by Emma Snow
FIFTY
Martha woke up and immediately felt awful. She’d shared too much. Why had she done that? She looked for Ben and it didn’t take long for her to realise he’d gone. Of course he’d gone, he would have taken the first chance he could to get out of there.
She was no good for him. She was no good for anyone. All she had wanted was a bit of uncomplicated sex with someone she thought was hot. Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was. Apparently, she was incapable of doing anything without ruining it. She had had enough. She couldn’t hang around now, not after a night like that, not now he knew everything.
She rang the hospital, wanting to know how best to arrange things. Peter was still out of it. She’d leave him a note. No messages from Chloe who was presumably still poorly. Joanne would be opening up soon. She’d take Chloe’s shift, helping Joanne for one more day, say goodbye to the site, goodbye to this life.
Then she’d go. She didn’t know where. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. She just knew she had to go, the ideas about leaving becoming more concrete after what had happened the previous night.
She kept the blanket wrapped around her as she walked back to her cottage to change for work. She had barely finished brushing her hair when someone knocked on the door. For a brief moment she thought it might be Ben, excitement running through her before she realised that of course it wouldn’t be him. There was no chance he’d come to speak to her of his own volition, not after what she’d told him. He’d be unable to look at her without thinking of Samuel Lyon’s hands on her body.
It wasn’t Ben. It wasn’t anyone she recognised. “Can I help you?” she asked, peering out through the gap in the door, the chain in place, stopping it opening any further.
“Martha Coleman?”
“Yes, sorry, who are you?”
The man held up an ID card. “D.C.I Gregg. I wondered if I might come in.”
FIFTY-ONE
Ben sat opposite Alexander Hill for the first time in years. He felt strangely calm, in comparison to the fury building up in him whilst waiting in the reception area. “How have you been?” Alex asked from behind his desk.
The room was filled with models of buildings, shelves piled high with them. There was no paper to be seen. It was like he was playing at his job.
“He’s not going to sell to you,” Ben said, ignoring his question. “Why are you trying to force him?”
“Your mother sends her love,” Alex said, winking at him. “Shall I call her in, you can have a lovely family reunion.”
“You destroyed our family a long time ago.”
The smile faded from Alex’s face, his lips thinning as he leaned forwards. “Don’t drag all that up, Ben. Learn to let things go.”
“You want me to forget about my sister?”
“Look, Ben. She’s dead, all right. I can’t do anything about that, can I? So why don’t we just put the past where it belongs and you tell me why you’ve come to see me?”
“You killed her.”
“I didn’t kill her! I didn’t force her out of the house, I tried to stop her. She was too drunk to leave. But she wouldn’t listen. I’m not a babysitter. She was old enough to make her own decisions.”
“Why did she want to leave, Alex?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“I have. I’ve thought about it a lot recently. I think you tried to get her to do that thing you boasted about in school. I think you got her drunk so she’d agree to let you do it to her and when that didn’t work, I think you threw her out despite the fact she could hardly walk in a straight line. And I think that instead of going after her to make sure she was all right like any decent human being, I think you left her to it.”
“You’re not exactly an angel,” Alex snapped back at him. “You could have come up to the house and got her, couldn’t you? But you just sat in your car because you were too petty. You always were petty, Ben. It’s why I didn’t like you in school. Look at me, I’ve two multimillion developments on the go. I’m worth a bloody fortune. And look at you. Christ, that shirt looks like it might fall apart any minute and it’ll be competing with your shoes to see which is the first to go.”
“Stop trying to scare Martha away.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. Get rid of her and get your grubby mitts on the place, well it isn’t happening and I warn you, if you keep trying to push her, I won’t be so nice. Leave Martha alone.”
“What are you on about?”
Ben pulled the black knight from his pocket and put it on the desk in front of him.
“What’s that?” Alex asked.
“Don’t bullshit me. You planted it in the chapel, didn’t you?”
“Ben, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
For Ben, the missing piece finally slotted into place. The realisation hit him so hard, it almost knocked him over. A sense of dread filled his stomach, making him feel nauseous, it remained there, weighing heavy, as he got up and left the room without another word.
It wasn’t Alex. He wasn’t clever enough to do something like that. And that left only one option. If it wasn’t Alex who had left the black knight in the chapel it could only have been one other person. He set off, praying he wasn’t going to be too late, cursing himself for being blinded by the past. He had been so sure it had been Alex because he wanted to hate him, he wanted a reason to justify continuing to hate him. He had twisted the facts to fit his emotions. He’d been a bloody fool and unless he was lucky, Martha might be about to pay the price for his inability to think clearly.
FIFTY-TWO
Timothy woke up and his first thought was to wonder what time it was. He felt groggy, as if he’d only been asleep for a few minutes but when he looked at the clock on the far wall, he was appalled to find he’d been asleep not only all night, but far into the next day. It was gone four in the afternoon. The sun was already moving down through the sky, though it was obscured through thick clouds when he pulled back the curtains and looked out of the window. What had woken him? He realised it was the wind. It was starting to howl outside. The storm that had threatened was finally going to hit.
