No Longer Safe (28 page)

Come on – pick up.

Karen burst in through the far door before I could
say a word to anyone in emergency services. She stormed past me and slammed her
hand down on the cradle.

Snapping the wire out of the wall with one hand, she made a
grab for me with the other. I winced as she got a tight grip on my hair and
pulled me backwards so that my back arched too far. I fell to my knees. She
caught the side of my bruised forehead with her elbow and I cried out as the
pain multiplied.

‘I’m sorry, Alice. But, I thought you were my loyal friend.
The one who would stand by me, no matter what.’

She forced me onto my front, pulled my arms around my back
and wrapped the wire from the phone around my wrists.

‘I don’t want to have to do this, Alice – but I’m not going
to sit here and wait for you to tell the police where Brody is.’ She dragged me
to my feet, hauled me over to the cellar and thrust me down the steps.

At the bottom, she pushed me onto a broken wooden chair and
tied my ankles together with a piece of old washing line. She rummaged in a
couple of drawers in the bench against the wall and drew out a roll of tape. It
was tacky, the sort used to patch up guttering, and smelt of tar. As she
pressed it across my mouth, it made me gag. As an afterthought she brought down
my anorak and a blanket, both of which she tucked around me.

‘I don’t want you to freeze down here,’ she said. ‘Someone
will find you before long, I’m sure.’

I thought of Stuart. He would come back to the cottage any
time now, surely, and wonder where I was. He’d come looking for me.

‘I’m going to pack now.’ She was leaning over me, her hands
on her knees, articulating her words as if I was deaf. ‘Then I’m leaving with
the boy. I’m sorry this didn’t turn out to be the happy holiday we planned.’

I didn’t struggle or moan; there wasn’t much point. I stared
at her, hoping my eyes would convey sufficient distress to make her change her
mind. But she clambered up the steps again and I heard the key snap shut in the
lock. Then she flipped off the light-switch in the hallway and was gone.

As my eyes got used to the darkness there was just enough
daylight from the small grubby window at ground level to turn the black mass
into shapes with corners and shadows. There were boxes to my right and a large
chest to my left with a bundle of clothes behind it on the floor.

After a few seconds, I realised that the bundle wasn’t a
pile of clothes. There was a leg sticking out, and another beside it. Someone
else was down here with me.

I called out
Hello
?,
but it came out as an indistinguishable muffle through the tape. I stared at the
shape above the chest, trying to make out who it was. Shuffling closer, I
pressed my arm against a stockinged foot – a man’s foot. It was cold. Not only
that – it was stiff.

Oh, God – what has she done?

With tiny wriggles, I managed to kneel so my face was next
to his. I knew then. From the smell of his skin. That distinctive peppery
fragrance, starting to go stale.

Stuart? No! Stuart!

 I pressed my face against his, but drew back. His
cheek felt like a briefcase that had been left out all night. I wanted to shake
him, wake him up, bring him back. I cried out, but the moan stayed solid in my
mouth. I nuzzled into him and realised my nose and cheek were sticky. Blood.
What did she do to you?

There was just enough light for me to see that half his head
was glistening and torn. I fought for air as my tongue felt like it was
clogging up my throat. I couldn’t see properly after that; tears had claimed my
eyes and I had no way of wiping them away.

Not my lovely Stuart.
I sank beside him and wept; my body shaking in huge sobs as I thought of how
wonderful he was. He seemed to appreciate me exactly as I was and I had such
hopes that could have had some kind of future together. Now it was all over.
Karen had killed him. She’d battered him to death. He must have confronted her
about Charlie – or the boy. Why had he not waited until we were together? Why
had he faced her on his own? After all,
he
had warned
me
about how dangerous she
was.

I listened. I could hear Karen moving around upstairs. Then
I heard her footsteps as she came down again, humping luggage with her. A
terrifying thought occurred to me. Maybe she was coming back to finish me off.

I listened again, trying to work out where she was and what
she was doing. Her footsteps receded and I decided she must be in the kitchen.
There was the clunk of a cupboard closing, the whoosh of a tap running and then
a sound I wasn’t expecting. The front door knocker.

‘Hello,’ came a woman’s voice. ‘Ms Morley?’

‘Yes.’ I could hear every word.

‘I’m DS McKenzie and this is Sergeant Harris, you’ll
remember from before. May we come in?’

‘Yeah – no problem.’

My heart flung itself up to the base of my throat.
The police! They were here. Stuart must have managed
to call them after all.

‘It’s just a courtesy call,’ said McKenzie. ‘We’re sending
in a team shortly to look over the byre again.’

‘Oh…’ Karen sounded surprised. ‘Is it the boy?’

