by Neil White
Someone had hit Laura. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked, alert now, angry, and I rushed to my feet, but too quickly, so I wobbled, my head spinning.
‘My cheekbone hurts,’ she said, and she winced as she spoke. ‘I can't touch it. It feels like it moves when I open my mouth.’ I could hear the pain in her voice, like she was speaking through gritted teeth.
I went towards her, but she heard me move.
‘No,’ she wailed, surprising me, and I heard her shuffle backwards. ‘It hurts too much,’ she said.
I thought about Katie. I remembered her outside. Then I remembered the battered old Fiesta. I hadn't seen her drive it, but I remembered where I had seen it: outside Sarah's house.
‘Katie has got something to do with this,’ I said. ‘She wasn't really Sarah's lodger, and she wasn't a student either.’
‘So who is she?’ asked Laura.
I didn't have an answer for that.
My head still hurt, but things were getting clearer. I put my hand to the back of my head and it came away sticky. We both stayed silent for a while, as I considered what we should do next.
I thought about the people who had died through the years, the ones we had talked about just the day before. Then I thought about why I had come here. I had followed the trail set by Katie, and now Laura was trapped in here too, hurt.
Then I thought of how Sarah had been kept hidden before she died. And what about the two witches who were still missing? Was this the room? I remembered how remote the house was, set far back from the road, the nearest neighbour a few hundred yards away. I reached out with my hands, away from Laura, and I hit the wall, testing it with my fists. It felt solid and cold. The floor beneath me was just dirt, and I realised that I must be in some kind of outbuilding. Or cellar. It seemed far-fetched, but my thoughts went to Josef Fritzl. He had abused and held his daughter captive for twenty-four years, and she bore him seven children, all from a cellar in the middle of an Austrian city. Keeping people captive here would be easy. Who would ever visit?
‘How did I get in here?’ I asked.
‘There's a door, and then some stairs.’
‘Are there any other ways out?’
Laura didn't answer at first, and then I realised that she was crying.
‘Hey, hey, don't cry,’ I said. ‘If you get weak, you don't think. Don't get beaten by this.’
‘That's why I'm like this,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘I'm the policewoman. I'm supposed to be strong, able to defend myself.’ She stopped for a few seconds as she groaned with pain, before she continued, ‘Look at me. Captured by some kid. And what about Bobby? He'll wonder where I am.’
‘We'll get back for Bobby, don't worry,’ I reassured her, although I wasn't convincing myself. I thought back to Katie. ‘She isn't acting alone,’ I said, reaching out to Laura slowly. When my hand brushed her shoulder, she came towards me carefully and put my head gently into her chest. ‘I ended up here the same way,’ I said. ‘One minute I'm looking at Katie, the next minute I'm eating gravel. She's not acting alone. All she did was sucker us in.’
Before we could say anything else, the door opened and a burst of light made me blink. I couldn't make out who was there, as the glare put his face in shadow, but a deep voice growled at us, ‘One of you, come out, and slowly.’
I looked at Laura. Her right cheek was swollen, and I could see in the light that it was bruising badly.
‘I don't know what they are going to do,’ I whispered to her, ‘but I think I might be in better shape than you to stand it first.’
I thought she was going to object, a copper's pride, but then she looked away and I saw a tear roll down her cheek.
I kissed her on her head as I stood up, and then I moved towards the door. As I got close, I felt a sharp blade stick into my back.
‘She won't be watching, so forget about the macho stuff,’ he said.
As we got outside the room, I glanced around. He smelled of tobacco and bad breath, and had a ratty face and sallow skin, his hair long and pulled back into a greasy ponytail. He was taller than me, easily over six feet, and his hands were large and callused, ingrained with oil and dirt. I could smell body odour, and there were sweat stains under his arms.
I felt another jab in my back, so I looked to the front and climbed the stairs slowly. I felt like the condemned climbing the gallows' steps, and as I got to the top, I wondered whether the room would be the last I would ever see.
