‘That’s a conversation you should be having with me, not Jahmelia,’ Gabby countered.
‘I didn’t know she was your granddaughter. You never said.’
‘Unlike most of the people in my office, I separate my personal and work life. You’re done here, Sarah. Chop chop.’ She clapped her hands together, ushering her along. ‘Get yourself home. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.’
Sarah knew better than to reason. ‘I’ll see you at the town hall meeting.’
Gabby raised an eyebrow as she showed her the door. ‘You’re going then?’
‘Of course I’m going,’ Sarah asserted herself. ‘I live here, don’t I?’
An amused smile touched Gabby’s lips. ‘Right. In that case, I’ll see you in an hour.’
Sarah wasn’t attending the meeting as a concerned neighbour. Angelica’s killer was local, she was sure of it. There was a good chance they would appear. Despite her sergeant’s reservations, Sarah wasn’t giving up the fight.
24
The steady beat of Taylor Swift’s ‘Love Story’ pulsed in Libby’s ears. She was grateful for the break from her parents, who had been hounding her since Angelica’s death. Her lie about spending Halloween night in Jahmelia’s tent had grown so big, there was no going back now. She lay on her bed facing her window, the string of fairy lights on the headboard bathing the room in a soft, comforting glow. The scent of lemon, rosemary and chamomile felt like a warm comfort blanket. It was lovely of Maggie and Elliott to buy her the Calm candle. Closing her eyes, she inhaled its scent as it flickered on her bedside table.
Her eyes snapped open as she sensed movement, and in that split second her world froze. Numb with fear, she caught sight of a reflection on the pane of her bedroom window. Someone was standing over her. A solid mass of black. She opened her mouth to scream and was silenced by a leather-gloved hand over her mouth. Her teeth crashed against her gum as she tried to bite down. White starbursts flashed in her vision as she received a sudden blow to the head. Fighting for breath, she swallowed the trickle of blood running from her gums. She kicked and thrashed in the bed, her eyes wild with fear as she tried to gain sight of her attacker. She screamed into the pillow as her head was pushed down, but it was a muffled cry. Her left earbud was ripped out in the struggle, and instead of Taylor Swift, all she could hear was a wet, rasping breath. And the smell … damp blankets, sweat and something else … Her eyes grew wide as she emitted another muffled scream. Fire. The candle had shifted on her bedside and had caught onto her curtains. She wriggled and squirmed as a muffled gargle left her throat. Her attacker was on top of her now, forcing her face down further into her pillow. Panic filled her being as her lungs burned for breath. Grunting, she felt them fumble …oh God no. Please no.
Then a zipping sound, hard plastic ties against her wrists as they were tightly bound.Zip ties,she thought.They’re zip ties.The weight of the body pinning her down shifted as they swivelled, fastening ties on her ankles. Levering her face to one side she inhaled a wet, rasping breath. In the window, she watched the black figure, head down, intent on immobilising her. Before she could scream, her face was pushed back down into the pillow, one of her earbuds squashed up against her nose. On Taylor Swift sang, ‘oh, oh, oh, oh,’ while Libby was bone cold with fear.
Was this how Angelica ended up before she was found in the woods?If the Midnight Man catches you, he kills you and pulls out your insides, piece by piece.Jahmelia’s words returned to haunt her. She wanted to scream that she had won the game. She didn’t deserve to die! Tears streamed down the side of her face as the attacker worked in silence to immobilise her. She shook her head furiously as a rag was wrapped around her mouth. Gagging, she recognised the rotting, sour smell. Blackhall Manor.
