by Cross,Amy
“Spill,” Annabelle says firmly, sitting opposite her. “Start by telling us why you're here.”
“Are we safe?” Agnes stammers, her French accent sounding thicker than ever. “Please, you have to -”
“I am very skeptical right now,” Annabelle continues, interrupting her. “As far as I'm concerned, there's a very high chance that you've been sent here to trip us up.”
“No, I swear...” Agnes turns to me. “After you left this morning, I was pulled aside. They realized that you recognized me, and they wanted to know why. They asked me questions for over an hour, and even when they told me I could go, I knew they still had suspicions.”
She turns back to Annabelle.
“You have to help me.”
“What happened to your face?” Annabelle asks.
Agnes reaches up and touches her cheek, although she immediately flinches. Whatever else might be going on here, the cut in her flesh is clearly real, and the bruise runs all the way up to her eye.
“I knew I had to get out of there,” she stammers. “I was so scared, I tripped while I was running out through the back gate. I fell down the stairs.”
“Forgive me if I don't necessarily believe you,” Annabelle says darkly.
“Where's Katie?” I ask, stepping closer. “I don't care about any of the rest of it. I just need you to tell me where I can find my daughter!”
Agnes shakes her head. “I don't know, I just -”
“Liar!” I hiss.
“Steady on,” Tim says, placing a hand on my arm. “Let the girl speak, won't you?”
“She knows about Katie,” I continue, keeping my eyes fixed on Agnes. “She was there with her, in her apartment, with that horrible Spanish man. The police let them go, but I know that was a mistake. She knows exactly where I can find my daughter.”
“I went to Fernando's apartment first,” Agnes replies, her voice trembling with fear. “I thought he could help me, but... His door was open. It looked like the place had been robbed, and Fernando was on the floor.” She pauses. “His head was covered in blood, on the back. Someone had hit him. I tried to wake him up, to help him, but there was just too much blood. Part of his skull was on the floor. I've never seen anything so horrible.”
“So then you came to find us?” Annabelle asks.
“I didn't know where else to go.” She turns to me. “If I give you help, if I tell you where you might find Katie, will you buy me a ticket back to France? And give me money?”
“I'm not paying you a penny!” I hiss.
“We'll make sure you're taken care of,” Annabelle tells her, “but we need the information upfront. We can look after you, but only if you prove to us that it's worth our while.”
“They're going to kill me,” Agnes whimpers, with tears streaming down her face as she stares at her hands. “They're going to -”
“Hey!”
Annabelle gently taps the side of her face.
“Look at me, Agnes,” she says firmly.
Agnes shakes her head, and now her bottom lip is trembling.
“You need to look at me,” Annabelle continues. “Come on, I'm not that ugly. You can look at me, can't you? And focus?”
“Please,” Agnes sobs, “just -”
“Look at me!” With no further warning, Annabelle slaps her hard and then grabs her by the chin, forcing her head up. “Look at me when I'm trying to save your life!” she continues. “Right now, you have no friends in the whole goddamn world, do you understand? No-one gives a damn about you, apart from the people who're after you. You're right, they are going to kill you, unless you do exactly what I say. This isn't negotiable, and I'm more than willing to let you go out there and take your chances with the wolves of Knott's Court. Do you understand?”
“But -”
“Do you understand?”
Agnes stares at her for a moment, clearly too shocked to process what she's hearing.
“Okay,” she stammers finally, “but just promise you'll get me out of here!”
“I promise,” Annabelle replies, letting go of her chin and starting to lean back.
Agnes lowers her head again.
“No,” Annabelle adds, reaching out and tilting her head back up. “It's rude not to at least make eye contact now and then, okay?”
Agnes pauses, before nodding.
“Where's my daughter?” I ask, feeling as if I've already seen enough of this pantomime.
“It was all Fernando's idea,” Agnes replies breathlessly, sniffing back more tears. “He was the one who got me involved. He said they'd pay well, and that I just had to make sure I didn't ask questions. He said it'd be a good job for me, working as a maid, and that I'd only have to work in the upper levels, around the entrance hall and the kitchen. But then after a while, Fernando started to get angry all the time. He told me we had to find someone for the house, someone who could be taken there and...”
Her voice trails off.
“And what?” I ask. My heart is pounding, and I'm still not sure I believe this dirty little tramp.
“That's as far as he told me,” she continues. “He said he had specific instructions about who we were after, and where to find her. We persuaded Katie to come with us one night, to the bar at Knott's Court. Just the bar, you understand? That was the night we saw you on the laptop, remember?”
“Then what happened?”
“We had fun,” she replies, forcing a sad, pathetic smile. “We danced, we drank, we met some guys. Katie didn't do anything, not with the guys. We got drunk but not so much that we lost control, you understand? But Fernando said it was important, he said there were people who'd be watching, people who were very interested in Katie. The next day, he told me they liked Katie very much, and that we didn't have to do anything more. I spoke to her later and she sounded sick, she said she thought she had flu. So I left her alone, until...”
