My plan had always been to kill off each player, leaving Sarah until last. But now the twins weren’t at home, I didn’t have anyone left to take. Police and press were hunting me, and time was a luxury I no longer had. My knowledge of Slayton’s back roads had saved me from the roadblocks and police questionnaires. Part of me enjoyed being under their nose, but I could not contemplate getting caught. To the villagers of Slayton, I was an accepted member of the community and I had earned their respect.
I slipped out a strip of tablets from my jacket pocket. Popping two from the foil, I slid them in my mouth. This was bigger than all of us. Whatever the cost, I would see it through.
43
Sarah sat on the sofa, cradling a mug of tea. A repeat of a KCOM News report was on the local television channel. A young blond man with a red nose appeared half frozen as he stood outside Slayton police station. A bunch of disgruntled townspeople had gathered in the search for answers. People were scared. They needed someone to blame. As the reporter listed the police’s perceived failings, he seemed more than happy to join in. Such pressure would ensure an arrest. The public needed to see results. She switched off the TV just as an image of Angelica flashed up on the screen.
Sarah had been the same age when her family was murdered. Was that why the Midnight Man had chosen them? What sort of agenda did he have? And what did he want with her? The question gnawed at her constantly, an unnerving hum in the background. As the room fell into silence, she glanced at Sherlock’s empty chair, feeling guilty for worrying about her cat when there were parents in Slayton going through a living hell. Resting her mug on the coffee table, she turned over the page of the photo album she had borrowed from Maggie. Sarah didn’t have many mementoes of the past, but tonight she was not reminiscing. She was looking for clues.
She scanned the photos, picking up things she had missed the first time around. Simon Irving, looking as arrogant as ever with his sweatshirt tied around his neck. Elsie, with her chubby cheeks and homemade clothes which made her look out of place. To think, what had gone on between her and Irving. It made Sarah uneasy in her seat. Switching her focus, she traced her finger over the image of her and David. The pain she felt at seeing her husband’s picture didn’t seem as raw as before. Next to her was Maggie, looking gorgeous in a T-shirt and red shorts, and towering above them both was Lewis, sporting floppy hair and his lopsided grin. He had a look of Elliott about him. With his long lashes and dark hair, she could see the resemblance now. But there was another dark-haired person in the background that she hadn’t noticed the first time around. Was that …? She peered at the image, wishing she could enlarge it. It was. Richie was standing in the background, clean-shaven and youthful, his motorbike jacket held over his shoulder with one finger. Half the town must have attended the outdoor cinema that night. She flicked through the rest of the photos, seeing who else she recognised. Even her DI, Bernard Lee, had turned up with his other half. He was a lot slimmer back then, but she’d recognise him anywhere. The album was a feast of memories and she felt sure the answers were in the past. They had to be. But who would hate her enough to want to make her life hell?
She flicked on the kitchen light, her heart heavy as she took in Sherlock’s untouched bowl of food. Tomorrow, she would make up some posters and put them around town. Pressing her hand against the back door, she double-checked that it was locked. The hairs prickled on the back of her neck. Her house was beginning to remind her of Blackhall in the early days. She was spooked by every shadow. Dreading going to bed. She should be relieved that they were progressing Christian’s arrest but while she appreciated Richie’s updates on the case, she couldn’t reconcile the letters as having come from Christian. Her colleagues didn’t have the full picture. Tomorrow she would bite the bullet and tell her DI about the letter on her laptop.
Sleep came quicker than Sarah had expected, her dreams haunted by a cloaked figure in black. She was back in Blackhall, running to Robin’s room in a desperate attempt to save him. But his door-knob turned into a candle and melted away in her hand. As the cloaked figure approached, she was enveloped by a sense of knowing. That was when she caught a glimpse of his face. Gasping for breath, Sarah sat bolt upright in bed. Bathed in sweat, she untangled her feet from the sheets. It was just a dream, wasn’t it? It couldn’t possibly be true. But her hammering heart felt real enough. She peered around the room, searching every corner for a shadow. Had he been here? Switching off her light, she checked the time: 3.33 a.m. Rubbing her eyes, she shook off the nightmare. Was this how Elliott felt? Her dream had been so lucid. She’d heard the thud of heavy footsteps, felt the Midnight Man’s breath on her neck. But it was the sense of recognition that bothered her the most. It felt stronger than any dream. The person behind the hood was someone she knew well. It compounded her instinct that they were hunting the wrong man. She looked at the clock again, remembering that 3.33 was when the Midnight Game was meant to end. She swung her feet out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown.