Her heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of her chest. Suddenly, her vision was lost as black material was pulled over her head. The pull of a cord tightened it around her neck. She was a fish flopping out of water, at the mercy of the person holding the line. A pair of strong arms grappled with her body as they launched her over their shoulder. Struggling to see, she made out shifting shadows of light and dark as she hung, partially upside down. Then the bounce, bounce, as he carried her down each stair before reaching their open back door. Cool fresh air curled around her skin. Where was her brother? She screamed beneath the gag. Was he dead or alive? Would she ever see her family again? Libby had never longed for her mother so badly. Spittle dampened the cloth around her mouth as she was taken into the night. The creak of a car boot followed. Then the searing pain of banging her head as she was thrown inside. The terrifying feel of a plastic liner beneath her body, and the stench of something decaying. She pushed back the thought that Angelica had been here before as the darkness swallowed her whole.
25
Nervous energy flowed through me like electricity. I was still sweating from the rush. It took all of my restraint to sit still behind the wheel of my car. My limbs were still shaking from the flood of adrenalin minutes before. I did it. I actually did it. Walked into Libby’s house like I owned the place. She had stained her blood on a card, signing her life over to the Midnight Man. Now, she was unconscious in the boot of my car. The plastic lining was one of many precautions I’d taken. There was no rush the second time around.
I was taking a chance, coming back into town this evening but I hadn’t been able to resist driving down the side road on a slow crawl. I shrank back into my seat, confident I wouldn’t be spotted. People were too focused on the town meeting in the school hall to worry about me. A yellow ribbon fluttered from a lamp-post – a pathetic tribute to the blonde teenager I had rid the town of. Soon there would be more ribbons … more posters … maybe even more town hall get-togethers while they pointed the finger of blame.
Off you go little sheep, into your pen. With a keen eye, I watched the townspeople crowd into the high school. All families who had left their children at home. Of course, they’d be in the hands of older siblings, but most of them spent their evenings glued to a screen of some kind, as my current catch would testify.
I watched Mr Palmer shout at a skateboarder, swinging his crutch around like a fucking bayonet. Palmer was the Neighbourhood Watch coordinator, ergo self-appointed town sheriff. As always, his face was set in its usual grimace. I had done him a favour, bringing purpose to his pathetic life. My gaze switched to old Mrs Peterson as she strode purposefully up the path. Another pent-up pensioner with a bee in her bonnet. Then there were the families employed by Irving Industries, in their plush new homes and top-of-the-range cars. Jahmelia’s parents crossed the road, a papoose wrapped around the woman’s body. I knew them all and I had shaken the foundations of their privileged worlds. Fifteen-year-old Angelica was lying in a morgue freezer, as disposable as the empty Coke can in the footwell of my car. I could have waited to take Libby if I hadn’t been ready. In time, they would forget what had happened. The grip on their children’s hands would ease, they would stop glaring at each other with suspicion in their eyes.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel as I watched the locals file in, two by two. The crooked businessmen and councillors who were trying to turn Slayton into something it was not. It would always be the home of Blackhall Manor, a cursed place on cursed land. A place where even the dead could resurrect. Sarah ‘loser’ Middleton. She was the real reason I had driven here. A vein throbbed in my forehead as I waited for a sighting. She should have died that day. How was she still alive? The woman was a fucking rubber ball.Enjoy it while you can, bitch, I muttered beneath my breath. The buzz from taking Libby was being replaced by rage as thoughts of Sarah tormented my mind. Who did she think she was, coming back after all these years? She didn’t care about other people. All she thought about was herself. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was the first to hide when her father got his gun. She could have tried to save her family, but she was only ever interested in looking after number one. Every day since she returned it was all I could think about.Finish what was started. Finish her.I stared out at the streets, feeling the dull throb of a headache. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I pulled out a strip of tablets and popped two from the foil. I swallowed them dry, my thoughts stalled by movement in the boot of the car.
I caught the smell of something stringent. Vomit? Had Freckle Face puked into her gag? Or maybe it was the cleaning fluid I used to clean up after the blonde’s corpse. I turned over the engine. I had stayed far too long. Libby needed dealing with. The game would not play itself.
