He mimics her voice, and Emily watches his eyes flicker.
‘She wanted to erase me from her life. Pretend I didn’t exist. Well, two could play at that game. My only regret is that she didn’t live long enough to see the son she loved fall from grace. I wanted to destroy her. So many times I came close. But then I found out what really happened and I–’ He kicks his heels into the dirt. ‘But my brother. He didn’t deserve anything. Not after rejecting me.’
Emily frowns. ‘Charlie knew about you?’
The man dabs a finger into the dish, then traces the tattoo on his wrist with her blood. ‘When I found out his first wife had leukaemia and then drowned, it was like a sign from God. The Lord was punishing Charlie. Purifying his sins. An eye for an eye. The woman I loved drowned, too. The symmetry was breathtaking. For one exquisite moment, I thought Charlie would feel what I felt, suffer like I suffered. But men like Charlie always get a second shot at happiness. While some of us don’t even get a first.’
Emily tries to focus on what the man is saying, but she’s feeling weak, light-headed. She recognises the feeling; it happens sometimes, when you cut too deep, or let the blood flow for too long.
He looks at her, with flat blue eyes. ‘And this time, you were going to be my blood sacrifice. But the more I watched you, the more I realised I could use you. You were the key to all of this. I would destroy him from the inside out. Tear him down, destroy his reputation. Make people hate him, the way they hated me. And you were his biggest supporter. If I could change your mind about him, the rest would follow.’
A throbbing was developing behind Emily’s eyes. ‘Why not just kill Charlie? Why torment him; why torment all of us?’
‘Because I could.’ The man shrugs and his smile sends a shiver down her neck. ‘You don’t think I wished someone had put me out of my misery?’ He screws his eyes shut, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘You should try being locked in that space over there. Darkness so thick you can taste it.’
He nods his head towards a metal panel in the wall next to them, his voice deadly quiet.
‘First night I spent in there, I was twelve. The things that happened in this hut; they’d make your head spin. You ever looked pure evil in the face?’ He starts to beat his fist against his temple. ‘The Shepherd pretended I was special, but I was nothing to him. When I found a sliver of happiness, he destroyed it, just because he could. I never wanted to kill Samantha. But the Shepherd had me tortured. I held out. Longer than he expected.’ He gulped down a sob. ‘But in the end, it was her or me. I had no choice. I went through hell and back. And the only reason I was there in the first place was because that woman chose Charlie over me.’ He pushes himself up to standing, rocks back and forth on his heels for a moment.
‘Where is he? What have you done with Charlie?’
He walks unsteadily over to the metal panel in the wall and Emily hears a strange clunking noise. She cranes her neck; he’s opened it and is unscrewing the hinges.
‘You know, I thought it would be much harder to knock Charlie off the pedestal; to break down the trust between you. But, in the end, all it took was a few little tricks.’
Emily’s head pounds and the hut strobes in and out of focus. ‘What do you mean?’
He hunches over the wall, concentrating on the job in hand. A rank smell is spreading through the hut. ‘Oh you know, empty bottles stashed around your apartment. Planting the divorce lawyer’s business card. Signs that Charlie was obsessing over his dead wife. The abortion pills were a particular stroke of genius.’
The ground seems to tilt and Emily presses her feet into the stone trying to brace herself. ‘You mean, none of that was Charlie?’ Her mind slowly starts piecing it together. The times she’d woken with a sense of unease. The sensation of being watched. The missing food, the strange aftershave, Lizzie’s perfume, the writing on the mirror. All those times she’d accused Charlie and he’d been telling the truth. This monster had driven a wedge between them, so that when the time was right, Emily would suspect the worst of her husband.
‘Charlie didn’t kill Sabrina, did he?’ she says, the tears falling silently down her cheeks.