Chapter Eighty-three
Carson drove quickly along the country lanes, Rod Lucas in the back, giving directions, Joe talking into his phone.
‘Should we get more people here?’ asked Rod.
‘We will, but if we get there first, we are going in,’ replied Carson.
As Joe hung up, Carson asked, ‘Developments?’
‘Sort of,’ he said, looking stern. ‘Rebecca Nurse's father has just walked into a police station and confessed that he murdered Mack Lowther.’
Carson looked grim-faced at that, his jaw clenched.
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Rod.
‘What, kill Mack Lowther, or confess?’ Joe replied.
‘Both, I suppose,’ Rod replied.
‘Because someone told him that Mack Lowther had killed his daughter,’ Joe said, his voice filled with regret. ‘More importantly, if he did kill Mack Lowther, maybe he has just realised that he killed an innocent man.’
‘Any intelligence on Katie Gray?’ Carson asked.
Joe shook his head. ‘Blank, so far. And Laura McGanity hasn't called in yet.’
As they rounded a corner, Rod told Carson to stop, and then they saw the red Stag. A car flashed its headlights further along. A patrol car had got there first.
‘What's Garrett doing here?’ asked Carson.
‘Hopefully it's just an interview,’ said Joe.
Carson looked up at the house, and then at the gate, saw the chain and the padlock. He parked on the grass verge, just behind Jack's car, and stepped out. He shivered slightly and wished he'd brought his coat. The air was much fresher than it had been in Blackley.
‘So what are our choices?’ asked Rod.
‘Limited,’ Carson replied. ‘McGanity is missing, and the person she was last with is linked to that house.’
‘Remember that the old women were attacked with booby traps, small home-made bombs,’ said Rod. ‘Shouldn't we wait?’
‘If McGanity is in there, do you think she'll be in any less danger if we do?’ asked Carson.
Rod shook his head.
‘That's right,’ said Carson. ‘He's already gone past the point of no return.’ He took another look at the chain on the gate. It was thick metal, and would take more than hardware-store bolt-cutters to get through it. He took a deep breath. ‘Let's hope he's in the mood for visitors,’ he said, and started to climb over the gate.
I glanced around, tried to get a better look at my captor. He was wearing steel-toe-capped boots, the glint of metal showing through the scuffs at the front, and a worn black leather waistcoat. Although he was lean, his arms looked strong, used to hard work. He looked to be in his late forties, and there were streaks of grey in his ponytail.
He smiled at me, which surprised me, although his eyes gave him away, cold and cruel. His teeth were dirty and brown.
‘Don't look so shocked, Mr Garrett. This is your story. The hook, the climax. Reporter in peril.’ Then he laughed. ‘You'll make the front page at last.’
I heard someone else in the room, and when I whirled round I saw Katie against a wall at the back of the room. There was a young man with her, and he looked familiar. He was young, early twenties, grinning excitedly.
Then I remembered. He had been at the initiation ceremony. The young man who had brought in the girl.
‘You're in the coven,’ I said.
He stepped forward, and as he got closer, he said, ‘I'm Tom Mather, April's son, so I'm a descendant, just like the others.’
‘You make a sweet couple,�
� I said sarcastically, looking towards him and Katie. Then I nodded towards my captor. ‘And this must be Daddy.’
I felt a slash on my arm, sharp, like a burn, and I stared at the cut, blood spreading onto my skin, running towards my wrist.
I looked at Dan Mather, at the knife in his hand.
‘It's all I've got, Garrett,’ said Dan. ‘Rush me. The door's only there,’ and he pointed with the knife. I could see my blood on the blade.
I glanced towards it, and then at the window.
‘You can go,’ said Dan, taunting. He stepped to one side. ‘I won't stop you,’ and as I looked at the door again, he added, ‘but then I'll have Laura to myself.’ He looked at his son, and then at Katie. ‘We all will.’
I put my head down. I knew I had no choice.