‘We’re not in a position to release any details, I’m
afraid,’ said McKenzie. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just to let you know
we’ll be here.’

‘Yes – yes, of course.’

I could hear shuffling footsteps but they were all still in
the hall; Karen hadn’t invited them any further inside.

‘Have you seen anyone hanging around in the area since we
last spoke to you? Anything suspicious? Cars around at unusual hours?’

There was a stunted silence. ‘Er, no – I don’t think so.’

‘We need to speak to the other holiday makers who’re staying
with you. Are they here?’

Yes – I’m down here!
I grabbed Stuart’s arm instinctively. It felt brittle and stiff, but I didn’t
want to let go.

‘No – I’m afraid not. I’m on my own with the baby. Jodie
Farringday and Mark Leverton left in separate taxis this morning. They went to
Fort William to catch trains south. I don’t know where Alice is – her gear is
still upstairs.’
No – don’t listen to her. I’m
in the cellar. I’m right under your feet!

‘Right, I see. Are you leaving yourself, today?’ They must
have seen her bags in the hall.

‘Probably,’ she said. I could hear the smile in her voice.
‘It’s a lot colder than I expected up here and I don’t want the child I’m
baby-sitting to catch a chill. I thought the cottage would have central
heating, but it doesn’t – and, you know, with a small infant – you can’t afford
to take risks. I need to get her back to her mother.’

‘I understand,’ said the female voice. ‘We’ll leave you to
it, then. If Alice returns before you leave, can you give us a call?’

‘Of course.’

‘And the Land Rover that’s out there? That belongs to Mr
Wishart?’

‘Yes – he and Alice seem to have teamed up. They’re probably
out walking somewhere.’

‘Okay, then,’ said the male officer. ‘We’ll be on our way.
I’m afraid it’s snowing again, so be careful in the car. Have a safe trip.’

No – don’t go – help me! She’s killed two people –
she’s stolen the boy. It’s Brody – she’s got him upstairs. Ask again to see the
baby! Ask again!

The stomp of footsteps carried overhead towards the front
door. I needed to make some noise. I should have done it sooner.
Stupid! Stupid!
I’d wasted precious time
listening to what they were saying when I should have been getting them to hear
me.

I thumped my feet against the side of the chest, banging and
banging. The chest was solid and had no give in it, but it was the only thing
near enough to lash out at. I was still wearing slippers and after about ten
swings at it, I felt like my heels had cracked in half.

‘That’s the baby making a fuss,’ she said. ‘I’d better go to
her.’

No – it’s ME. I’m in the
cellar. Listen to where the sound’s coming from…
I carried on through
the pain barrier, making my feet numb.

‘We’ll just need your contact details before we go,’ said
the detective sergeant. ‘Just in case we need to speak to you again.’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll write everything down.’

I heard the patter of feet, a silence and then the front
door opening.

‘Thanks again.’

I gave one final thrust at the chest, but all it did was set
off renewed pain in the tender spot on my temple. Clunk – the front door
closed. The footsteps disappeared and I was left with silence crushing down on
me.

I curled up into a tight ball. My feet were on fire
now. If the pain was anything to go by, I’d beaten them to a pulp trying to get
the police upstairs to hear me.

The officers had gone. I heard the engine rev up and then
fade away, taking my chance of escape with them. Was I going to die down here?
Was Karen just going to leave me with no food or water?

I kept thinking about Stuart; kept seeing him out of the
corner of my eye. All I’d wanted was to be with him – and here he was right
beside me – but of course he
wasn’t
here
at all. And never would be – ever again.

The finality of it hit me, grief clutching at my insides.
His life was over. And my chance of happiness was gone. I could just sink down
and give up. Wait for thirst, cold and starvation to claim me – so I’d be able
to join him.

A yawning gap of time seemed to pass before a sound outside
startled me. A car door, then another. I hitched over to the side wall and
pressed my ear against it. I felt like a seal, lumbering around out of water.
Voices. Muffled footsteps muted in the snow.

I sat back, lamenting the fact that the only window was on
the other side, with bars on, facing the wrong way. The wall I was next to was
brick and mostly underground, but there were places near the top where it had
crumbled and a botch-job had been done with plaster and thin timbers to patch
it up.

With my ankles tied, I managed to roll onto an upturned
plastic box and hitch my way onto my knees. Searching the damaged brickwork, I
found that at one point, there was a tiny hole. I lined my eye up to it and had
to pull away as the blast of cold air stung me. I tried again, blinking to
protect my iris.

Karen’s 2CV had gone. She really had left me here to die.
After everything we’d been through, this was how much she valued me. There was
a police van parked on the track and several figures in white boiler suits were
gravitating towards the byre.