The man wanders over to the wheelbarrow, lightly on his toes, and pushes it towards her. ‘The best part about all of this was watching Charlie see his life implode. I kept him updated on every little twist. He was there the whole time, trapped under your apartment. So close, but so far. The agony on his face as he watched the people he loved lose faith in him. You, that reporter friend, his colleagues. Finally, perfect, untouchable Charlie understood what it was like at the bottom of the food chain. Where there’s nothing but hate and fear.’
He tips up the wheelbarrow and an avalanche of rocks spill out. Emily visualises smashing one over his head.
‘Charlie isn’t perfect though, is he?’ she says as an image of Sabrina’s red hair splashes in front of her eyes. ‘He is a cheat.’
She hears a strangled noise, and realises the man is laughing. ‘If you say so.’
Emily stares at his back, then all of a sudden her vision narrows to a pinprick.
‘No.’ The word hisses from her lips.
He spins round, a cruel smile on his face. ‘I had a lot of fun with their text messages. Bought the phones with a credit card I borrowed from Charlie’s wallet.’ He shrugs, turning back to the pile of rocks. ‘Shocking, really, how quick people are to judge. Charlie’s life was like a house of cards. Pull one out and the rest . . .’ He flutters his fingers in the air.
Emily clamps a hand over her mouth. ‘But the baby . . .’
‘Was Bert’s.’ He pulls out his knife and starts to carve something on the wall. ‘When I discovered the secret Bert was hiding, it wasn’t hard to blackmail him into saying what I needed him to. That day he pitched up to your flat and told you about their affair? I was behind all of it. You ate it up. By that point you didn’t trust Charlie as far as you could throw him.’
Emily squeezes her diamond pendant in her fist. ‘But the video tape, on the phone I found. It showed Sabrina in our flat.’
A thin smile spread across the man’s face. ‘She was there. Only, with Bert. I made him take her there so I could film them. Sabrina didn’t know whose flat it was. You never actually see your husband in the video.’
A draught swirls around her legs and Emily glances at the door. He’s left it open a crack. Her heart starts to beat faster. Slowly, silently, she shifts forward onto her knees and flexes her feet to get the blood flowing. She needs to keep him talking.
‘Why Sabrina?’
‘I needed a victim, and she was perfect. Just enough of a link to Charlie to raise suspicions.’
Suddenly, he stops what he’s doing and strides towards her. Emily freezes as he picks up the dish of her blood. She watches him dip in a finger and smear it on the wall. He’s colouring in the carvings with her blood.
‘Bert worked like a charm. The only thing I didn’t bank on was what happened next. You spread your legs for him, when you shouldn’t have. That was when I knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘That some people are destined for happiness, and some aren’t. I let myself get carried away. After all those months watching you, I allowed myself to believe something could happen between us. But after you betrayed me with Bert,’ his shoulders hunch forwards and his voice grows quiet. ‘Perhaps in another life.’
Emily edges forwards.
He stands back to eye his work. ‘Still, we managed to have some fun, didn’t we? That cinema trip kept me going for a while. And you should have seen Charlie’s face when I showed him the photograph of the two of us. It was the last thing I showed him right before I kill—’
Emily staggers forwards and, with a strength she didn’t know she had, picks up the rock and slams it into his head. The corner catches his temple and he lurches forwards. Without stopping to look, Emily drags herself towards the door.
Outside, the clouds have blotted out the stars and the nig
ht is black. Her feet crunch across the gravel and she looks wildly round for help. In the far distance a white building rears up out of the ground. Emily hobbles across the gravel. Then she’s sinking in mud. She hears a growl behind her.
Suddenly she’s running. Stumbling. Sinking. Falling. Scrabbling. To the left is a wooded area. If she can reach it, she can dive for cover. Her breath thunders through her ears. She daren’t look behind her.
Emily’s lungs are screaming. She knows she’s slowing down. She’s lost too much blood. White spots dance across her vision.
She is at the edge of the woods. She hears a grunt; he’s gaining on her. Emily plunges forwards into the trees, her feet slipping and sliding in the mud. She clambers over a fallen trunk, then ducks down, clamping her hands over her mouth, vibrating with terror.