‘Consequences,’ said Dan, stepping closer, shaking his head. ‘You're so weak. You want to go, to save yourself, but you're scared of the consequences, worried how they'll write it up. You'll be the coward, the man who left his girlfriend to die. You know how it works. You'll sell papers, the latest villain.’ He was right next to me, and I could smell his breath on me, fetid, unclean. ‘No, you want the big romantic tale, the white knight saving his belle. Or maybe you just fear the middle of the sleepless night, that pricking of your conscience at the knowledge you left her with me, that her little boy will grow up without her. Two lives ruined.’
‘So what would you do, if it were you in my place?’ I asked.
‘I would go,’ he replied in a whisper, his dirty teeth bared. ‘I would embrace life, enjoy whatever happens next.’
I turned away, not wanting to look at him any more. I could feel my face flush from the adrenalin, my nerves keen. I looked around the room instead, trying to get a sense of my surroundings.
It was a cottage, just as I had seen on the way up, but it was dark, not cosy. The walls were papered, but it was starting to peel at the top, and the decorative border which ran around the centre of the walls was hanging off in places. It looked shabby, with the curtains threadbare in places, dirty and faded, and mud trailed across the floor. Motorcycle parts were propped up in one corner, and the furniture was dated and worn out. There was an old oak table but no chairs, and the settee had foam showing through some of the cushions.
I turned back to Katie. She looked amused, excited, all part of the game.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked her.
Before Katie could answer, Tom Mather interrupted me. ‘Because it fucking excites her,’ he said, stroking her hair.
‘No time for questions, Garrett,’ Dan Mather said, his smile staying on his lips, but I thought it faltered. I sensed that his son was someone he couldn't control.
I leaned back against the wall and asked, ‘Why, what's the rush?’ trying to get myself some thinking time, working hard at controlling my fear. There was a jab of pain when my head touched the wall, and when I put my hand there, my fingers came back sticky with blood again. As I looked back around the room, I saw a hammer on a shelf, blood smears around it. At least I knew why I had a headache. ‘I came here to ask questions. I'm a reporter, it's what I do.’
‘Let's talk about you first,’ Dan replied. ‘Can I call you Jack?’
‘You've got the girl,’ I said, nodding towards the stairs, to where Laura was still held, ‘so I suppose that gives you the choice.’
‘Do the police know you're here?’ he asked.
‘It won't take them long to guess.’
Mather turned to his son, and then to Katie. ‘So this is it,’ he said. ‘It's the end.’
As I watched Katie, I thought I saw her smile slip.
Chapter Eighty-four
Carson stood on the other side of the gate, looking up at the house as Rod and Joe scrambled over and landed next to him, Rod puffing slightly, too old for that kind ofthing.
‘Is that it?’ said Carson, almost to himself. It looked like any old farm cottage, dirty and ramshackle. The field in front was virtually barren, apart from one dead tree, its trunk split open, just a gnarled old branch pointing upwards.
‘What did you expect?’ asked Rod. ‘Barbed wire?’
‘Hang on,’ said Joe, and then he reached into his pocket for his phone. Rod and Carson looked at each other as Joe listened.
‘This doesn't have a good feel,’ said Carson.
When Joe ended the call, he looked at them both, and then up at the house. ‘McGanity hasn't picked up her child from school,’ he said.
Carson took a deep breath and ran his hand over his head. ‘Garrett is in there, so maybe McGanity is in there too?’ He looked up at the house again. ‘I missed Sarah Goode. I'm not missing another. Come on, get walking.’
‘Why did you do it?’ I asked.
Dan Mather rolled his eyes in mock-boredom. ‘Here we go,’ he said. ‘The confessional.’
‘But you hurt people. I want to know why.’
Dan smirked. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I'm a reporter. If I ever get the chance to write this up, my readers will want to know the answer.’
I was trying to distract him. I had seen what he could do to people.
Dan Mather thought about that for a few seconds, and then he said, ‘What words would you use to describe me? Not the psycho-babble stuff you'll put in the book you want to write. Give me the tabloid version, the screaming headlines.’
‘Evil,’ I replied. ‘Inhuman. Monster, maybe.’
