by Lake, Alex
He stepped back and looked up. There were four sets of windows, two with the curtains closed, one with the curtains drawn and the other with a set of blinds. He looked over his shoulder at the lake. This was the window she had signalled from. He was sure of it.
He ran back to the front of the house. PC Berry was standing by the front door, her finger on the bell.
‘No answer,’ she said.
He turned the handle and shook the door. ‘We have to go in.’
‘We have no warrant.’
‘We have reason to believe someone is being held captive in there.’ He caught her eye. ‘And we should have gone in earlier. I don’t want to make that mistake again.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it.’
He kicked the door with his heel, right where the lock was. It held, and he kicked it again. There was a sound of cracking wood, but the door remained shut.
‘Let me try,’ Julie said, and kicked the door.
It flew open.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘You loosened it.’
They walked into a large hall, a set of stairs directly in front of them.
‘I’ll go up,’ PC Gibb said. ‘You look down here.’
He ran up the stairs, two at a time. If she was here they needed to get to her as quickly as they could. Their presence here earlier would have alerted Sanderson to the fact they were close to him, and who knew how he might have reacted?
There was a landing running left and right from the top of the stairs. There were two doors to the left and one to the right.
But there were four windows upstairs. The one with the blinds was where the fourth door should be.
He walked along the landing, running his hands along the wall.
And then he felt a seam in the wallpaper. He pressed, the wall gave an inch, then sprang back, leaving a lip. He pulled and the door opened.
There was a small chamber, and then another door. This one was ajar. He pushed it open and walked into a small bedroom.
This was it. This was where she had been held.
But not any more. She was gone.
Wynne
Rainford had called. It was not good news. Wynne put the phone down and looked at Dudek.
‘Godamnit,’ she said. ‘They’re gone.’
‘What happened?’
‘The two PCs who were there earlier went back, but the house was empty.’
‘Did they search the grounds? Basement, attic?’
‘They’re looking now,’ Wynne said. ‘But they’re not hopeful. There was a hidden room and it was empty. They did have one piece of useful information, though.’
‘What was that?’
‘When they were there earlier there was a car parked outside, a silver Audi estate. They didn’t take the registration – we can get that from the DVLA – but at least we know what he’s driving this time.’
‘Unless he did another swap.’
‘Possible, but I think there’s a good chance he didn’t. He hasn’t had time to plan this. He’s fleeing.’
‘OK,’ Dudek said. ‘I’ll put out an alert. Anyone driving a silver Audi estate could be in for a surprise. We’ll stop every one we see.’
‘Do it,’ Wynne said. ‘We’re close. I can feel it.’
Annabelle
She sat in the back seat of his Audi. Her feet were bound at the ankles and her hands handcuffed in her lap. After strapping her in he had fully extended the seat belt then let it ratchet back, so it wouldn’t give if she leaned forward.
It was a safety mechanism on seat belts. It had happened to her many times over the years and she often wondered why they were designed that way. She had never thought that it could be used to restrain someone.
Guy had, and she was stuck. The ball gag was back in her mouth so she couldn’t even shout if they happened to stop beside someone. Not that they would be able to see her; the windows were tinted.
So all she could do right now was wait, and wonder what was coming.
Wonder where they were going.
They had been on a motorway, for a while. She had no idea which one, but they had left it and were now on a dual carriageway. She recognized some of the place names: Bexhill, Hastings.
They were heading south, then. Brighton, maybe. He had often mentioned Brighton. Perhaps he had another house down there, on the beach, where he could hide her again, although now the police knew it was him, she thought – hoped – they would find him pretty quickly.
Or maybe it was something else entirely. She looked at him in the driver’s seat. He was gripping the steering wheel tightly, his face brooding and serious. From time to time he muttered something and hit the dashboard. He seemed lost, almost totally deranged.
Inhuman, almost.
She felt the panic start to rise and closed her eyes. Whatever else, she had to think clearly. Eventually she would find out what he was planning to do, and she needed to be able to act.
It was her only chance.
So that fucking bitch ruined everything.
I can’t stop thinking about what she has done, and all I want to do is turn round and put my hands around her throat and squeeze until she’s gone.