A torch beam slices through the blackness.
She closes her eyes, huddles her knees to her chest.
Then, footsteps. She can hear him the other side of the tree trunk. Emily presses herself against it willing him to move on.
For a moment, the silence is everywhere.
Then a hand grabs her by the throat.
Emily opens her mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.
38
‘Can’t you hurry up?’
The taxi driver glared at me over his shoulder. ‘Are you blind, love?’
‘Don’t mind her, she’s had a long day,’ said Kate, shaking her head at me. ‘Give him a break, he’s doing his best.’
Outside, in the pitch darkness, the storm was raging. Thunder and lightning spat over our heads. I pressed my nose to the window, watching waves crash against the bleachers, dousing the coastal route in spray. Parts of the road were almost impassable. It wouldn’t be long until it was completely flooded.
‘Anything from your police source?’ asked Kate, clinging on as the taxi swung a hard right into the road that led away from the coast, towards Christ Clan’s remote hilltop.
I checked my phone. I’d left Durand two messages but he still hadn’t responded. ‘No, but Rowley’s alerting Dorset Police. It’s going to be fucking mayhem when we arrive. I only hope they’ve found Emily.’
An air-freshener shaped like a strawberry dangled from the rear-view mirror and its cloying scent filled my nostrils. I rested my head back, trying to breathe through my mouth, watching the wet road shimmer in the headlights.
Kate shifted in her seat and I could feel her staring at me. ‘You haven’t said much since we left London.’
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. I couldn’t even begin to unpick the tangled threads of my emotions. For some reason, I kept thinking about Charlie in the office last week; his hair was too long and I’d called him Charlotte, and told him it was time to get the clippers out, and that I really should have pushed harder for the haircut because he looked ridiculous and that’s what friends did for each other but now it didn’t really matter because he was dead. Dead dead dead.
I fiddled with the zip on my jacket. ‘If the tables were turned, Charlie would never have given up on me so quickly.’
Kate squeezed my arm. ‘Stop, Sophie. This half-brother . . . he had us all fooled.’
‘Not all of us.’ I dug the zip into my thumb until it hurt. ‘Emily stood by Charlie, didn’t she? She was the only one.’
There was a pause and I sensed Kate trying to frame her words. ‘Sophie, the last thing you need is to pile more guilt on yourself. Last night, in that tunnel,’ she stopped, took a breath. ‘You need help, Sophie. Proper human contact help. It’s one thing putting yourself in the firing line for the story, but it’s another if you’re doing it out of some twisted desire to die. Especially when yours isn’t the only life at risk.’
I gazed at my reflection in the window; my face was pale and ghostly. Kate’s words hit home. She was right; I hadn’t even considered her safety.
I opened my mouth to fob her off, when a crushing tiredness swept through me. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I took a deep breath and turned to face Kate. ‘Tommy was murdered. A homeless friend saw it happen. Watched two guys hold Tommy down and inject him with a fatal dose of heroin.’
Kate’s face tightened; she pulled at the collar of her blouse. ‘How long have you known?’
‘A month or two.’
‘And you didn’t say anything?
I shrugged as tears slid down my cheeks.
The taxi screeched to a halt. ‘You want me to ring the buzzer?’ said the driver, swinging round in his seat.
I wiped my cheeks and looked out the window at the vast iron gates. ‘We’ll just get out here.’
His brow creased. ‘But, the storm . . .’
I handed him a tenner, grateful I didn’t have to talk about Tommy anymore.
I forced the door open just as a bolt of lightning lit up the horizon and the sky went black. The wind screeched; throwing my hair around my face until I couldn’t see. I could smell, though: salt and seaweed and pine trees.
As the taxi drove away, Kate cleared her throat. ‘So, where’s the cavalry?’
There were no flashing blue lights, no sirens. Just blackness, and the storm.
