The Dead Tracks

Chapter Fourteen

As I left the Carvers, I knew it was too late to call Kaitlin, especially at home. It was just after 5 p.m., which meant one or both of her parents would probably be around, and I didn't want to arouse any suspicion. But I definitely needed to speak to her; to find out more about what Megan had told her. And I needed to find out where Charlie Bryant fitted in as well.

Once I was back home, I showered, had some dinner and then took the pile of DVDs from Tiko's through to the living room. I dropped the first one into the disc tray. Seven months of footage. Two hundred and fourteen days. Nineteen hours a day. That meant there was over four thousand hours of video to get through. Even with a team of twenty, that would still mean two hundred hours each. It would have been quicker to put in a call to Kaitlin or Lindsey and ask them what nights they went, but — as that was out of the question until the morning — I decided first to concentrate on weekends, specifically Friday and Saturday nights; the nights Megan was most likely to be out.

I hit Play.

October's footage - six months prior to Megan's 3 April disappearance — stuttered into life. It was in colour and pretty decent quality, but it was also on a time lapse of three seconds, which gave everything an alien, staccato feel.

The footage began on a Wednesday, so I fast-forwarded to the Friday. As the club was open all day, there was a constant stream of people coming in and out. The younger crowd — late teens and early twenties — started arriving after eight. I got to closing time at 3 a.m. with no sign of Megan. An hour and a half later, I'd finished the weekends in October altogether and found nothing. No sign of Megan. No sign of her friends.

I thought for a moment about going back over the week days in October just in case I'd missed her. But then, on the second disc — November - Megan, Kaitlin and Lindsey arrived in Tiko's. It was 11 p.m. on the first Friday of the month.

They moved in a line through the crowds, Kaitlin leading. Men watched them, their eyes mostly fixed on Kaitlin, but a few watching Megan and Lindsey too. When they got to the bar, the girls waited. Talked to each other. In one frame Megan was leaning into Lindsey saying something; in the next Lindsey's head was back, laughing. The girls ordered drinks, then moved up the winding staircase to the second floor.

The position of the camera wasn't great, but I could still see them, their heads visible in the crowds. Sweeping disco lights, choppy because of the time lapse, passed from side to side. People danced around them. The girls remained in the same position, next to a set of three sofas, all occupied. They returned to the bar three times to get more drinks. Then they moved back downstairs for good, to the dancefloor, and stayed there until they left at two o'clock.

I fast-forwarded it on twenty-four hours, but they didn't return on the Saturday. Then I remembered something James Carver had told me: When they all got paid, they'd often go into the city. Assuming they got paid at the end of the month, that probably meant the last few days of one, or the very beginning of the next.

I skipped on three weeks to the last weekend in November.

Nothing on the Friday, but on Saturday they returned to Tiko's. Eleven o'clock, just like before. They stuck pretty much to the same routine. In through the crowds. Up to the bar. Up to the second floor, in the same position next to the sofas. Five trips back to the bar, before ending up on the dancefloor permanently. The other discs — December, January, February and March — all followed exactly the same pattern.

The first day of footage on the sixth disc was Saturday 1 April. Forty-eight hours before Megan disappeared. The girls entered the club just before eleven, headed to the bar, and up the spiral staircase to the top floor. They talked for a while and then, as the clock in the corner of the screen hit midnight, Megan turned slightly to let someone through. Suddenly, a feeling of familiarity washed over me.

I paused the footage. Megan was facing the camera, flanked on either side by the others. I'd spotted something; something worth picking out. But I couldn't pull it out of the darkness. I moved closer to the screen and used the remote control to inch the footage on. In one frame, Lindsey leaned towards Megan. In the next, Kaitlin took a step away.

That was when I saw him.

I realized then that I'd glimpsed him earlier, on another disc, but not really registered him. He'd only been in view briefly, just as he was now. Hidden behind a tangle of bodies; perched on the edge of the sofa furthest from the girls. Dark hair. Black jacket. Black shirt. Jeans. Black shoes.

He was staring right at Megan.

He sat completely still even as one frame jumped to the next. It was like he was frozen in place. His head was angled slightly, his chin almost pressed against his throat, looking up from under his brow. He had pale skin but incredibly dark eyes. Through the scan lines of the footage, they were just holes in his head.

Then Lindsey moved again and he disappeared behind her.

I carried on watching, the footage jumping between frames. More people moved up the stairs. At one point, a group of eight or nine men stood adjacent to Megan, Lindsey and Kaitlin. Twelve minutes later they finally moved again.

And the man was gone.

I fast-forwarded it, past the point the girls left the club at half-two to closing time at four o'clock. He didn't reappear. I rewound it to the beginning of the evening when they'd first come up the stairs to the second floor. He wasn't waiting for them then. It was like he'd ghosted in for those few short moments, shielded by the crowds - and then vanished again.

I dropped in March's DVD for a second time. Skipped forward to the evening of the first Friday in the month. An hour and a half passed. When the onscreen clock showed 00:37, a crowd spread out behind the three girls - and he emerged. I'd missed him the first time. But not now. For five and a half minutes, he sat there watching Megan through the crowds. Same as on the April DVD. Same clothes. Same expression. Dark eyes never leaving her.

Not once.

I went back over all the footage I'd already watched. Every month but the first one, October, he was there. Short periods of time. Never less than five minutes, never more than eight. It would have been incredibly easy to miss him - which is why I assumed he'd gone unnoticed by the police. They would have checked all four thousand hours; been through every single weekday; checked the footage all day, every day for six months, just to be sure. And apart from mornings, the whole time the place was jammed: so many people, so much going on. The man was only in shot for thirty-six minutes of the four thousand hours, with that fraction of time split up into even smaller chunks a month apart. I'd picked him up almost by accident. A fluke.

But he was there.

And he was watching Megan.