He had watched Martha for long enough the previous evening to make sure she was safe and he would check on her again but only after he’d eaten something. He was starving.
He was half dressed before he remembered about Jenny. What was wrong with his mind? It was all over the place. He hoped she hadn’t been too bored while he slept. Then he remembered the diary.
He had no idea how much of it she’d read. It had been stupid of him to hide it in such an obvious place with an inquisitive child nearby. He had been too tired when he found her reading it to do anything but send her to bed. She deserved an explanation though, a proper one.
He would talk to her after he’d eaten, explain exactly why he kept the diary, how it was the only way he had of remembering his thoughts as they happened.
His memory had never been brilliant but recently it had grown much worse which was why he’d written in much more detail in the most recent diary entries. He was glad he hadn’t encountered Samuel yet. It suggested that perhaps he was wrong. He would have loved to have been proved wrong. Get through tonight, when the comet was due, and he might be able to relax for the first time in years, knowing she was safe. Then he’d be able to properly mourn Lisa, give her passing the respect it deserved.
Jenny had left a note in the living room. “Gone for a walk in the woods. Will be back for tea. Love you.”
He frowned. He wasn’t sure how to feel about her going off on her own. She was very young, after all. But then he’d been off exploring from the age of eight. Sure, things were different then, no TV, no computers to play on. But there wasn’t a huge amount he could do about his discomfort. Helmsley was surrounded by woods and she could be in any of them. She didn’t own a mobile phone so he couldn’t ring her. All he could do was wait.
&n
bsp; He ate dry toast, trying to quieten the growing sense of unease. He got the feeling he would only feel better when she came back. He hoped she wouldn’t be long.
FIFTY-THREE
Martha got through the day at the castle by concentrating on the work, doing her best to focus on the visitors, nothing else. The weather meant it wasn’t busy enough for her liking though and her mind kept going back to the conversation with detective. He’d tried to dress the words up as nicely as he could but the facts remained. There was a chance that someone was coming after her.
The detective hadn’t named any names but had gone into detail about her personal safety, going so far as to give her his mobile number so she could ring if she had the slightest of concerns. Then they’d talked about the past, her forced to drag it up once again as she explained what had happened to her. He seemed to already know most of it. Then he’d gone, leaving her more certain than ever that she should leave Helmsley. If a detective thought she was in danger, that was enough proof for her. He obviously thought Samuel was still alive but didn’t want to say so.
That evening, Martha went onto the site to lock up for one last time. She had her torch in hand as the sun had already set. She muttered a silent goodbye to the bakehouse, the brewhouse, the Great Hall. Then she froze. Over the noise of the howling wind, she heard something. It was coming from the underground store in the west corner. She listened carefully. There it was again. It was a girl crying. Someone was lost on site.
She walked over to the stone steps, pointing the torch down them. “Are you all right?” she asked, descending slowly. “Hello?”
As she reached the bottom step, she shone the torch into the store. In the far corner, a girl was crouched down, facing away from her. “Hey,” Martha said, walking across to her. “What’s your name?”
“He’s there!” the girl screamed, jumping up and grabbing her. “Please, help-”
Martha heard nothing else. The blow to her head knocked her out before she even realised someone was standing behind her, someone who had missed her, someone who was very glad that his plan was working as well as if there could be no doubt that the Gods were guiding him.
FIFTY-FOUR
D.C.I Gregg looked at the spot where the burned out car had been found. How had it got up here? Who had driven it all this way? Would Timothy Burleigh have stolen it? Could he have killed the owner? But then why use his credit card, so easy to trace? It didn’t make any sense.
His phone rang and he had to shout to make himself heard over the noise of the wind. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I found something on the stiff’s computer,” Lucas replied, his voice cutting in and out as the signal struggled to maintain a connection to the phone.
“Say again.”
“I found something you need to know.”
“What?”
“There was a booking confirmation on his computer. He hired a holiday cottage in Helmsley.”
“Address,” Gregg snapped, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. It wasn’t the piece he wanted. He didn’t really want to arrest an old man if he didn’t have to but it was becoming clear what he’d done. He was obsessed with Martha. Why he’d felt the need to use a stolen car was still a mystery but there was only one way to find that out. Time to pay Timothy another visit. He had a reason to knock down the door this time.
But the address Lucas gave him wasn’t that of Timothy’s cottage. It was another one.
Gregg climbed into his car and drove back along the track towards Helmsley, bumping over fallen twigs and branches that had snapped off in the gathering storm. It was already getting dark. He wasted too much time staking out Timothy’s house, waiting for him to return home. He shouldn’t have given up on that and gone off exploring Helmsley, trying to find out if anyone knew anything. He should have stuck to Martha. He should have told her more. He should have done a lot of things. He was going to put the mistakes right.