‘I don’t understand. Rowley said they’d be here.’ I fished around for my phone and checked the screen. ‘I’ll give him a cal— Shit, I’ve got no service. Try yours.’
A few seconds later Kate swore. ‘The storm must have knocked out a phone mast.’ She tightened the belt on her mac and sized up the gates. ‘No CCTV. What do you reckon, feeling nimble?’
I zipped my jacket up against the chill wind and raised my eyebrows. ‘I thought we weren’t being reckless.’
‘That was before Emily’s life was at stake.’
Kate put one foot on the railing and hitched up her skirt. I swung my bag over my shoulder and followed suit. Two undignified minutes later, we landed on the other side, into thick mud.
Kate stared down at her soggy ballet pumps. ‘Glad I dressed for the occasion.’
I huddled close to her and pulled out my torch. ‘OK, Fred, the former member I spoke to, mentioned a place called the Bunker. Marlon used to lock the kids inside as punishment. I think the Bunker is one of the stone huts.’ I shone my torch around trying to get my bearings. Kate and I were standing at the edge of a wooded area. ‘From what I can remember, the cluster of huts is quite a way past the main building. And the drive is long. It’s basically fields, fields and more fields.’ Kate threw another mournful glance down at her sodden shoes. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Nope.’ She switched on her torch. ‘Come on.’
We trudged through the forest, staying low, stumbling over tree roots, sinking into bogs. All around us, thickly scented pine trees arched and roared in the wind. Eventually the forest thinned and we came to a clearing. To the left stood the white Christ Clan building. I held Kate’s arm, signalled for her to turn off her torch. We crept forwards, round the car park towards a hedge that ran along the back of the garden. Just as we reached the hedge, the back door of the building flew open and security lights lit up the garden like a stage. We dropped to the ground, hearts pounding. I heard the crunch of footsteps and peeked over my shoulder. A man, dragging a bin out to the shed. I let out a breath and waited until he’d returned to the building before crawling through a hole in the hedge.
The landscape opened out into a large, flat field and I pointed to the knot of buildings on the horizon.
Rain was coming down in sheets, and Kate shielded her eyes. ‘What do you want to do?’ she said.
I checked my phone again. Still no service. The storm filled my head, loud, raging.
I was too late to save Charlie’s life, and I was damned if I was going to make the same mistake with Emily.
I locked eyes with Kate and she nodded, reading my mind. We trekked on through the waterlogged grass; the wind drove against us like a cliff. As we passed a flock of sheep sheltering under the branches of an oak tree, Kate lost a shoe and had to go back. Eventually we reach
ed the other side of the field. Kate veered sharply to the left, shining her torch on the ground.
I raised my voice against the wind. ‘What are you doing?’
She stooped over, face hardening with concentration. ‘Looking for something to use if this gets ugly.’ She stopped by a rock the size of a melon and picked it up. ‘I suggest you do the same.’
I nodded, my lips pulled tight over my teeth. I seized a rock between ice-cold hands, then we hurried across the field towards the stone huts. As we got closer, the grass petered out and our shoes hit gravel.
We stopped at the first hut. A rotting wooden door hung on its hinges.
Kate peered inside. ‘Nothing but cobwebs in here.’
We scoured the next hut, then the next. Kate skirted a puddle and opened her mouth to say something when we heard a noise: a bang, followed by a crunching sound. We ducked down behind the stone hut, fumbling with our torches.
A figure staggered past us, leaning into the wind. I held my breath until he disappeared from sight.
‘Who was that?’ said Kate, shivering against the granite wall.
I shrugged. ‘I don’t want to know. Come on, there are only three huts left.’
Kate nodded. ‘I’ll check the one over there.’
I wiped the rain from my eyes and lurched towards the hut nearest the forest. I ran my torch over the door; it was padlocked. I pressed my ear to the door but I couldn’t hear anything over the wind. I did a circuit of the building; no windows, no other way in except through the door. My fingers tightened around the rock; I’d have to bash open the padlock.
The Perfect Victim Page 32
