‘Yeah … it is.’ Maggie looked down her reading glasses which were perched on the end of her nose. ‘That’s Elsie’s son, isn’t it? I thought it was family only. What’s he doing there?’ Much had been made of the Irving family’s request for complete privacy, with promises of a memorial mass for the public to attend later on.
‘You know him?’ Sarah looked at her friend curiously. She’d never mentioned keeping in touch with Elsie.
‘I should do, he works for Moving & Rentals in Upper Slayton. I rent my house through them.’
‘Strange. As you say, I wonder what he was doing there?’ Sarah scanned the picture of Christian, standing a foot away from everyone else. With his thick black hair and ill-fitting suit, he looked out of place next to the family, who seemed perfect in every way even in their tailored mourning black.
‘He must have slipped through, like the photographer,’ Maggie snorted, folding the newspaper in half. ‘Bloody rag.’
‘I’ll have that,’ Sarah said, as Maggie stretched to throw it in the bin. She slipped the paper into her bag and raised her head at the sound of Elliott’s squeaky trainers as he plodded down the hall. He looked a pitiful sight, his head down as he avoided eye contact with the nurses who passed him. Maggie was too proud to accept charity, but the kid really needed some new clothes. Anyone could see his jeans were too short, and his sweatshirt was clean but worn. She’d considered offering to take him shopping, but it was too early in their renewed friendship for that.
‘How did it go?’ Maggie asked as he drew up beside them both, his hand interlocking with hers. Her face looked hopeful. ‘Did Libby say anything?’
Elliott screwed up his forehead. ‘No. Sorry.’
‘Never mind.’ Sarah squeezed his shoulder. ‘You made her day better. Now if it’s OK with your mummy, I think I owe you a chocolate bar.’ His face brightened as they headed back down to the hospital shop. If Libby had said anything to him, he wasn’t ready to share it with her, and she wasn’t going to push. She saw a little of herself in Elliott. She knew how hard it was, standing beneath the shadow of authority as question after question was fired at you. But Elliott was a good kid – thoughtful, caring and kind. She needed to handle him with care.
She glanced down at the newspaper nestled in her bag. Could the same be said for Christian Abraham? At first she thought his odd behaviour was down to living with his mother for longer than seemed good for him. He seemed awkward in her company, even furtive as he failed to meet her eye. Being his mother’s carer from an early age must have affected him. But being introverted was not a crime. He had a job; he may not be the most charismatic member of the community, but it didn’t make him a killer.
It wasn’t just the newspaper photo which linked Christian to Angelica though, his fingerprints had turned up at Blackhall Manor too. Her DI had been quick to rule him out, given his occupation. He managed the building, after all. But was it more than a coincidence that Christian was at Blackhall when Libby was found? What if he hadn’t been saving her? What if he had returned to silence her for good, but changed his plan when she tried to escape? If it was designed to get the police off his scent it had worked. Now he would be deemed a hero rather than a suspect.
Sarah thought again about the sombre photograph at the graveside, and the lone figure with bowed head. Had Christian been the one to bury Angelica the first time around?
34
Sarah stared out her car windscreen at the stray dog ambling past, his black fur slick with rain. There were lots of them in Lower Slayton. They usually came out in the early hours, when the roads were quiet, but tonight the streets outside Elsie’s mid-terraced home were devoid of people, apart from some police community support officers on patrol. People’s perceptions had altered, and there was a collective anger brewing as they placed their children on curfew. It was almost a week since Angelica disappeared. A lot was going on behind the scenes, and teams of officers were working hard to track down the killer dubbed the Midnight Man. But locals’ tempers were fraying. It wasn’t helped by the media, who splashed headlines such asMidnight Man Terrorises Slaytonacross their front pages. The story started in theSlayton Gazetteas details of the game were leaked to the press. Word spread on social media under #TheMidnightMan before being picked up by the nationals. It had been met with a macabre fascination, featuring on YouTube true crime channels to KCOM News. Most adults in Slayton hadn’t heard of the game until now, much less understood it. Tales of the pagan ritual were interspersed with segments about Blackhall Manor’s dark past. The daily reminders of Sarah’s history made her scar itch. Heaven forbid they find out who she was – they would have a field day. Not to mention the fact she was assigned to the crime.
