Sarah was rooted to her chair.No. Not there …
‘You already know, Mum. Where’s the spookiest place in Slayton?’
‘That ugly old asylum on the outskirts of town?’ Claudia replied. But Ryan shook his head. ‘Somewhere creepier than that. A proper old haunted house.’
‘Blackhall Manor,’ the words were ghostly on Sarah’s lips. This was not good. This was not good at all. For one thing, Blackhall Manor was a death trap. The timbers were rotting, the structure was unstable, the place was falling apart. But there was something else. Blackhall Manor was deadly in more ways than one.
Claudia’s voice upped in pitch as she began firing questions. Sarah raised her hand. ‘If you bear with me for a minute, I need to relate this back to control. They’ll send officers round there, if they haven’t already.’ A slow sickness washed over Sarah. There was no way she was attending that place and nobody, not her sergeant or her DI, could make her.
12
As predicted, Her Majesty’s constabulary were soon crawling all over Blackhall Manor, poking their noses into cupboards, picking up things and laying them down again. How stupid did they think I was? As if I would leave a trace of my actions for them. I hoped they would fall through the stairwell and break their inquisitive necks.
They wouldn’t be the first people Blackhall Manor swallowed whole. Every Halloween, the local paper featured a piece on the Manor. Like many old buildings in Slayton, it was erected in Victorian times. It was said that the build had its share of casualties. The erection of the steep mansard roof was the cause of one of three recorded deaths as a labourer snapped his neck after falling off during a gale. The second met his death while creating the ornate flourishes in the corners of the high ceilings at night. The third was found dead in one of the many crawlspaces that Middleton insisted they build. The building was filled with gaps in the walls large enough to accommodate a grown man. The trick wasn’t just how to get into them, it was how to get out again afterwards.
No one knew why the crawlspaces were implemented, but they were never included on the plans. Now the place lay in ruins, but I was not ready for its reign to end. It was the perfect backdrop for the Midnight Game.
I learned everything I could about the players I chose. Where they lived, what they ate, their deepest fears and dreams. But it was Libby who piqued my interest the most. Freckled-face Libby who had stayed, despite her friends pressing her to leave. Libby who thought she was strong enough to ward off the Midnight Man.
A vision of Angelica’s face returned in a vivid memory. Dots of blood in her pupils. Her lips parting as her jaw grew slack. Cupping her mouth with my hand as I caught her last breath. There would be no knee-jerk reaction the next time. I would be regimented, organised. In control. Freckle Face would never graduate high school. She would never fulfil her dream of becoming a veterinary nurse. She would never marry and have children. I would rob her of that and more.
I didn’t feel pity for the fourteen-year-old.
Nobody felt sorry for me.
13
Sarah checked her watch. Five o’clock on the dot. She had been told not to return a minute before, and that in itself pissed her off. Her day had been relatively productive but she needed to reintegrate with the team. The sooner they accepted her, the easier it would be to get on with her work. The team worked a mixture of eight- to ten-hour shifts, with three days on and three days off, covered by the opposite shift. But it was all hands on deck when anything serious came in, and it seemed the overtime budget was a generous one. She passed her DI’s office and noticed his empty chair. Bernard may have gone home early but he would still be available should anything come up. Inspectors didn’t get paid overtime, and Gabby would call him should any new leads arise. The man was nearing retirement and it seemed his heart wasn’t in the job.
As she entered the battleground of the CID office, she was immediately hit by the smell of greasy chips. Someone had done a kebab round but they’d failed to include her.Deliveroo it is then,she thought, striding past her colleagues’ desks. With telephones ringing and printers spitting out paperwork, it looked like they were in for a long night. Her sergeant was plucking chips from an orange polystyrene box while clicking her mouse.
Sarah rolled her trolley up to her desk. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gabby push up her shirt sleeve to check her watch. ‘You can shoot off now, Noble.’
‘I’m OK to stay.’ Sarah forced a bright smile while pulling out her chair. ‘I thought I could follow up on enquiries with Angelica’s friends. I’m pretty sure one of them is covering something up.’
‘It’s all under control, and you’re on restricted duties. Off you go.’
‘But …’ Sarah stared at her sergeant.
‘Am I speaking in tongues here?’ Gabby’s voice intensified. ‘GO.’ Heads rose in their direction, but they did not linger for long.
Sarah’s cheeks burned with humiliation. ‘Can I have a word in private … Sarge?’
Gabby’s eyes narrowed as her head rose from her monitor. Sarah stood firm. A beat passed between them as Gabby sized her up.
‘Make it quick.’ She pointed to the room nicknamed ‘the confessional’. It was one of the few places that offered some privacy, and was the DI’s office before he moved to the bigger one across the hall. It was easy to understand why. The room was cramped and claustrophobic, with cheap metal shelving filled with box files lining each wall. As Sarah followed her sergeant inside, she summoned every ounce of courage.Start as you mean to go on.
‘I get the feeling that I’m not wanted here.’
‘And?’ Gabby surveyed her with cold interest.
‘Well, what then …’ Sarah began to witter. She had expected a denial at the very least. ‘What do you want me to do? Leave? Is that it?’
‘You don’t get to do that.’ Gabby raised her finger in a tick-tock motion. ‘You don’t get to whine and complain after we’ve kept your job open for a year. What did you expect when you sauntered back in here? Bunting? Champagne?’
Sarah stared at her shoes. She had gone too far. She should have just gone home. ‘Sorry,’ she said, feeling her throat constrict.Oh God, don’t cry.‘It’s just that … I don’t think I should be blamed for what my husband did. I didn’t know …’ Her chin wobbled as her emotions built in the back of her throat.
But Gabby just shook her head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? It’s nothing to do with him. There are consequences to having your job unfilled for this long. We couldn’t hire a replacement with you claiming sick pay. We’ve all had to pullyourweight.’
