by Amy Cross
Copyright 2017 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
First published: February 2017
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
The Murder at Skellin Cottage
Prologue
Leaving the engine running and the headlights burning through the late-night rain, she clambered out of the car and splashed down into ankle-deep mud. Ordinarily she'd have picked her way carefully across the yard, but tonight she ran as fast as she could manage.
“Harry!” she called out, before reaching the door and pounding with her fists. “Harry, please! Wake up! He's after me!”
She tried the handle, but of course the door was locked. Taking a squelching step back, she was just about to go and try the back door when she spotted a light flicking on inside the house. A moment later she heard the bump of feet on the stairs, and finally a familiar figure lumbered into view, still tying his dressing gown.
“Harry!” she shouted, her voice filled now with a mix of panic and relief. “Harry, please, you've got to let me in! I'm sorry about earlier, but I need your help!”
The figure made its way to the other side of the door and then stopped, peering out through rain-spattered glass.
“Harry!” Deborah continued, trying the handle again. “Help me!”
“Go home, Debbie,” he replied, with regret in his voice. In his eyes, too, and the slope of his shoulders. “It's late.”
“Harry, please, I need you!”
“Like you needed me earlier?”
“Harry -”
“I'm not an idiot!” he continued. “Debbie, you... I don't have time for this, okay? I'm sorry, but I have to draw a line somewhere. The days of me running after you are over. Just go home.”
“Harry, I -”
Before she could get another word out, Harry drew a curtain across the door and began to walk away.
“Harry, no!” she screamed, banging her fists once more against the door, this time until it rattled in its frame. “Harry, you have to listen to me! Harry, he's coming! He's really coming this time! I know I was wrong before, but he's really here now! He's found me!”
She waited, but a moment later the light inside the house flicked off again. As rain continued to fall all around, Deborah stared at the locked door as if she couldn't quite believe that it hadn't been flung open for her.
“Harry,” she whispered, with tears in her eyes, “please...”
She hesitated a moment longer, before turning and wading back through the mud, heading over to the car. Without even stopping to wipe the mud from her boots, she climbed inside and swung the door shut, before reversing across the bumpy yard and then flooring the throttle, sending the car shuddering past the darkened house and shooting out onto the main road.
Grabbing her phone from the dashboard as she drove through the darkness, she brought up a number and tapped to call, before changing her mind and tapping to cancel. She scrolled through a list of names, hesitating on some before moving on, almost calling one or two but giving up each time. Finally, just as she brought up the name Susannah on the screen, she spotted a flickering light in the car's rear-view mirror, and she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see another vehicle on the same dark road, running a few hundred meters further back.
“No no no,” she stammered, dropping the phone onto the passenger seat and then gripping the wheel with both hands. “It can't be him. It can't be, it just can't...”
She drove on like this for a couple of miles, stiff with fear and paying as much attention to the mirror as to the dark country road ahead. The other car remained at the same distance, not getting too close but not falling too far behind either. A knot of fear was starting to tighten in Deborah's chest, and she was muttering under her breath as she continued to drive along the deserted, winding road. She told herself that she was imagining the whole thing, that this was just another panic-driven hallucination, but no words could counter the shivering fear that had begun to crawl up through her body. Finally, just after she'd gone around a sharp left turn, she shocked herself by slamming her foot on the brakes and then shifting the car into reverse, backing into a discreet spot behind a crumbling old stone wall. Still muttering, she switched the car's engine off and then sat in darkness and silence, waiting.
“It's not him,” she whispered, trying to make herself believe those words. “It can't be.”
A few seconds later, the lights of the following car began to pick out the road just a few meters away.
“It's not him. He's not here.”
Deborah watched with wild, fear-filled eyes as the vehicle crawled around the corner. She tried to see the figure in the driver's seat, but there was too much rain for her to get a clear view. At least the vehicle didn't stop, although it slowed a great deal and for a moment it seemed as if the other driver was about to pull over. As fresh rain drops fell on her windshield, Deborah leaned forward slightly in the dark and squinted, trying to get a better view of the other vehicle. All she could really make out was the side of a face in the vehicle's window, but then the car accelerated and headed off into the night, leaving her sitting quietly and watching as the red taillights disappeared into the distance.
Finally, realizing she'd been holding her breath, Deborah sighed and grabbed her phone from the passenger seat. She'd left the screen on Susannah's contact details, but still she hesitated for a moment before tapping to call. This time, she waited for someone to answer.
“What do you want?” a voice said suddenly, sounding terribly weary and irritated on the other end of the line.
