Sarah shook her head in disgust. He had come to protect his investment. The councillor was in his pocket, that much was evident. But what had he meant about Blackhall? Was it the bad publicity of the murders he was trying to avoid, or was there something more?Do I need to remind you what’s at stake?Had his visit been motivated by greed? What about Angelica? Her funeral hadn’t even taken place yet. A pair of squeaky shoes echoed as a caretaker walked purposefully down the hall. Darting into the girls’ toilets, Sarah’s thoughts went into overdrive. She knew better than anyone that people reacted differently to grief. But something about this set-up felt all wrong.
27
Libby’s breath was quick and panicked as she came to. She didn’t remember the journey which brought her here, and the bag was still over her head – but she recognised the location by the smell clawing at the back of her throat. She was back in Blackhall Manor, in the bowels of the building where the stench was magnified tenfold. She groped in the darkness, feeling a mass of tiny beads on the floor. A whine rose up her throat as she recalled the rat droppings littering the rooms. She was barefoot, bound and in fear for her life. Around her, rotting timbers creaked steadily, as if the house was breathing. She thought of the Sunday school lesson about Jonah, trapped in the belly of a whale. Libby blinked in an attempt to clear her vision. There were no shadows, no dots of light. The room was devoured by darkness. Her throat was scratchy from screaming for help, her face wet with tears and snot. A visceral shudder drove deep into her bones.
She shifted into a sitting position, her back against a wall. She was alive, and she was still in one piece. But for how long? Her heart was galloping in her chest, every instinct screaming at her to escape. A wisp of a sound caught her attention. The echo of a child crying. A reverberation from the past? Blackhall Manor was a place of last breaths – but it was not having hers if she could help it. The back of her head throbbed. She must be concussed.
Was he here, playing games with her? She whimpered, biting down on the gag which tasted of spit and dirt. As she stretched out her legs, her toes touched what felt like another wall. This was too narrow to be a basement. It felt as claustrophobic as a coffin but she couldn’t just sit here trembling in the dark. Edging her chin to her knees, she pushed the gag from her mouth, heaving a deep breath. ‘Is anyone here?’ she said softly, waiting for her attacker to pounce. Nothing. A yelp escaped her lips as a slick, fat body of fur ran over her bare feet. She was blind to the horrors in the darkness. ‘Is there anyone here?’ Silence. She coughed and inhaled dust. The clicking of tiny legs scurried past her on the wall. She felt surrounded by insects.
If only her mum were here. She would know what to do. ‘I can’t,’ she cried. ‘Please. Mum … I want my mum!’ Slouching onto her knees, she sobbed. She knew she should fight. The Midnight Man would not be far away. She felt a subtle shift in temperature. Goosebumps rose on her skin as a soft voice whispered in her ear. ‘You can and you will. You’re my special girl.’
‘Who’s there?’ Libby started. Torn cobwebs tickled her body as she leaned against the wall. The presence was everywhere. It was the same presence she had felt the first time she got here. ‘Not my little girl.’ Not her mother, no. But someone’s. A strange comfort washed over her. She wasn’t Angelica. She hadn’t run away from the Midnight Game. She was Libby and she could do this. She wriggled her wrists against the zip ties, and she moved along the back wall until she came to a hard, rigid post. Her limbs tense, she sawed against the wood, the bindings rubbing against her skin.
Urgency grew with the sense of dread. Time was running out. Sweat trickled down the curve of her back. Her muscles taut, she continued to saw. The smell of the space was becoming unbearable. It felt like the walls were closing in. No. She wasinthe walls. The thought drove another shard of panic through her chest. The bindings hurt as she exerted force on her torn wrists, but it was nothing compared to what would happen when the Midnight Man returned.
She jerked at the sudden sound of a door slamming in the distance. He was coming for her. She buried her head between her knees in an attempt to remove the hood. She could not do this blind. It jerked against her windpipe as she tugged. There was some kind of tie at the end. Another thought struck. Shecouldget the hood off, but did she want to be bound when she did? The thought of what was in here with her was terrifying. She ground the zip ties harder against the pillar of wood, grunting as they finally broke. Her wrists felt like they were on fire, but she didn’t have time to worry about them. She fumbled with the tie at the end of the makeshift hood, which turned out to be her brother’s black gym sack. Pushing her hair from her face, she threw panicked glances left and right. Her gaze moved around the narrow space as her eyes adjusted. She could hardly see a thing. She shrank from the feel of cobwebs as she touched the walls.Think,she told herself,you got in here, you’ll find a way out.But she couldn’t see. She squirmed against the ties biting into her ankles, too scared to call for help. What if it was him? Groping in the dark, she tried to find a door. But the dusty cobwebbed tunnel seemed to go on forever. Out of nowhere, the flutter of a moth caught her eye.Its white wings glowed in the darkness. Entranced, she followed it, her breath catching in her throat as it led her to a chink of light. She pressed her hand against it. Then knocked … it was wood. The wall was made of wood. The timbers creaked and splintered as she pressed both hands against them. Drawing back, she put her weight behind it as she threw her body against the wall. Hope flared as bigger chinks of light bled through the cracked timbers. Bracing herself, she forced her weight against the wall for the second time.