Two figures disappeared inside and I pictured the interior.
The snow we piled over Charlie would have melted, then maybe frozen again into
a dome of ice.

What had we left behind? I didn’t care anymore about any
incriminating evidence – I just wanted them to find something. Anything to give
them a reason to come back to the cottage. We weren’t due to leave for three
more days and Mrs Ellington might not bother to clean straight away, if she was
planning renovations.

I thought about Charlie and the awful smell that had come
from his corpse, then took a sideways glance at Stuart. My beautiful, kind
Stuart. He, too, would start to decompose in the next day or so. How could I
let that happen to him?

In that instant, I felt a surge of energy. I sent up
desperate prayers to any god who might be listening to help me.

Stuart wouldn’t want me to give up. He’d want me to fight. I
was the only one who knew the truth; I had to see it through.

It must have been mid-afternoon and what little light there
was, was receding like a fast tide. I needed to find something sharp I could
rub against my ankles to snap the washing line. The wire around my wrists
wasn’t going to be easy to break, but the washing line was old.

When I’d been down here before looking for the phone, there
had been tools hooked onto the wall. Somehow I managed to get to my feet. I
hopped to the bench and felt around, my hands still firmly fastened together. I
had to do everything backwards as my hands were tied behind me.

I felt the knobbly head of a hammer, a wrench – then a
hacksaw. Luckily, it was small and I was able to hook it over my fingers. I
squatted down and lined my heels up either side of the blade. It tore a hole in
my socks and cut into the skin, but I kept going, up and down, knowing the
alternatives were far worse. Before long, the outer plastic gave way, then the
rope inside snapped.

I hurried back to the front wall and leapt on the box again.
The police were congregating by the van. One of the officers nodded and looked
at his watch. They started loading up their gear.

No – wait!

I was desperate. I hurried back to the bench with the
hacksaw and sat on the handle, then worked the wire around my wrists up and
down across the blade. Nothing seemed to be happening and I was about to give
up when it broke in two. I peeled the gummy tape away from my mouth and spat to
get rid of the industrial taste.

The police were leaving. I had to find some way to alert
them. What could I do? I screamed at the top of my voice, but I knew it would
never reach them. I needed something louder. What would they be able to hear
way down the track?

I’d seen a bell from a bicycle earlier, but that was
useless. Then I had an idea. I’d spotted them when I’d looked down here for the
phone. I rummaged in the first box, doing everything by touch as there was so
little light left. Wrong one. I nudged it aside and tried the next. I found them
under what felt like a pair of curtains.

I picked one out and went back to the peephole in the wall.
I took off the lid and prayed it wasn’t empty. I stuck the nozzle against the
tiny gap in the wall and pressed with all my might. There was a fizzle, then a
splutter. I was firing it the wrong way. I tried again and this time there was
a hearty hiss. I kept pressing until it choked to a halt. Then I grabbed the
first thing I could find – a cricket bat – and began walloping it against the
wall with both hands. It sounded deafening to me, but I knew that fifteen,
twenty metres down the track, it was probably inaudible.

Look back at the cottage – please look back…

Sobbing in great surges, I reached up again to the peephole.
Two officers were already in the van, another was talking to the woman with an
apron under her coat.

Please look up
.

The woman – presumably Mrs Ellington – shook the officer’s
hand and stood back. He got in the passenger side and shut the door.

No – you can’t go. This is it. This is my last chance…

Mrs Ellington took one final look at the cottage.

She stopped and put her hand up to shield her eyes from the
dying sun. The police van was reversing. She stepped forward and tapped on the
bonnet. The vehicle stopped and the passenger window slipped down. Mrs
Ellington leaned in and then pointed at the cottage – she was moving her arms
from side to side looking straight at me.

Had they seen it?

Two officers got out of the van and the three of them, Mrs
Ellington in the middle, tramped up the track towards the cottage.

I could hear their voices now. ‘…wasn’t there earlier…’

‘No – it’s bright red – it looks like blood.’

‘That’s the cellar…’ said Mrs Ellington, sounding baffled.

‘Can we have your key, Mrs Ellington? I think we need to
take a look.’

I had to move fast. I grabbed the cricket bat, got up the
steps and walloped it as hard as I could against the door to the hall – slam,
slam – over and over.

I don’t remember a great deal after that. I rushed
back to Stuart’s body, but they dragged me away. It was a crime scene, so they
had to leave him where he was and call out a pathologist. I recall only the
words of one of the younger officers as the ambulance arrived: ‘Just as well it
had been snowing, Miss,’ he said. ‘That red spray paint would never have shown
up like that on brown soil.’