Dark Waters(33)

Mungo’s eyes were ice cold. He plucked Col’s fingers from him. He shook his head. ‘Why the hell did you have to go to that loch in the first place!’

‘What does that matter? There’s a body down there.’

Mungo let out a long, slow sigh. He looked at Col for what seemed an age. ‘Who do you think put it there?’ he said at last.

Col gasped. He stepped back. His brother, capable of anything, but not this.

‘Do you mean you …?’ Col couldn’t say the words.

‘There was a chase. There was a fight. I won. OK? Now, he’s down there and he’s stayin’ down there. Right? Just forget your dream.’

Col was shaking now. ‘I can’t believe you’d do anything like that.’

Suddenly, Mungo had him by the shoulders. ‘Grow up, Col. You’ve got to keep your mouth shut about this. For my sake … and for yours.’ He grinned. ‘You being an accomplice an’ all.’

Col couldn’t take that in. Didn’t understand it. He was still trapped in the nightmare. He must be. ‘Me? An accomplice?’

The sky lit up again and Mungo pointed outside. ‘A night like this. Remember? There was a belter of a storm, I came running in, the cops after me. You and me rollin’ about in the garden, pretendin’ we were fightin’. Remember now? You gave me my alibi. You’re in this as deep as me, son.’

Mungo spoke as if he hated him. Col had never heard his brother talk to him like that before. Col saw his life stretching ahead of him, always in Mungo’s power, always doing what Mungo wanted. He shook his head.

‘No!’

Mungo threw Col from him. ‘What’s the point of telling anybody? The guy’s dead. Has anybody missed him? No. And do you know why? He was a nobody. A nothing. He deserved everything he got. He’s better off dead. He was only a dirty illegal immigrant, shacking up in one of them old air-raid shelters at the loch.’

Col felt as if the air had been punched out of him. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes. He grabbed the back of a chair, sure he was about to faint.

An illegal immigrant? But Klaus had said he was the only illegal immigrant at the loch …





Chapter Twenty


No. It couldn’t be Klaus he was talking about. And yet … suddenly, it was the face of Klaus he could imagine drifting at him through the water.

No!

Mungo grabbed for him as he staggered, but Col pulled away from him. ‘You killed him,’ he muttered. His mind racing, trying to sort things clear in his head.

That was how Klaus had known so much about Mungo. Hated him so much. He shook the unnerving thought away. Can’t be … couldn’t be possible. If that was true, it would mean Klaus was dead. Klaus had always been dead. That Klaus was a—

No!

But Mungo had killed someone.

‘What’s wrong wi’ ye, boy?’ Mungo’s voice was harsh.

Col kept backing away from him, his mind in turmoil. Trying desperately to think.

No one else had seen Klaus. No one but him. Not at the hospital. Not at the loch. Not in London.

‘You get back to your bed! Forget what I’ve told you. Or else!’

He had to get away from Mungo. Col was at the front door. He grabbed for his jacket, still damp from earlier.

‘Where do you think you’re goin’?’

Col didn’t answer. He hauled open the door. The storm crashed its way through. And he ran. Ran into the night.

The wall of rain pounded against his face so hard he could hardly keep his eyes open. Hardly see where he was going. But he didn’t need to see. His feet were leading him up through the estate, over the hill, and to the loch.

He would find Klaus there. Taking shelter from the storm. Not a ghost.

He would explain everything. It had been another illegal immigrant. Had to be.

He had taken food to Klaus, and the duvet. Ghosts don’t eat. They don’t feel cold. Do they?

Yet, even as he ran, he remembered. He had never seen Klaus actually eat anything. Klaus had never told him he was cold, or hungry. And Col had put so many words into Klaus’s mouth. Explaining to himself how he had come to London. Had he already suspected there was something strange about Klaus? Had he always felt there was something he was holding back from telling him?

There was only one thing Klaus had ever wanted from Col. He had only ever asked one thing of him. Help me get back home. Growing paler and weaker with every meeting, fading from him. As if he had only a limit of time to ask for Col’s help. And he so wanted Col to help him, but he knew too well that the only way he could do that would be to betray his brother.

And what good would that do? What’s done is done. Mungo was right.