Satisfied the house was safe, she settled down with her laptop and searched for the Midnight Game online. Here, in the dim light of her lonely kitchen, Sarah found answers. All this time, she’d assumed the game was just a façade. But now as she read the steps, they began to resonate. The game was played in a dark creepy building, where players knocked on a wooden door at midnight, inviting the dreaded figure in. Memories of Blackhall Manor rose in her mind. The power had been out the night her family died. If your candle extinguished it meant the Midnight Man was near. Sarah recalled waking at midnight as the first boom of gunshot filled the air. Tears pricked her eyes as she read the rules of the game. If the player couldn’t relight their candle within ten seconds, they had to make a salt circle and stay in it until 3.33 a.m. A sad sigh left Sarah’s lips. There had been no salt circle to protect her family on the night they died. She swallowed back her tears as she read on. ‘If you are unsuccessful in your actions the Midnight Man will create a hallucination of your greatest fear.’ Sarah tugged her fringe. Her greatest fear was revisiting Blackhall Manor. Then it hit her. The killer had involved her from the start, but only now could she see to what extent. ‘It’s about me,’ she whispered, her words brittle with shock. ‘It’s all been about me.’
44
Friday, 8th November 2019
After taking a seat in the DI’s office, Sarah waited for him to come off the phone. The air was warm and stuffy, carrying a lingering smell of coffee and stale breath. It reminded her of her probationer days, sitting in a smelly office, waiting for a progress report. She wanted to crack open a window, just as she’d had the urge to back then. But as she sat before her senior officer, her bottom felt glued to the chair.
Being the oldest in her intake, she had always stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike the younger trainees, she’d enjoyed hours of daily study and relished the weekly written tests. It wasn’t that she was a swot, she was just so bloody grateful to be there. Being a police officer was her lifelong dream. But her husband hadn’t shared her enthusiasm. ‘You’ve been through enough trauma,’ he used to say. ‘Why would you want to take on anyone else’s?’ But it wasn’t about taking on more than she could handle. It was about making her survival mean something. Today she needed to make her DI listen.
She’d kept her head down during police training and worked through each challenge as it arose. Now, more than ever, Sarah knew she had done the right thing. She would make it as a detective, if she was given half a chance. She would start by finding the Midnight Man. She already had her suspicions, but she could not say them aloud. Not until she had proof. If her suspicions were proved right, the identity of the killer was a bombshell which would cause tremors far and wide. She returned her attention to Bernard as he came off the phone.
‘How are you doing?’ he said, in his usual jovial tone. Her gaze fell to the paracetamol packet, and the empty coffee cups. He looked tired, and she could see the pressures of the investigation were taking their toll.
‘All ship-shape,’ Sarah pre-empted his usual question about her mental health. She didn’t want to be here, wasting his precious time when Jahmelia still hadn’t been found.
‘I hear you’ve been going solo, making visits to our number one suspect.’
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. Was he talking about Christian? His comment came as a surprise. Bernard interlocked his fingers and rested them on the desk. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to paddle your own canoe, but it’s early days for you. Don’t take on too much.’
Sarah looked at him quizzically. ‘I’m not with you. Everything’s fine as far as I’m concerned.’
But her DI gave her a look which suggested otherwise. ‘One of your colleagues has expressed concerns.’ The clock on the wall ticked loudly as Sarah absorbed his words.
‘Yvonne.’ A tight smile rose to her face.
Bernard didn’t deny it.
‘She’s a bully, you know that, don’t you?’
Bernard’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, his voice deep and mellow. ‘If you’re raising a complaint of workplace bullying, I’ll have to take this further.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘It was an observation, not a complaint.’ She hadn’t come here to talk about Yvonne.
‘We had a long chat about you,’ Bernard continued. ‘I furnished her with details of your background.’ He raised a hand as Sarah took a breath to complain. ‘It’s all out in the open now. It’s for the best. I wanted a united front all round.’
Sarah swallowed down the bile rising up her throat. So everyone knew who she was.
‘Yvonne is a fine detective. I’d rather you work with her than against. Keep your feet on the ground, that’s all I’m asking. And don’t be afraid to ask for help.’ He looked at Sarah thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t it time you thought about getting rid of Blackhall Manor anyway? It’s nothing but a millstone around your neck.’
‘Maybe …’ she said. The feeling of unfinished business lingered. She opened her mouth to speak but the words would not come. Bringing up the letter now could backfire massively. Would he think she had written it to begin with? Given his ‘long chat’ with Yvonne, Sarah didn’t stand a chance of being taken seriously. If she had a physical letter they might believe her … but something written on her laptop, with no sign of forced entry into her home? She could be kicked off the team. Bernard’s view of her was tainted, at least until she proved she was perfectly sane.
‘Champion,’ Bernard said, oblivious to her inner torment as the phone on his desk rang.