‘So why do you want to live off me?’ he asked. Before I could respond, he said, ‘You call me inhuman, but you want to feed off me, make money from the things I have had the courage to do.’
I glanced over at Katie. She was biting her lip nervously as Tom Mather paced around, his cheeks flushed, looking agitated.
Dan waved his hand at me. ‘Don't feel bad, Mr Garrett. Do you think the police will be any different?’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘Of course not. They'll be just the same, churning out some ghost-written memoir to be read on the beach, like this is all throwaway stuff. And the judge?’ Dan laughed. ‘He'll be kept awake by what to call me, how to define me, the cutting words that will be remembered through history. His wife will get sick of his dinner-party talk, how I looked at him coldly before they took me down, blah fucking blah. Fucking parasites, all of you. So cut the shit and just ask me the question that you really want to ask: how does it feel to kill someone?’
I tried not to react to that – didn't want to play his game – but it was hard. I felt sweat prickle across my forehead.
‘But it wasn't about death,’ I said. ‘It was about sex. You fucked them first. Did you tell them that?’ I looked over towards Katie, and then at Tom, hoping for a reaction, but there wasn't one. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘That's not what you're interested in,’ Dan Mather said. ‘You've fucked people, you know how it feels. You can just ask the little slut we've got downstairs. No, it's the killings you want to know about, how it feels to watch someone take their last breath. What do they feel? Fear? Acceptance? Relief?’
‘So that's what it's all about,’ I said. ‘You get off on their fear.’
Dan Mather laughed out loud at that, turning to look at Katie, and then at Tom. Katie was emotionless, but Tom grinned. Then I noticed that he was gripping Katie's arm, as if worried that she might run out.
‘It's my story,’ I said, turning back to Dan. ‘I want the full truth. I could tell it for you, get it out there. What you think, why you did it, how it felt.’
Dan whirled back to me.
‘I'll give you the choice,’ he said. ‘If you want to write your story, tell the world about me, you can. I'll let you walk out of that door when I've told you everything.’
I was suspicious – but then I realised the catch.
‘What about Laura?’ I asked.
Mather stepped right up to me again, making me push my head back into the wall.
‘That's your choice, Mr Garrett, because today is the final day. If you want to write yo
ur story, you can, because it's a simple question for you: one of you is going to die very soon. You, or Laura. But I am going to give you the choice. That'll be some story.’ His eyes looked into mine, his eyebrows raised, the stare hard. ‘Who do you think it will be?’
‘That's no choice,’ I said quietly.
He kicked out at me, his mouth in a snarl, the steel toe-caps catching me on my shin. I shouted out and bent double in pain.
‘It's your only choice,’ he snapped back at me. ‘One of you will taste the fire. The other will tell the tale.’ His grin came back. ‘So who will live and who will die? You or her?’
‘But why now?’
‘Because the time is right,’ he said. I felt the blade under my chin, its tip sharp, cold, pushing against the skin. ‘If the choice is you, then I could do it now. A quick slice and it's done. Laura walks.’
I moved my head away.
‘Is that your choice, Mr Garrett? Laura's the one?’
I shook my head. ‘I haven't decided. I need more time.’
Mather nodded. ‘Okay, you've got more time, but if you leave it too long, it's game over. You both die.’
I closed my eyes.
‘Let me see if it's a good story first,’ I said, trying to draw him out. ‘There might be nothing to tell. So go on, what is it like to kill someone?’
Dan Mather spluttered a laugh. ‘Do you really want to know?’
‘I asked the question.’
He was quiet for a moment before he answered. ‘It's never quite what you think it will be.’ When I looked surprised, he continued, ‘Have you ever thought of something so much that when it happens, it's an anticlimax?’
I nodded.
‘It's just like that,’ he continued. ‘The fantasies, the dreams, those times I've thought of my hands around someone's neck, squeezing tightly, seeing the pleasure in their eyes at first, just a game, but then the fear kicks in. And then they see it, that knowledge, the end, their lives about to be snuffed out. What do they think of, what do they see?’