Suddenly she closes her eyes, and I can see a shudder pass through her body.
“Until what?” I ask.
I wait, but she seems lost in thought.
“Answer the nice lady,” Annabelle says firmly, “or we'll feed you to the wolves.”
“Wolves?” Tim asks. “What wolves?”
“It's a metaphor,” Annabelle replies, keeping her eyes fixed on Agnes. “She knows what I mean.”
“I saw her one more time,” Agnes continues, opening her tear-filled eyes and looking up at me. “That was when she was being taken into the house. She entered through the back, and I just happened to be going down the stairs at the time, into the pantry next to the kitchen. We looked at each other, but I don't think she recognized me. She looked dazed and confused, her eyes were like glass. She was shuffling like a zombie. I went to Fernando that night and asked him what was happening, but he told me not to interfere. He told me I had to shut up and keep what I'd seen to myself. I was scared, and I needed the job, so that's what I did.”
“If you're lying,” I whisper, shaking with rage, “I swear -”
“I'm not lying,” she stammers quickly. “I promise, every word is the truth.”
“Katie thought you were her friend,” I reply, struggling to keep from wrapping my hands around the miserable wretch's throat. “She was all alone in the city, and she thought she'd found someone she could trust!”
“I know,” Agnes sobs, shuddering as she lowers her face. “I know, I'm so sorry.”
“Is she dead?” I ask.
I wait, but she seems to be sinking deeper and deeper into a weeping fit.
“Is she dead?” I ask again, reaching out and grabbing her shoulder. I hate the words that are leaving my mouth right now, but I have to know. “Tell me!”
“No!” she stammers, shaking her head. “At least, she wasn't when I saw her. I don't know what really goes on at the back of the house, but I know Katie seemed important. I don't think they'd go to all that trouble, just to kill her.”
“We'll go to the police,” I stammer. “They'll have to believe us now.�
��
“Don't be ridiculous,” Annabelle mutters.
“You'll tell the police everything you told us,” I continue, watching as Agnes wipes her eyes. “They might have been dragging their heels until now, but this time they'll have to get a search warrant and tear that place apart, and then they'll find Katie and she'll be alive and -”
“Shut up!” Annabelle hisses suddenly, turning to me. “Haven't you learned anything since I let you tag along with me? There is a much, much better way to deal with this, but first we need a lot more information, and there's only one way we're ever going to get that.”
I turn to Agnes. “You have to tell us everything. You have to -”
“Not that!” Annabelle says with a sigh, as if my idea is the stupidest she's ever heard in all her life. “We're sitting on a goddamn golden opportunity here, and we have to take advantage. I've been waiting for this since forever!”
“Waiting for what?” I ask.
“Think about it, dumb-ass!” She stares at me for a moment. “What's wrong with you? Look at this stupid kid! She works at Knott's Court and she's begging us to help us! We can use that!”
“I'm not sure I see where you're going with this.”
She turns to Agnes. “You're going back there.”
“No,” Agnes replies, shaking her head. “Never. You have to get me out of this country. Back to France.”
“Not until you've been back there one more time. Sorry, girl, but you've been very dumb up until today, and now you're gonna have to make up for it by being very smart and very brave.”
“What do you want from me?” Agnes sobs. “I've told you everything I know!”
“You need to be smart, which means accepting the deal I'm putting on the table for you,” Annabelle continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small, dark, circular object. “Winnie here can tell you that my deals are usually pretty peachy. And then you need to be brave, 'cause you're gonna take this microphone and you're gonna walk right back into Knott's Court. Only this time, we'll be right there with you, listening via this thing. And I promise, if you do exactly what I say, you'll be coming outta there just fine and we can ship you off home. Do we have a deal or not?”
Agnes stares at the microphone as Annabelle sets it on the table.
“The clock's ticking,” Annabelle adds. “You don't have time to dawdle, and neither do we. What's it gonna be, Agnes? Are you gonna go out and face the wolves alone, or are you gonna put your faith in your new best buddy Annabelle?”
“It's not that easy,” Agnes replies, before muttering something under her breath in French. “There's something at that house. Something awful. Something dark. Something -”
“Spare us the occult garbage,” Annabelle says firmly. “We're all adults here. Nobody believes in the bogeyman. The danger at Knott's Court is 100% human. Now answer the goddamn question. Are you gonna help us get Katie out of Knott's Court?”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Girl on the Inside
“This is utterly ridiculous,” I whisper, as Annabelle and I sit in the front seats of her car, shrouded in darkness. “As soon as she walks through that door, they'll be all over her like a bad rash!”
“That's what I'm counting on,” she replies, keeping her voice down.
“But what good does that do us?” I ask, watching as Agnes tentatively makes her way across the street, heading toward the steps at the front of Knott's Court. Even from here, her silhouette looks tentative and nervous, and it's hard to believe she'll get all the way to the front door. She's clearly terrified. “You don't even know that your silly little microphone will work. Isn't that the sort of thing they'd spot a mile off?”
