November Page 6

  ‘You wanted to see the seahorses, right?’

  ‘That’s right. It was a horrible day, raining and stormy, and they were both supposed to go to a meeting in the afternoon, but I insisted they take me to the aquarium instead.’

  I watched as Winter lifted the splinter from the floor. ‘Ouch,’ she said, suddenly pricking her finger on the sharpest end.

  ‘Careful,’ I said, taking her hand and pulling the needle-like piece of wood out. I flicked it through the window. A small drop of blood appeared on her fingertip.

  ‘It was on the way there,’ she continued, seemingly unfazed by the prick, ‘that Dad lost control of the car. The next thing I knew I was in hospital, wondering where my parents were. I kept watching the doorway, hoping and praying for Mum and Dad to appear, but they never came. Vulkan turned up instead. He walked in and knelt down beside my bed. “Your parents are dead,” he said. Four words. Just like that. My family was gone.’

  I tightened my arm around my friend, wishing I could erase the memory for her. I hadn’t realised Sligo had come onto the scene so quickly.

  ‘I didn’t even cry,’ she said. ‘I just felt numb. Completely and utterly numb. Eventually we left the hospital and he took me home. It was just starting to get dark when we pulled up at the house. You remember my house?’ she asked me. ‘In Dolphin Point—the one we had to break into?’

  ‘I remember,’ I nodded.

  How could I ever forget?

  ‘Sligo instructed me to go inside, go to my room and put some clothes in a bag. So I walked up to the front door, feeling so dazed and confused in the absence of my parents. When I opened the door, a whole party of people jumped out from hiding, shouting “Surprise!”.’

  ‘They’d organised a party for you? They were acting blasé about your birthday because they were keeping the party a surprise?’

  Winter closed her eyes. A tear fell down her cheek.

  ‘That’s when I burst into tears,’ she said. ‘The place was decked out with hundreds of pink and purple helium balloons, streamers and a birthday banner. There was this huge cake on the table. Everyone was staring at me, so confused, wondering where Mum and Dad were.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘Nothing. I just stood there, crying. Sligo finally stepped in to explain to everyone what had happened. He told them my parents had “perished” in an accident. I just remember a sea of white faces and a wave of murmurs. The house emptied in a blur. Just before Sligo led me out again, a small suitcase in my hand, I picked up the present that sat beside my birthday cake—a small white box, tied with a pink satin bow. I opened it in the car.’ Winter held up her heart-shaped locket for me to see. ‘It was this. Mum and Dad had it engraved for me. But they never had the chance to see me wear it.’

  Winter picked up the photo again, and stared at the younger version of herself. ‘They always called me Little Bird. I think this was the last time I ever really smiled. Like that, I mean, with all my heart. If I hadn’t acted like such a brat, making them take me to the aquarium that day …’

  ‘It was raining,’ I pleaded. ‘Accidents happen on wet roads. Brakes fail. You can’t blame yourself,’ I reminded her again. ‘You can’t keep beating yourself up about it. What’s the point? You need to let it go.’

  ‘Cal, I can’t just let it go,’ she said firmly. ‘Whether I feel guilty or not, it’s not over until I find out the truth. I told you, I need to see the wreck of our car. Sligo said that brake failure was the reason for the fatal accident, and I need to see that for myself before I can move on. The guy forged my dad’s signature on his will. What else has he done that I don’t know about?’

  I nodded, and continued listening.

  ‘Look, I know this year has been one crazy, dangerous ride for you, but once it’s over,’ she said, ‘after we’ve been to Ireland and discovered the truth about the Ormond Singularity—’

  I went to interrupt her, but she stopped me short.

  ‘Cal. After all this is over for you, and you’ve cleared your name, you can go home … it may not be your place in Richmond, but you have a family. I can never go home. I don’t have a home any more. Mum and Dad are gone and Sligo gave my parents’ house to Murray Durham to pay him off for something. Just gave it away. All I have left is the truth. That’s the only thing that will make me feel complete again.’