If only she’d been able to interview Isobel and Bethany, she could have uncovered more. But by the time she’d got to their house, the twins had been whisked away to Ireland to stay with relatives. ‘It’s the safest place for them,’ their father had insisted, while stating they had nothing to do with Angelica’s murder.Talk about contradicting himself,Sarah thought. If they had nothing to do with the Midnight Game, why had they been taken to Ireland? It was obvious the family were scared half to death. She was glad the twins were safe, but it was a frustrating end to a fruitless shift.
Sarah couldn’t help thinking about the letter.For every day you’re alive the game continues.He’s goading me,she thought.But into what? My suicide would not make an impact on the world. He must want something more. Press attention? Revenge? Or is this all part of some sick game?Her gut instinct nagged that Christian Abraham needed more consideration than police were giving him. She tapped the top of her steering wheel as she worked out an excuse for rocking up at Elsie’s door again. Shehadpromised to help her buy some underwear online. Her car keys jangling in her hand, she approached Elsie’s home with a newfound stride. A puff of black smoke bloomed from over the rooftops as darkness closed in. Someone must be having a bonfire. This year’s Bonfire Night celebrations were muted, apart from a couple of organised firework displays in town.
The front door opened before Sarah got to it. Christian’s hands were full of black plastic bin bags and she watched him stack them outside. ‘Having a tidy?’ she said cheerfully, visiting under the guise of a social call.
‘I …’ Christian said, seemingly at a loss for words. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and there was a dusting of what looked like soot on the leg of his jeans. Sarah walked through the open door before he could stop her.
‘I just want a quick word with your mum, I won’t be long.’ She wiped her feet on the grate before carrying on through to the living room. Unlike the houses in Upper Slayton, this was not a place you needed to take your shoes off. ‘Oh,’ she said to herself, staring at Elsie’s bed which was stripped of its sheets. ‘Youhavebeen busy. Elsie? Are you about?’ Perhaps her previous visit had inspired Elsie in more ways than one. The house looked much bigger and brighter, now it had been cleared of all its clutter.
Christian’s shadow grew large in the doorway. ‘She’s not here.’
‘Oh right, has she gone to the doctor’s?’ Sarah said, hopefully. The look on Christian’s face relayed that it was something far more serious than that. She followed his gaze to the empty bed, almost tripping on the cat winding its tail around the back of her legs.
Christian picked up a pile of books from the ground and threw them in a bin bag. Sarah caught sight ofThe Obesity Codeat the top of the pile and sighed. This wasn’t good.
‘Mom’s at the hospital,’ he eventually said. ‘She fell down the stairs.’ Turning his back on her, he carried another two bags outside. Sarah stared, open-mouthed as she digested his words.
No. Surely not. But then Elsie wasn’t steady on her feet. Just getting up the stairs would have caused her enormous effort. ‘How is she? Is she going to be OK?’
‘They’re running tests. That’s all they’ll say.’ He plucked the Kit-Cat clock off the wall, gave it a rub with a duster and put it back.
‘Christian. What are you doing?’ Sarah pinched the top of her nose as she contained a sneeze.
‘Cleaning up,’ he replied quietly. ‘I want to make the place nice for when she comes home.’ Every word he spoke seemed an effort and he could not meet her eye.
‘But this sounds serious.’ Sarah watched him intently as he continued to dust and clean. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and Mr Sheen. Two of Elsie’s cats followed him around the room, miaowing pitifully. ‘Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?’
‘I’ve just come back from there. The doctors sent me home to get some sleep.’
‘Then can I make you a cup of tea?’ She knew the trauma of a sudden shock, but Christian’s behaviour was bizarre. ‘You must be upset.’