“I've scanned the frequencies all around the house,” she continues, leaning forward a little and furrowing her brow as Agnes reaches the bottom of the steps. “I'm reasonably confident that this particular microphone will get through without being noticed or blocked. Unless they subject her to a very thorough physical examination, of course, in which case there's really not much else we can do. Sometimes you just have to...”
Her voice trails off.
“Sometimes you just have to what?” I ask finally.
“Huh?”
“Oh. Sometimes you just have to take a risk. Why? Is that not true back in Shropley?”
“In Shropley, we tend not to have such awful things to deal with.”
“Sounds like a nice life. You get to hide away from the truth of the world.”
“Nobody's hiding,” I reply, bristling at the suggestion. “There just doesn't seem to be any need to cause trouble. That's all.”
She turns to me. “You think that's what I'm doing? Causing trouble?”
“No, but -”
“You'd rather just walk away and pretend like Knott's Court doesn't exist?”
“Of course not! My daughter -”
“But if your daughter wasn't here,” she continues, interrupting me. “If Katie was suddenly safe, would you then turn around and just leave this place to get on with its sick business?”
I open my mouth to tell her she's spouting nonsense, before realizing that there might be a kernel of truth in what she's saying.
“That's what they rely on,” she mutters. “That's how they get you.”
“I'm not here to change the world,” I tell her firmly. “I'm here to get my daughter back and take her home.” For a moment, I watch as Agnes stands at the bottom of the steps. She looks to be still unsure as to whether she can go through with this. “I didn't ask to get caught up in all of this, and neither did Katie. What happens in London is London's business. We're going back to Shropley.”
“And why am I here?” Tim asks from the back seat. “I don't mind keeping you company, but I'm really not sure I can be of much assistance.”
“They'll be keeping an eye on your apartment building,” Annabelle explains. Ahead, Agnes is still at the bottom of the steps, as if she's having second thoughts. “Come on, bitch, in you go. If you know what's good for you, you won't even -”
Suddenly Agnes starts making her way up toward the front door.
“Bravo,” Annabelle whispers. “Either she's braver than I thought, or this is indeed just a trap to lure us here.”
“If Katie is in there -”
“Katie's in there, alright,” she continues, “but that's good, in a twisted kinda way. At least we know she's alive, and we know how to get her out.”
“We do?”
“I'm working on it.”
“But you don't have a plan?”
“I said I'm working on it! A lot depends on how this goes. I'm still not entirely sure whether Agnes genuinely ran away, or whether she's being used to lure us here.”
As Agnes goes in through the house's main door, Annabelle picks up the small black device from her lap and taps the screen. Immediately, a static-filled whistle fills the air, although a moment later voices start to emerge from the noise. Evidently the microphone is working for now, although I rather suspect that it'll be discovered before too long. After all, according to Annabelle these Knott's Court people are very much on the ball.
“This way,” a man says, his voice crackling over the airwaves. “You've got a lot of explaining to do.”
“I was just feeling sick,” Agnes replies, sounding absolutely terrified. “I'm sorry I didn't tell anyone when I left, but I felt so awful, I had to go home.”
“Save it,” the man mutters. “It's not me you've gotta convince.”
This is followed by a rustling sound and various sets of footsteps, and then the bump of a door being swung open.
“She's being taken further into the house,” Annabelle says, grabbing the A4 sheet showing the scribbled map that Agnes drew earlier. She points toward one of the sections. “Maybe into this part. She said the rear of the ground floor is mostly admin rooms, which kinda makes sense, along with a kitchen and a pantry area. I've always assumed that the kinky shit and the dark stuff is upstairs. She also claimed th
at there's an underground section, but she's never been down there. I think she -”
“Move!” a male voice hisses suddenly, accompanied by faster, rushed footsteps.
“Sounds like they're not very happy with her,” Annabelle mutters.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Tim asks. “I'm not entirely sure of the ethical aspect.”
“I'll get her out again,” Annabelle replies, “provided she sticks to the goddamn plan.”
“You and your infernal plans,” I mutter under my breath. “I should have just gone to the police again and refused to leave until they -”
Before I can finish, there's a brief, flaring rustle from the device.
“I should have gone to the police,” I continue, “and made them listen to me, instead of listening to all your clapped-out conspiracy theories.”
“You tried the cops already,” she replies. “Twice. Didn't get you anywhere. Please, let's not go through this again. I've told you how the goddamn world works. I've told you what happened to Harry, and -”
“Oh, your precious Harry,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “The patron saint of journalism.”
“He was a good man!” She sounds irritated now.
“And he was murdered, you say? Because he was on the verge of uncovering some vast conspiracy at the heart of British life? Are you sure he didn't just get cancer, the way millions of people do every year?”
“You don't know what you're talking about. These assholes have killed people for less than all the stuff Harry did. If you ever hear that I've killed myself, you'd better be damn sure that it's not true. It just means they've got to me.”
“Oh, why would they bother getting to you?” I ask. “You're just a piddling reporter who apparently has to hang around police stations, listening in on other people's conversations and trying to do deals for their stories.”