  ‘Winter,’ I said, looking straight into her eyes, ‘I will help you, I mean it. I only have one month and a half left to get through, then—if all goes to plan—I will be free to do anything you need me to do. I will help you check the car at the yard, then I will stand by you when you go to the police with the forged will. Everything that belonged to your family will be returned to you. You will have your home back, I promise.’

  I was always so worried I was going to say something stupid to her, but right now I could see that I had comforted her. She was listening to me and nodding.

  ‘Thanks, Cal,’ she whispered. ‘I’m really tired. Let’s get some sleep.’

  As soon as I woke up, I looked down to the floor of the treehouse for Winter. She was gone.

  She’d left behind another note, with a couple of dollars on top.

  I called Nelson on my way to the local news-agency, and filled him in on the money situation. He sounded pretty impressed, and promised he’d give the go-ahead to his contact to begin my fake passport. I still needed to get a photo to him.

  Even from a distance, I recognised the familiar face flapping on the front pages of the newspapers. I crept up to get a closer look and almost burst out laughing. Underneath the headline ‘Bad Kitty’, in grainy black and white, was a huge picture of Oriana de la Force’s furious face. But that’s not what I was laughing at. Her nose had been coloured in black, with what looked like the same thick, indelible ink that had been used on my ankle, and drawn across her cheeks were long, black cat’s whiskers! She was caught snarling like a wildcat! It was clear the feline features were Kelvin’s handiwork.

  ‘In light of new evidence,’ I read, ‘Ms de la Force is again facing charges over the kidnapping of Gabbi Ormond, younger sister of the infamous teen fugitive Callum Ormond. Charges brought against de la Force last month were quickly dropped, and she believes the allegations will be dropped again. She has accused her ex-employee of fabricating evidence against her and also for assault after a struggle in which she alleges he attacked her,’ I read, ‘and “violated her face”. She has vowed to fight the charges once more, insisting sixteen-year-old Callum Ormond was responsible for the kidnapping of his sister, and that she can prove it. De la Force has been released on bail pending further court appearances.’

  I quickly headed away from the newsstand as a few people gathered around to see the headline.

  Some crazy thoughts started rushing through my mind. If the cops had evidence proving Oriana was responsible for Gabbi’s kidnapping, maybe the bigger truth would come out and my name would be cleared. The authorities would realise I’m innocent. Surely my mum would see that too.

  It felt like a lifetime had passed since I’d spoken to Dad’s old colleague Eric Blair, and I couldn’t believe it had taken a reminder from Winter to make me call him again. He’d been a tough guy to get in touch with. First he’d been on sick leave, and then he was travelling for business.

  I had no guarantees that I could even trust the guy—for all he knew I was a violent psychopath—but I had to take the risk. I grabbed my phone and dialled his office number.

  ‘You’re back,’ I said, automatically, when he answered. ‘It’s Callum Ormond here.’

  ‘Hello Callum,’ he replied, slowly.

  ‘I don’t know if I can trust you and you’re probably thinking the same thing about me, but I really need to talk to you. Sooner rather than later. I’m running out of time.’

  He was quiet.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ I blurted out.

  ‘I don’t believe everything I’ve read,’ he answered calmly.

  ‘Well that’
s a start.’

  ‘I just saw on the news that Oriana de la Force has been charged again for the kidnapping of your little sister. I don’t believe you were involved in that.’

  ‘Good, because I wasn’t,’ I said. ‘I’ve only ever wanted to protect her. Will you meet up with me? Somewhere secluded? Somewhere safe?’

  Eric was silent for a moment.

  ‘Listen, I have a suggestion,’ he said. ‘I have a personal office space—just one small room, down near the waterside. I used to use it as a base for freelance work, but these days it’s more like a storage unit. No-one has access to it but me. I could meet you there?’

  I hesitated, trying to picture the location he was talking about, and how safe it would be for me.

  ‘You’d be safe,’ he said, like a mind-reader, ‘as long as you’re only interested in talking.’

  His voice was warm and friendly, even though he kept it very low.