“It's me!” Deborah stammered, still staring out at the dark road and watching for any sign that the other vehicle might be coming back. “Susannah, he's coming for me! I know -”
“Oh, knock it off,” Susannah groaned. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Susannah, he's coming!” she hissed. “I'm not making it up! He's out here somewhere and he's coming for me!”
She waited, but all she heard was the sound of rain falling against the car's bonnet and windshield and roof, and rustling against the nearby trees too.
“Susannah? Are you still there?”
“Go and wake Harry up.”
“I knocked on his door but he wouldn't let me in!”
“Well there's a surprise. Listen, Debs, I just -”
“Can I come over?”
“It's two in the morning.”
“I don't
want to be alone,” she continued, her voice trembling now with fear. “I can't be alone. Suzie, please -”
“You know you can't come over,” Susannah replied, lowering her voice a little as if there was someone else with her, someone she wanted to keep from hearing her conversation. “You know why, too. Give it a rest, okay?”
“I'll do anything, Suzie. I'll say anything. Whatever you want, it's yours this time. Please, just -”
Suddenly she burst into tears. She instinctively put a hand over her face, sobbing wildly as tears streamed down her face and her bottom lip trembled.
“Please, Suzie,” she whimpered finally, barely able to get the words out at all, “I'm all alone out here and he's coming for me, I know he is, and this time I don't know where to go. Suzie, I know it's late and I know you probably don't want to see me, but I'll do anything if you'll just let me stay at yours for a night or two. I can't go home, you know I can't. Suzie, if you can find it in your heart to just forgive me and help me, I'll do anything. Anything! Just help me! I need you!”
Sobbing so hard that her shoulders shuddered, she let out a breathless, gulping gasp as more and more tears ran down her cheeks. She tried to wipe the tracks away, but they were coming too fast now.
And then, with nothing more being said, the call was cut.
Wiping away more tears, Deborah looked down at her phone's screen and saw that Susannah had hung up. She almost tried to call back, her finger hovering over the green circle for a few seconds, but she waited a little too long and finally the screen dimmed and went black, and now Deborah sat in trembling silence, frozen as if she'd completely run out of ideas and could barely even think to breathe anymore. And all the while, fresh tears rolled down her face while rain pounded against the car's roof, and her eyes stared at the steering wheel as she desperately tried to come up with a plan.
Finally, switching the engine on again, she rolled the car back out onto the road and set off again through the darkness, sniffing back more tears as she drove. Constantly checking her mirrors, she watched for any sign that she was being followed again, and she kept her vigil up for almost an hour until finally she reached a bend in the road and took a right turn, driving between the old stone posts of a ruined gate and parking in the muddy yard outside Skellin Cottage.
“Mummy's here,” she said as soon as she'd unlocked the cottage's front door. “Merriwig? Where are you?”
Grabbing a backpack from behind the door, she hurried to the kitchen and began to collect as much food as possible.
“Merriwig!” she called out. “Come on, honey! We're getting out of here!”
Keeping the lights off, she hurried back into the front room and dumped the backpack on the sofa, before hesitating for a moment and listening to the silence of the cottage. The only sound came from the constant ticking of the electricity meter in the hallway cupboard, and after a moment Deborah made her way through to the other downstairs rooms, checking the windows to make sure there were no signs of a break-in. Once she was satisfied, she hurried up the narrow carpeted stairs and into her bedroom, where she immediately hauled a suitcase onto the bed and began to throw clothes in from the wardrobe.
“Merriwig! Where are you?”
Closing the suitcase's lid, she had to push down hard so she could get the zip closed. Then she headed to the dresser in the corner and opened the top-right drawer, taking out her passport and a little black pouch. Opening the pouch, she took a moment to check that the cash and credit cards were still inside, and then she shoved the pouch into her coat pocket and turned to grab the suitcase from the bed. Heading to the door, she stopped for a moment and looked back into the room, as if she was trying to figure out whether she'd forgotten anything, and then she began to lug the case down the stairs toward the hallway.
“Merriwig! Come on, move it! We're leaving.”
She set the suitcase next to the door and then hurried around the sofa. Reaching down, she pulled out a travel crate and set it on the coffee table. A moment later, hearing a faint bumping sound nearby, she turned and saw a black cat slinking its way into the room, rubbing its back against the door as it calmly made its way over to her.
“Nice of you to finally show up,” Deborah said, scooping the cat up into her arms and taking a moment to stroke her chin. “Do you fancy a fresh start, huh? Somewhere a long way from here? Does that sound good? We'll figure something out once we're on the road.”
The cat let out a brief meow, before Deborah turned and slipped her into the crate. Closing the door, she twisted the plastic lock and then peered through the bars, seeing the cat's eyes staring back out at her.
