‘No problem,’ Sarah said, sweeping her fringe out of her eyes. ‘Anything you need, just ask.’
As she opened her car door, she felt Gabby’s gaze on her as she stared out the window of her flat. She was a picture of isolation. Why wasn’t she with her daughter? Why was she living alone? Sarah vowed anew to do what she could to help Gabby find her granddaughter. But it wasn’t Elliott she needed to talk to. It was the Midnight Man.
41
Twilight fell softly as grey clouds rolled across the landscape. After a day of icy showers, a frosty snap was forecast. At least Sarah’s cottage was toasty warm. It didn’t feel right, being cosy at home when the rest of the team were working around the clock. Progress had been made. She had unearthed CCTV footage of Christian’s car driving to Libby’s house. The same car was captured in the area the night Jahmelia disappeared. But the image was grey and grainy, not giving up the identity of its driver just yet. Sarah knew she should be happy about the evidence, but she still felt like a dog chasing its own tail.
Yvonne seemed determined to keep Sarah out of the investigation. Only now could Sarah see that most people in the office tolerated Yvonne rather than liked her. At least she had one ally at work, and Richie had promised to text her with any big updates regarding the case. Pulling off her Marigolds, Sarah shoved them in the cupboard under the sink. Her house was the cleanest it had been in months. Gone were the pizza boxes and biscuit crumbs, and the wine stain had been scrubbed out of the rug which was now a shade lighter than before. She picked up Sherlock’s food bowl and shook the kibble at the back door. It wasn’t like him to stay out so late.
‘Here, puss puss. Where are you?’ Nothing. Strange. The company of a disgruntled cat was better than no company at all. Her husband’s voice was fading, and not before time. She wondered if Yvonne would make a meal out of Sarah’s link with Blackhall Manor, when the truth came to light. She’d given her enough gossip for now.
She poured herself a gin and tonic before opening up her laptop. Microsoft Word flashed up on the screen. She didn’t remember leaving that open. In fact, she hadn’t typed anything worthy of it in a very long time. As she clicked to shut it down a box appeared asking if she wanted to save the document she’d been working on.What document?she thought, about to click ‘No’, when she paused. Maximising the unsaved document, she began to read.
DearINCOMPETENT LOSER
It’s been interesting, watching you stumble from one disaster to another. As you amble into your office in your ill-fitting suit and cheap perfume, you could not look any more out of place if you tried. And it’s not as if things improve when you open your mouth to speak. Have you seen the way your colleagues’ eyes roll when you force your opinion on them? You’re there out of pity, you know that, don’t you? Why don’t you have some self-respect and leave?
They don’t want to hear your theories on the Midnight Man, Sarah. Do yourself a favour and leave them out of it. This is between you, me and Blackhall.
It’s waiting for you. Deep down, you know you have to return. Hasn’t enough blood been shed? It doesn’t want Jahmelia, or those other silly girls. It wants you. You can knock it to the ground if you want, but its essence will remain. The game will be replayed until you answer the call. There’s no shortage of candidates in Slayton … More teenagers can die. More innocent lives be ruined. That is, until you come home.
It’s not as if you have anything to live for. Even your cat has left you. He’s doing fine, by the way. I suppose you could go on talking to your husband, but he took the wise route out some time ago. So come, finish the game. You never know. You might even win.
I’ll be in touch with further instructions. Remember, I’m watching. If you share this with anyone, Jahmelia will die, and the game starts all over again.
The Midnight Man
A sick feeling encompassed Sarah as a cold realisation drew in. Someone had typed this on her computer. In her house. As for Sherlock … had he taken him? Not Sherlock. She loved that miserable little bastard. Her eyes snapped away from the screen. ‘Sher-lock!’ The word echoed around the stillness of her home. ‘Here, puss puss …’
Nothing.
Her shaking hand found her fringe as she imagined the intruder sitting at her laptop and spouting their bile. They were fearless, which made them dangerous. Part of her wanted to grab her car keys, leave this place and just drive. But she was rooted to the spot, just as she had been in the wardrobe of Blackhall Manor decades ago. Minutes passed as she stared at the screen, unconsciously tugging on her fringe. Should she call the police, or would she be giving Yvonne a bigger stick to beat her with? She could almost hear her condescending voice. Sarah was recovering from a breakdown. There was no sign of forced entry in her home. Sarah could have written this herself.
She sat in the creeping silence, digesting the words on the screen.‘I suppose you could go on talking to your husband, but he took the wise route out some time ago.’Each word was like a stab to the heart.
