stopped, as if aware for the first time that Steven might be scared. He stood still and spoke softly. ‘Are you in trouble, Steven? Do you owe someone money?’

Steven was confused. His mind had to catch up.

Mr Holly seemed to take his silence as an admission. ‘Is it drugs? If someone’s threatening you I can help you; that’s my job.’

Steven said nothing. Mr Holly was the last person in the world he would go to for help.

As if reading that thought, the policeman continued, ‘I know I let people down before, but it won’t happen again. If you’re in danger, Steven—’

‘No! I’m fine. Leave me alone.’ Steven waved an arm in front of him in a subconscious attempt to clear himself some space. His knuckles grazed Jonas Holly’s chest.

‘Then why leave the money there?’

‘Because it’s hers.’

Steven held his breath.

Jonas Holly stood absolutely motionless, arms at his sides. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I have to go home now.’

‘What do you mean?’

Steven tried to edge around him and Mr Holly grabbed his arm in an iron grip. ‘Tell me.’

Steven hitched in a breath of shock. The voice was Mr Holly’s, but not. It was flat and harsh and inky black, and Steven felt a change in the warm night air as if somewhere God had left a door open and the cold had rushed in.

He started to shake. Brief seconds ago he’d felt like a man. Now he felt like a man about to die, without refuge or defence, a crab without a shell, scuttling in a bucket and with nothing to protect him from the looming threat that Mr Holly had suddenly become.

Shame burned Steven’s eyes. If Em could see him now – so small and frightened – she would never kiss him again. In the dark, Steven could not see the man’s eyes – only the faint twin glimmers where he knew his eyes to be. He couldn’t even pretend to be brave under that invisible gaze.

‘It’s hers,’ he whispered. ‘She gave it to me but I didn’t want it, so I was giving it back. My mum is waiting for me. And my nan.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know! I didn’t ask. You’re hurting me.’

‘When did she give it to you?’

Steven’s voice cracked. ‘I have to go!’

‘When?’

Steven was scared but suddenly he was angry too. Angry that Mr Holly had stolen his joy over the kiss. Angry that he’d murdered his wife, when she’d been so kind and pretty and funny. So angry that for one terrible second he lost all sense of self-preservation …

‘The night you killed her.’