  ‘I mean you no harm,’ I reassured him. ‘It’s just that there’s a lot of mystery surrounding Dad’s death and his final movements in Ireland. I’m desperate to find out anything you can possibly tell me about your trip with him. That’s all I’m after, I swear.’

  ‘Cal, your dad was one of my dearest friends. I always admired his work, his integrity and his love for his family. I’m happy to meet you, but to be honest, I don’t know that I have much insight to offer you, so please don’t get your hopes up.’

  ‘Give me a time and the address,’ I said, ‘and I’ll be there. No expectations.’

  I sat back on the treehouse bench, eating handfuls of peanuts. I had plenty of time to think about how to approach Eric Blair before our meeting, but I was already getting anxious. I couldn’t imagine a friend of Dad’s being a bad guy. But these days, trust was hard to come by.

  45 days to go …

  I set off towards the address Eric Blair had given me, wearing a new light-grey hoodie pulled around my face. I’d told Eric I’d be coming with no expectations, but that wasn’t entirely true. I was totally counting on this guy giving me valuable information about my dad and maybe even the Ormond Singularity.

  I was a few hours early—we’d arranged to meet at six—but I wanted to scope the place out thoroughly before approaching the office, making sure I wasn’t walking into a trap. At the slightest hint of danger, I wanted to be able to bolt.

  Just as I was thinking this, I spotted Griff Kirby across the road, staring hard at me.

  A jolt of fear tore through me. What was he up to this time?

  Then I saw he wasn’t staring at me, but beyond me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I swung round.

  Too late! Two burly men, one a huge Polynesian guy with long, shiny black hair, and the other an equally bulky guy who’s face was vaguely familiar, were about to pounce on me.

  ‘That’s Ormond! That’s him!’ yelled Griff, pointing me out.

  I glared at him. The rat!

  I swore out loud, twisting away and trying to run, but I’d missed my chance! My shock at Griff’s betrayal robbed me of vital seconds. I should have known better! The two men quickly overpowered me. One of them had me in a headlock, while the other lifted my legs and dragged me towards a car—a black limousine that looked like a hearse.

  ‘Let go of me!’ I shouted, kicking and struggling as hard as I could. Then I thought of Eric Blair—had he tricked me and set this up?

  But our meeting wasn’t for another few hours. It was early, way too early for it to be a set-up. Wasn’t it? Either way, Griff Kirby would pay for this.

  ‘It’s OK, boy. Stop struggling and you won’t get hurt,’ said a gruff voice in my ear.

  ‘It’s like trying to wrestle a giant electric eel!’ said the other guy. ‘Relax, kid!’

  ‘If you want me to relax, let me go!’ I shouted, trying to brace myself so that they’d have a hard time getting me into the car.

  I stuck my legs out and gripped the roof of the car with my hands. But a sudden kick behind the knees, combined with a hard shove, collapsed me completely and I was bundled into the back of the limo.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’ I yelled, struggling uselessly as the burly Polynesian practically sat on me. The car took off with great speed.

  ‘If you just behave, calm down and be a good boy, we’ll tell you,’ said the other guy, now behind the wheel.

  ‘Fine, go on.’

  ‘Murray Durham wants a word with you.’

  At the sound of that name, I went limp. Murray ‘Toecutter’ Durham! Murray Durham was the biggest and most powerful criminal in the country. Sligo must have called in a favour, or paid Durham to take me down. Or, worse, what if Durham wanted me dead himself? That’s when I recognised the driver—he was one of Toecutter’s bodyguards! He was the one who was watching a war movie on the couch on the night Winter and I broke into her old house to retrieve her locket. He’d also been at Sligo’s interrupted banquet, alongside his boss.

  I was in real trouble. And Griff Kirby had fingered me. Fear iced over every cell in my body and I shivered. I was convinced I was experiencing my last moments alive. I’d never meet with Eric Blair, I’d never see Mum, Rafe and Gabbi again, or Boges and Winter.