Her limbs jerked in fright as a motorbike backfired outside her home. This cottage was the one place in the world where she used to feel safe. Despite what happened to David, despite everything. It had been her haven, her hideaway. Part of a happy childhood memory. Now, she dreaded walking inside the door. The intruder had been right about her cat. He was also spot on about work. He seemed to see right through her. As she’d feared, Gabby had been wrong about the first letter. This was real, and it couldn’t be any more personal. Had he taken those girls just to lure her in? Whoever the Midnight Man was, he knew her. He also knew about her husband.
Sarah allowed herself to visit the moment when her life, which she had so carefully rebuilt, came crashing down once more. She remembered the rain hammering like nails on the roof of her car as she drove home. Her planned day of shopping had been a total washout and she’d come back early with some goodies from the bakery for later on.
David’s car was on the drive, and she’d been surprised that he wasn’t at work. Calling his name, she entered the house, but there was no response. It was only when she placed her food shop on the kitchen counter that she saw the garden shed light was on. David called it his ‘man shed’, a place to watch the footie with a small TV and a mini fridge with some beers. With his job, he needed to decompress. But why was he in the shed when he’d had the house to himself? Holding her coat over her head, she ran down the muddy garden path, almost slipping on the way. ‘David?’ she’d called, pulling on the door. The light was still on, but there was no response. He usually answered before she reached it. She remembered peering in through the window. It was so high up, she’d had to stand on a bucket to see in.
By the time the ambulance came, she’d smashed a pane of glass and was trying to climb in. She hadn’t noticed the blood running in rivulets down her hand as she tried to get to him. It wasn’t to undo the clear plastic bag he had placed over his head. It was to save him the indignity of being found dead with his trousers undone. Back then, she couldn’t make out what he’d been looking at on his computer as he suffocated. But the police did. They also saw the piles of images featuring underage boys and girls. There was nothing. No explanation. Just a shed full of porn.
The shock of it had hit Sarah with the force of a truck and made her question everything. She was twelve when they first met, and he was several years older. As she aged, the distance between them had grown. Perhaps he had always been a predator, but she hadn’t allowed herself to see it. She relived the pain of both loving and hating someone at the same time. Like her father, he’d betrayed her without warning. She had had no idea, but had felt the shame of people’s stares ever since. How could she not have known? He hadn’t even meant to kill himself out of guilt for what he’d become. He’d been playing some kinky game. So why hadn’t she been able to let him go?
When he first spoke, she knew he wasn’t there. The voice that chipped away at her self-confidence may have sounded like her husband, but in reality, it was hers. ‘Don’t forget to buy some kitty litter.’ That was the last real thing she said to him the day he died. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so tragic. The idea of being on her own again had been too much to bear. No wonder she had lost the plot and had to be escorted out of work. Talking to David at home was one thing, but having full-blown conversations at work … her cheeks burned at the thought.
Sarah shook away the last threads of a memory she was ready to leave behind. It was time to reclaim her life. Not just from her husband but from Blackhall Manor too. The Midnight Man was coming, according to the letter before her. Sarah slammed down the lid of her laptop. Too many people had suffered. If it came down to her or Jahmelia, then she would not run away.
42
Thursday 7th November 2019
I pressed my ear against the boot of the car. Nothing. Was she even alive in there? My nose wrinkled as a faint whiff of bodily functions rose from the crack where the seal had gone. I didn’t want to open it. Blood I could manage, but the image of Jahmelia smeared with tears, snot and faeces was enough to make me keep the boot closed. She may be just a kid, but her shit sure didn’t smell of bubblegum. She had enough water to survive, assuming she could open the bottles with her hands tied at the front. She could bang and kick all she wanted against the rusted ice box, but nobody was coming, not out here.
Still … I should know if she was alive or dead. I looked over my shoulder. Clenching my hands into fists, I brought them down on the rusted metal, a smile creeping to my face. There was movement. A weak cry of despair. ‘Help! Please!’ Jahmelia croaked from within. But her movement was feeble. I imagined popping the boot. Her relief as she was enveloped by a whoosh of cold air. The gratitude the town would bestow upon me when she was found – not to mention the hefty reward. A small part of me could be satisfied with that. I had taught these girls a lesson. They would never be the same. But would I? I couldn’t go back to the way things were. It was never about their deaths. It was the relentless compulsion to right a wrong. The more time I spent in Blackhall Manor, the more I understood the truth. I had never held so firm in my beliefs as when I lay beneath its roof. I couldn’t give up on what I’d planned to do with Slayton’s biggest loser cop.
A small, miserable groan echoed from the boot of the car. Jahmelia hadn’t eaten and she was scrappy already, but she should survive the night. Not that I cared either way. I walked down the foggy path, kicking stones ahead of me. After what happened with Libby, I’d wanted to finish Jahmelia that night. The trick was to hold the blade firmly but gently against the skin, with slow, even pressure. I thought about Sarah’s cat. A little bit of practice couldn’t do any harm.