A sudden crack of rotting timber was followed by a blast of light as she came out the other side. She thumped onto the floor, her ankles still bound. She was free of her prison, but still in Blackhall Manor. She breathed through the pain, her stomach lurching as she heard heavy, rushed footsteps on stairs. The Midnight Man was coming. Her hand fell to her stomach, to a gush of blood. It trickled through her fingers as shock pervaded her body. A shard of timber was embedded in the soft flesh. She lay, keening on the floor, too weak to try and escape as the footsteps approached. Through a haze of pain, she cried out. A damning sense of finality told her it was too late.
28
Sarah pushed her hands deep into her Barbour coat. It had been a steal from the local charity shop and given the inclement weather, it was certainly proving its worth. She was already sick of the cold and had months of it ahead of her. Storm clouds blotted out the moon, draining Slayton of colour, and the tinny sound of an empty beer can kept company with her as it gusted down the street. She strode past a burnt-out car with a ‘Police Aware’ sticker flapping on its shell. Maggie’s bungalow was on Stellar Avenue, one of the more deprived areas of town. It was a quarter of a mile from the police station, and a mile from where Sarah lived. It was tragic to see the once-thriving community falling into decline. When residents of Lower Slayton first objected to Irving’s mass housing development plans, he had promised them the world. Newly tarmacked roads, a youth club and doctors’ surgery to accommodate the extra families living in the area. But once his plans were passed, his promises fell away and the land set aside for extra services was used to accommodate more homes. He’d invested in Slayton police station, and donated money to the hospital but the residents of Lower Slayton had been forgotten. Now the roads were potholed from all the extra traffic and the schools were filled to capacity.
A street lamp overhead blinked three times before giving up and petering out. Sarah chose her steps wisely. Broken pavements were another thing to look out for. Despite it all, she had been happy to respond when Maggie texted half an hour before. Libby and Jahmelia were grounded until Angelica’s killer was found and the hotel where Maggie worked was short-staffed. Slayton had its fair share of tourists throughout the year and now the number of journalists taking up residence was growing by the day.
‘Sorry to call you over at such short notice.’ Maggie rubbed her hands together as she let Sarah inside. Her hair was tied up with a paisley headscarf and she was wearing a blue tabard beneath her coat.
‘No problem.’ Sarah smiled. ‘I may as well watchBlue Bloodshere as at home.’
‘That’s a cop programme, isn’t it? Aren’t you ever off duty?’
‘Two words. Tom Selleck.’ Sarah still had a crush on him from watching oldMagnum P.I.re-runs as a teen.
‘Well, there’s wine in the fridge,’ Maggie replied, smiling. ‘Help yourself.’
‘I don’t drink while babysitting but thank you.’ Sarah waved her friend away. ‘Now off you go, you don’t want to be late.’
‘I’m only working a few hours. My shift ends at midnight. You’ve got my mobile number if you need anything.’ Maggie gazed at the darkening streets. She looked older in the faltering light, and every worry line was evident on her face. ‘Ring me if you have any problems and I’ll come straight home.’
Sarah locked the door as soon as Maggie was safely in her car. She glanced at the instructions Maggie had left in the event of a night terror.Turn on the light, give him a drink, don’t shake him awake, tell him it’s OK, speak in soothing tones.A cough arose from the hall. Elliott stood in his bedroom doorway, wearing turtle-patterned pyjamas and Gruffalo slippers that had seen better days. Sarah looked at the oversized woollen gloves and his big worried eyes before giving him a reassuring smile. Tonight, his father’s medal was pinned to the pocket of his pyjamas. Medals like these were valuable. Sarah found it endearing that Maggie let her son wear it around their home.
‘Hello, you. Aren’t you meant to be in bed?’
‘I can’t sleep.’ Elliott approached shyly. ‘Please can I watch TV with you?’
Sarah checked her watch. It was almost nine. ‘Go on then. You can stay up for half an hour … as long as you watch something child friendly.’
He sat on the navy sofa, enveloped in cushions of various shapes and sizes. The living room was small but functional, tastefully decorated in dark colours with splashes of yellow and pink. On the wall were some of Maggie’s scenic paintings, and on the floor, an old deep-pile navy rug. ‘It might be easier if you took off the gloves,’ Sarah smiled, as he fiddled with the remote control. ‘Are you cold?’ The room was comfortably warm, heated by a small electric fire with flickering fake flames.
Elliott shook his head. His brooding expression told her there was more at play.
He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. He looked so sad that it almost broke Sarah’s heart. ‘Elliott … are you OK? You can talk to me. You know that, don’t you?’ She paused to let the words sink in. ‘When I joined the police, I made a vow to keep people safe. Your mummy is my friend, which makes you my friend too.’
He nodded, turning his doe eyes towards her, but the words did not come. It seemed he didn’t trust Sarah as much awake as when he was asleep. She didn’t blame him. Trust took time. Trust had to be earned. ‘Tell you what,’ Sarah said, softly. ‘How about we play a game? Do you like games?’
He responded with a nod. Sarah recalled a game her mother used to play with her when she was little and feeling down. It was a way of getting stuff off her mind without betraying confidences. Not that she’d had too much to unburden at that age. ‘It’s called “if I ask”, ’ Sarah continued, recalling the name. ‘I ask you the same question from three different people. In this round I’ll be your mum, Libby and me. You reply in three different ways, but onlyoneanswer is the truth. I have to guess who you’re telling the truth to.’ She laughed as his forehead wrinkled. ‘It’s not as complicated as it sounds, I promise.’
Elliott brightened, the remote control discarded.Blue Bloodswould have to wait for now. Sarah crossed her legs, making herself comfortable. ‘So, here’s the question. Are you ready?’