That bitch.
She let me down. I gave her everything and she threw it back in my face.
So she will die. But I have to kill her in a special way. Otherwise everyone will know I did all this for nothing. They’ll think I’m weak and foolish and I thought she loved me, but she never did. I will not allow her to humiliate me that way.
How did I get it so wrong? It’s like my mother all over again. I trusted her, did everything for her, and she turned me away. Turned my world upside down.
That’s what betrayal does.
And now Annabelle has done to me what my mother did, and so I will do to her what I did to my mother.
My mind clears. I feel myself smile. It’s as though I am coming back into myself after a long journey away.
I’m me again.
And I didn’t get it wrong. I was right all along. She sent me those messages. She loved me.
But something changed. She lost her nerve. In the final analysis, she was unable to go through with it. She is too weak.
Not me. Her.
So, she deserves the death I will deal to her. She led me to this and now she thinks she can just walk away? No.
And it will, as it always does, calm me. Which will be welcome.
But still, there is nothing left for me now. If I kill her, that will be the story. I’ll escape – I have no doubt about that – but they’ll think I was a fool who thought she loved me and had it all thrown back in my face.
And I cannot bear to live knowing they think that.
So I will set the record straight. The world will know the truth that I want it to.
And I know just how to make that happen.
Annabelle
She watched the road signs.
There was one town that had started appearing more and more often. Every time it did, they took that turn.
Eastbourne.
They were going to Eastbourne.
Guy glanced over his shoulder. He held her gaze for a moment, then smiled. All the angst and turmoil had gone. He looked as content as she had ever seen him.
He looked at peace. Like he had made up his mind and accepted his fate. And that worried her.
It more than worried her.
It terrified her.
He turned back to face the front and put on the left indicator. The car slowed as they pulled into a lay-by. When they had stopped, Guy put his arm around the passenger seat and turned to her.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I need you to do something for me.’
She shook her head. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to do it.
He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. ‘It’s only a little thing, Annabelle.’
She shook her head again.
‘Do we have to go through this? Really? I mean, really? Don’t you want
to know what it is I want?’
She ignored him, and looked out of the window.
‘All I need is a signature,’ he said. He opened the glove compartment and took out a pad of paper and a pen. ‘Sign at the bottom,’ he said, and put the pen into her right hand.
He held the pad up for her to sign. She scowled at him, and scribbled all over the paper.
He laughed. ‘Next time you sign,’ he said. ‘Or I will rip your arm off your body.’
She shrugged. It was just pain. And she was not giving him what he wanted. Not now, not ever.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, how about this. After you’re dead – and you will be, if you don’t do what I’m asking – I will kill your children. I’ll start with Molly. Keith is going to find it hard watching that, he’s such a sensitive little soul. And as—’
She turned her head away. He would do it. She was sure he would. She gestured with the pen and he held up the pad.
As well as she could in the handcuffs, she signed her name.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’re wondering what I want it for?’
Wynne
It was out of her hands now.
Twice, Annabelle Westbrook had been in touching distance: when Wynne had passed the van, and when the two uniforms had gone to the house.
But that was not good enough to save her.
And Wynne thought that was what she needed now. Sanderson was aware they knew it was him, and if he knew that he also knew they would keep pursuing him until they found him.
And so he either had a plan for both of them to disappear for good – which was, if Annabelle wasn’t totally committed to it, virtually impossible – or he was going to get rid of her and disappear himself, which was much more feasible.
And at this point, Guy Sanderson was in the realm of doing what was feasible.
She feared for Annabelle. She really did. Because whatever Sanderson had planned, she was on her own.
No one could help her now.
DI Wynne picked up her phone, her heart heavy. This was not going to be an easy phone call.
Matt
The phone rang. It was DI Wynne. Matt snatched it up.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Did you find her?’
‘We know where she was,’ Wynne said. ‘But she was gone when we got there. Still, it’s progress.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘We’re not sure, although we know who she’s with.’
‘Who?’
Wynne hesitated. ‘She’s with Guy Sanderson.’
Guy? What was Guy doing involved in this?
‘Did he rescue her?’ Matt said. ‘I can call him.’