He got to the address Lucas had given him. The cottage backed onto the castle. There was no answer at the door but this time, he didn’t walk away. It took three firm kicks for it to give but give it did at last, splintering at the hinges enough for him to shoulder barge his way inside. Bollocks to a warrant. He’d been patient long enough.
The first thing that hit him was the smell. He found the body in the cellar and had to waste precious minutes calling it in. She looked young, whoever she was. At first he thought it might be Martha but experience told him the smell of decay was too much. He had only seen her that day. He would work out who this one was later. For now, he needed to get to Martha, get her the hell out of there. The local bobbies would be on their way and they’d help but he needed to act faster. Where would she be?
Joanne was just locking up the visitor centre when he arrived there. “Is Martha here?” he asked.
“I think she’s gone home,” Joanne replied. “I waited for her but I don’t get paid after five. I'm not hanging about. It floods down my way when it rains.”
“Can you let me through?”
“I’m sorry, we’re closed. Maybe if you come back tomorrow.”
Gregg swore quietly while pulling out his ID card, brandishing it under her nose. “Let me through now.”
FIFTY-FIVE
Joanne saw the rude detective through before locking the doors again. It was no business of hers what trouble Martha was in. What she cared about was getting home in time for her favourite show. She was already risking missing it by hanging around for Martha to finish locking up. She had probably done what she’d done herself a few times, hopped over the wall to take a shortcut to her car. It was no biggie.
She headed for the car park, seeing two men talking on the far side. It was too dark to make out who they were and she didn’t care to look any closer. There was a chance they were druggies. Helmsley was supposed to be a safe place but she read the papers, she knew the dangers of the modern world. A detective wandering about only proved it. Better to stay out of it.
She climbed into her car and drove away, passing by Timothy Burleigh and Benjamin Robertson, her mind already focussing on what to have for dinner.
FIFTY-SIX
Ben was frantic. The traffic, the roadworks, three separate crashes, all had slowed him down until he was sure he’d be too late. He pulled into the car park at twenty past five and nearly crashed into Timothy who was shouting something past him.
He climbed out of the car and Timothy grabbed him. “Have you seen my granddaughter?”
“No, I’ve only just got here. Why? What’s happened?”
“She was supposed to be back for tea but now it’s dark and I don’t know where she is.”
“Have you called the police?”
“I tried but I think the phonelines are down. This bloody storm. Have you got a phone on you?”
“No, sorry.”
“He’s got her, hasn’t he. I know he’s got her.”
“Who?”
A car drove past the two of them, the noise of the engine almost drowned out by the wind.
“The Gamesman of course. Samuel Lyons. He’s got my granddaughter and I brought her here so it’s all my fault.”
“Hold on, you know about the Gamesman?”
Timothy nodded. “The altar. He’ll have her at the altar.”
Timothy broke into his attempt at a run, half limping as he headed for the visitor centre. Ben went after him, leaving his car there. He had hoped Martha would still be there but all the lights were out and the place was locked up tight.
“This way,” Ben said, tugging Timothy’s arm. “We can hop over the wall.”
“It’s my fault,” Timothy muttered as Ben helped him to clamber up and onto the site. “I should have looked after her better. I shouldn’t have slept so long. It’s all my fault.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
Timothy stood alone by the altar. His heart had been thumping too hard from the climb over the wall. Now, standing in the chapel, he forced himself to keep still. He wou
ld be no use if it gave out. He needed to keep going at least until he found Jenny. Ben went on, looking around the site, calling Jenny’s name while he waited for the pain to subside.
Ben brought a bracelet back to him as he rested. “I found a torch too,” he said. “In the underground store. Do you recognise these?”
“That’s Jenny’s,” Timothy replied, looking at the bracelet in the torchlight. “But the red…” He almost dropped it. The red wasn’t part of the fabric of her friendship bracelet. It was stained. The only thing that would stain like that was blood. “Was she there?”
“No sign of her,” Ben said, wiping his brow as the rain began to fall, the long threatened downpour finally beginning. “Any ideas?”
Timothy fought hard to clear his mind. Stop thinking about her, about what he might be doing to her. Where could she be? He thought about the offering, about the need for it to be in the right place. He’d thought the altar was the place because that was part of the cult’s beliefs, to use the sacred spaces of the ‘wrong’ religions.
It hit him a moment later. “I know where they are,” he said. “They’re at Rievaulx.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
D.C.I Gregg saw them climbing into Ben’s car. He shouted to them to stop but they didn’t hear him. He’d scouted out the castle site and found no evidence of Martha. He hadn’t noticed the entrance to the underground store but then he didn’t know the site as well as Ben did.
If it wasn’t for the storm, he’d have heard them on the site conducting their own search but the wind was too loud and he passed them by on his travels. He was down in the earthworks while Ben and Timothy stood up at the altar. They were out over the wall and already getting into the car just as he climbed after them, having seen the light of Ben’s torch shining across the grass. He thought they’d stop when they heard him but they just drove off.