“We'll find somewhere else,” she explained. “Somewhere better than this. Somewhere safer. You trust me, don't you? We can't stay here, Merriwig. As nice as it was once, we have to go. Everything'll be okay, though. I promise.”
With that, she grabbed the handle on top of the crate and then headed to the door. Hurrying across the dark yard, she opened one of the car's doors and set the crate on the back seat, before making her way back into the cottage and fetching the backpack. Once that was securely stowed in the boot, she hesitated for a moment and looked around at the dark outbuildings. There was no sign of anyone, and the doors to both the shed and the barn were shut, but at the same time she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.
Telling herself that she was just being paranoid, she nevertheless hurried back into the cottage and grabbed her suitcase, before taking a sheet of paper and scribbling a note. Then, after she'd left the note on the sideboard in the kitchen, she stopped for a moment and looked around at the cottage's dark interior. For a few seconds, she seemed lost in thought, as if her memories of the place were starting to dig into her flesh and hold her back, urging her to reconsider and stay.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, as fresh tears began to well in her eyes. After a moment, she looked over at the note. “Please try to understand.”
Grabbing her suitcase, Deborah hurried to the coffee table and tossed her front-door keys down. Then she turned, lugging the suitcase toward the hallway until finally she pulled the door open, hurried outside, and ran straight into the blade of a waist-level knife.
Chapter One
Today
Clutching her belly, she slithered down against the door-frame and slumped against the mat. She hesitated for a moment, holding her breath, before sliding onto her side and reaching a hand out toward the open doorway. And then, with her other hand still pressed against her stomach, she stared out with unblinking eyes toward the gray, muddy yard.
For a few seconds, a cold breeze blew through the open door, whistling as it entered Skellin Cottage.
Suddenly Jo Mason sat up and took a moment to brush dirt and dust from her face. Leaning back against the side of the counter, she slipped the photo from her jacket pocket. Dull morning sunlight caught the image, so she had to tilt the picture until she could see the picture properly. She peered for a moment at the photo of a dead woman slumped on the floor with bloodied rips all over the front of her shirt, and then she lowered the photo and looked down at the same piece of floor, now bare and empty but with a few signs still of the brutal attack that had taken place there just six months earlier.
Crouching down, she peered at the door jamb and saw several pock-marked indentations, caused when the blade of a knife had sliced out through the woman's back and had butted into the wood. Reaching out with a gloved hand, she ran her fingers across the wood's surface, and then she looked at the photo again, taking a moment to examine the exact position in which the woman's body had been found.
“Stabbed here,” she whispered, before looking at the mat. “Fell here.”
She paused, staring at the mat, waiting for some flicker of realization. She knew something was wrong, that there was something she hadn't noticed or figured out, but the exact nature of the problem just wouldn't come. After a moment she looked up at the open doorway, trying to imagine the killer towering over her.
/> “What did you do next?” she whispered. “You stabbed her, but she probably didn't die instantly. So what did you do?”
Getting to her feet, she turned and stood in the doorway, now staring down at the spot where the body had been found. She clenched the fist of her right hand, as if she was holding an invisible knife.
“She's bleeding,” she said out loud. “Dying. You know that. Do you kneel down to check? It's cramped here, so...”
She paused again, before suddenly getting back down on the floor and rolling onto her side, trying once again to replicate the body's position. Propping the photo against the jamb, she arranged her arms to mimic the corpse, and then she lay completely still for a few seconds, not even daring to blink. After a moment, she moved her right leg a little, shifting her knee so that it was closer to the cabinet, to better match the way the dead body had fallen. Then she waited for a moment longer, with the side of her face pressing against the doormat's bristles, before finally she sat up and took the photo again. Leaning back against the wall, she continued to stare at the photo in silence.
“There was no struggle,” she said finally, turning the photo over and seeing her own handwritten note about Deborah's age and date of death. “Not even -”
Before she could finish, a distant twinkle of light caught her eye. Glancing out toward the yard, she saw that a car was approaching along the country road, so she immediately pushed the front door shut and clicked the latch before hurrying into the kitchen and crouching down. Peering over the top of the counter, she watched as a police patrol car rumbled between the gate posts and stopped out in the yard, and then she ducked down as the engine switched off and two officers climbed out of the vehicle.
A moment later, she heard someone trying the door handle. She held her breath as she heard footsteps crunching across the gravel, and then she heard the familiar chatter of voices over a radio.
“We're at Skellin Cottage now,” a man's voice said, sounding cold and tired. “Looks like a false alarm. There's no sign of a break-in. We'll check the out-buildings to be sure, but I'm pretty sure there's no-one here.”