26
As Sarah pulled into home she could not escape the image of Angelica – her open eyes crusted with dirt as she stared into the abyss. She recalled her own encounter with death. Remembered the police finding her cowering in the back of the shattered wardrobe. As much as she had tried to escape it, the memory had clung like a leech, through her adolescence and into adulthood. But there were no second chances for Angelica. No momentary brushes she could escape. Angelica’s last moments were too monstrous to contemplate. Every resident of Slayton was in danger for as long as her killer was free.
Never had Sarah felt so reluctant to shove her key into her own front door. It was why she’d stopped off at a coffee shop, spending an hour on a crossword as she nursed her latte. It seemed bizarre, how she could focus on word puzzles when a killer was roaming free, but playing with words was the only thing that could calm her down. Help her to think. She remembered after the shooting, when she’d rocked in her hospital bed reciting the alphabet backwards again and again. Her lips silently movingZ, Y, X, W, V, U …It was her brain’s way of keeping her functional. To stop speaking completely meant she would lose herself to the trauma. Then Grandad Noble, his eyes red with grief as he brought her crossword puzzles and word searches to keep her occupied. That was when Sarah discovered the real power in words.
Now she was late for the town hall meeting but couldn’t leave until she’d fed her cat. Softly, she opened the door, pausing to listen for any unusual sounds before stepping lightly into her hall. She approached the kitchen, half-expecting to find another taunting letter on her floor. A clatter rose from within. There was someone in there. Her fingers curled into a fist. What she’d give for her telescopic baton right now. It was secured in a police locker, along with her CS gas. If she was found in possession of either off duty, she would be in hot water. Right now, it would have been worth the risk. She quickly swung open the door before taking a step back.
‘Sherlock!’ Sarah’s hand fell to her chest, as her cat jumped down from the sink. On the floor was the plastic cereal bowl he’d sent crashing down. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’ Her gaze fell to the floor beneath the cat flap and she exhaled a relieved breath. There was nothing there.
For now, the phone was silent, and there was no sign of her husband. Muttering to herself, she gave Sherlock extra helpings before heading into town.
At least she wasn’t on stage, the first in line to face the residents’ anger. The local secondary school was packed and things were well underway. Given the town hall was undergoing renovations, the school theatre was deemed the best place to hold the meeting. Whispering apologies, Sarah shuffled through the crowds to find an empty chair. Schools had their own unique smell and Slayton Academy was no exception as it emitted a mixture of old books and gym kit bags. As Sarah took a seat, she felt a pang of sadness as her gaze fell on the stage. She hadn’t attended this school for very long, but this was where her parents should have sat as they watched her, and Robin after her, perform in the school play. But her little brother remained forever four years old, the boy who never got to grow up. The thought came from nowhere, and she blinked it away. She needed to keep her wits about her. A lot was riding on tonight.
Gabby spoke with confidence, dressed smartly in a charcoal suit, black heels and a white shirt, flanked by a cast of middle-aged white men. She was the only woman on the stage, and the only person there that Sarah trusted. Simon Irving wasn’t on stage. After his loss, it was hardly surprising. Nobody expected him to attend. After going through the preliminaries, Gabby updated the crowd before her. By now, the chairs had been filled, and people were standing at the back. The mood was sombre, their faces grim. Sarah glanced around the room for Maggie before realising that she wouldn’t have been able to get a babysitter to watch Elliott. But what about every other child whose parents were here? Who was minding them?
Bryony and her husband were sitting with their baby in the front row, their eldest son no doubt babysitting Jahmelia. Libby’s parents were there, but no Libby. Then again, she had a big brother too. Due to the nature of the meeting, Sarah understood why children weren’t allowed, but they could have made some provisions in one of the classrooms. She continued to scan the room. Father Aloysius, Slayton’s only Catholic priest sat stiffly, his face gaunt. Next to him was Doctor Hamilton, a no-nonsense woman who Sarah admired because of her straight-talking approach. Jimmy Morrissey was there too, the owner of Morrissey’s newsagents, and Slayton’s high school teachers took up the whole of the front row. It felt like they were fighting a war, and the assembled townsfolk had gathered as a show of strength.