  These thoughts turned me ferocious. I went totally feral, punching, lashing out, kicking, trying to get into the front seat. If I could just wrench the wheel around and crash the car, I could make a break for it. But the big Polynesian hauled me back. As I looked at his face, he didn’t look that threatening. He actually looked a bit concerned.

  ‘It’s OK, kid,’ he said. ‘Nobody wants to hurt you. The boss just wants to have a little talk with you.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I said, trying to keep my voice firm. ‘What does he want to talk to me about?’

  ‘It’s a personal matter,’ he muttered. ‘Private and personal. Just wait until you meet with him, OK?’

  The limousine finally slowed, turning onto a driveway as tall, automatic gates opened to let us through. Panicked thoughts raced through my mind. Did Durham want to know something about the Ormond Singularity? Maybe he’d torture me to find out …

  But Rathbone had crossed ‘Toecutter’ off his list.

  The car pulled up in a garage, and the door closed behind us. I was pulled out and escorted along an endless terrace. The lawns of this place were as big as the Botanical Gardens, planted with rows and rows of trees, and dotted with hedges carved into incredible shapes—camels, rearing horses, a T-rex, the Statue of Liberty and a racing car. ‘Topiary’ was the name of this manicured way of shaping trees, I recalled, wondering how I could remember something so useless at a time like this.

  After a lengthy march along the terrace, we finally came to an elaborate marbled entrance. The house looked like a smaller version of Buckingham Palace.

  My captors hauled me through the doors and into what looked like acres of marbled floors, decorated with lavish gold and velvet furniture. On the walls hung enormous old oil paintings and tapestries. In the middle of this acreage, a huge, white fountain splashed water into a circular pool filled with colourful koi fish.

  ‘This way,’ said the Polynesian, keeping a firm hold on my arm as we walked down an endless hallway. The driver of the car had disappeared.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘Like I said, the boss wants a private chat with you. I’m taking you to him.’

  Finally we paused outside a closed door. The Polynesian knocked on it, surprisingly softly. ‘The boss is not a well man,’ he whispered to me. ‘I’m just warning you.’

  Warning me?

  From inside I heard a faint voice.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Ezekiel, boss. Got the kid with me.’

  With that, Ezekiel opened the door and pushed me inside.

  I stumbled into the room. I had to blink because I couldn’t see properly. The room was dark—almost as dark as Dr Leporello’s creepy fungi-filled study. Once my eyes adjusted, I could just make out the figure o
f a man lying in a king-size timber bed, draped in red satin. He heaved himself up, leaning crookedly on his pillows.

  ‘Come over here, kid. Where I can see you.’

  Ezekiel, the big Polynesian, nodded at me, telling me to do as Durham said.

  I stepped up to the end of the bed and started taking in the features of the sick person in front of me. At one point, Murray Durham had been a big man, but I remembered that he’d looked pretty frail and sick at Sligo’s banquet. Now he looked ten times worse. My body was shaking, but I stood tall, hoping that the courage of Piers Ormond would get me through whatever might happen next.

  I could tell from the skin hanging loose on his face that Toecutter had lost a lot of weight, and even in the shadows I could see bruising around his eyes. His skin was grey—like the haggard appearances of my dad and of Great-uncle Bartholomew, just before they died. Magnified in a glass of water by the bed were his false teeth.

  ‘Are you Callum Ormond, son?’ he asked. His voice, although gruff, was weak and almost kind.

  ‘I am,’ I said. There was no point in denying it.

  For a long moment, he stared at me, silently. I shifted uncomfortably until finally he spoke again.

  ‘I’m dying, son.’

  I didn’t know what to say. I just hoped that his last wish wasn’t to rid the world of Callum Ormond.

  ‘What do you have to say about that?’ he urged.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ I said, awkwardly.

  ‘You needn’t be sorry. It’s something we all have to go through. Death is cruel—so very cruel—but life cannot exist without it. I haven’t lived a good life, son. I’ve done a lot of bad things. Things that were against the law—unspeakable things. People have feared me all my life. Are you afraid of me?’

  I didn’t want to admit that I was. ‘Why did you bring me here?’ I asked, avoiding the question.