‘He didn’t rescue her,’ Wynne said. ‘He’s the kidnapper.’
‘Did you say Guy?’ Matt said. ‘Are you sure?’
What she was saying made no sense at all. Guy had been in Brighton. And he’d been calling them all the way through. Matt had been telling him what was going on.
And Guy was their friend. There was no way he had kidnapped anyone.
‘I think you’re getting this wrong somehow,’ Matt said. ‘Guy didn’t do this.’
‘We’re quite certain,’ Wynne said. ‘There was a report of an SOS signal from the window of his lake house last night. Two officers went to look into it this morning, but they found nothing.’
‘So how can you be sure?’
‘They didn’t go into the house,’ Wynne said. ‘When I called the local station to ask if they could visit Mr Sanderson to perform his DNA test they mentioned the SOS signal, and I asked them to return immediately.’
‘And?’
‘The house was empty. The officers did find a hidden room that showed signs of recent occupancy. It seems very likely that your wife was being held there.’
‘I can’t believe Guy is involved,’ Matt said. ‘There must be a mistake.’
‘I understand this is difficult to believe,’ Wynne said. ‘But there’s no mistake.’
Matt felt a physical sensation, as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Guy? This was Guy? But why?
‘They were gone?’ he said.
‘Yes. I’m afraid so.’
He felt a rising anger. ‘You mean, you got an SOS from the house and didn’t go in? And when you went back, he was gone? I mean, come on! You may as well have called ahead and warned him to run!’
‘I’m aware that mistakes were made, Mr Westbrook, but—’
‘Mistakes? I don’t think that quite covers it. This is a total fuck-up!’
There was a long pause. ‘I don’t disagree,’ Wynne said.
‘So what’s next?’ Matt said.
‘We have an alert out for his car. We think he’s in his silver Audi.’
‘And if that doesn’t work?’
‘We’ll think of something else,’ Wynne said. She did not sound convinced. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Westbrook. I will call as soon as I hear anything.’
He put the phone down. He didn’t know what was most unbelievable – that it was Guy or that the police had let him slip through their fingers.
No – he knew what was most unbelievable.
The fact it was Guy.
That bastard had been calling, offering support.
And getting information on what was happening. He’d told him about the drone, and then Guy had gone on the motorway, to escape. He’d told him everything.
Matt groaned and sank to his knees.
This was over. His wife was gone. And there was nothing he could do about it.
There it is. The final piece of the puzzle. Her name, in her own hand. I study it for a moment. Would she have thought quickly enough to sign differently to her normal signature?
I try to picture the contracts she has signed. I think it is her signature. But it is what I have, and I will go with it. I have no choice.
I begin to write.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
WE HAVE DECIDED THAT WE HAVE ONLY ONE COURSE OF ACTION AVAILABLE TO US.
WE WANT TO BE TOGETHER, FOR ETERNITY, AND WE KNOW NOW THAT WILL BE IMPOSSIBLE, SO WE HAVE DECIDED TO TAKE MATTERS INTO OUR OWN HANDS.
WHAT YOU MUST UNDERSTAND IS THAT WE LOVE EACH OTHER. WE ALWAYS HAVE. BUT ANNABELLE BECAME TRAPPED IN AN ABUSIVE MARRIAGE. WE WILL NOT SAY WHAT SHE SUFFERED, BUT SUFFICE IT TO SAY SHE WAS MISTREATED IN EVERY IMAGINABLE WAY BY HER SO-CALLED HUSBAND.
This may or may not be true, but I like the thought that the world will think it is. A final revenge on that fool.
WE HAVE DECIDED TO TAKE OUR LIVES TOGETHER. IT IS A FITTING END TO A GREAT LOVE STORY. DO NOT MOURN FOR US; WE ARE HAPPY. THIS IS WHAT WE WANT.
WITH LOVE,
I sign my name next to hers and read it again.
It is perfect.
Annabelle
Annabelle watched him write on the paper she had signed. It was a letter, but she had no idea what.
He put the pad down on the passenger seat and started the engine. He turned to look at her, a complacent grin on his face.
She glared at him, and raised her fingers in a ‘V’.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You’re feeling defiant. Better late than never, I suppose.’ He held up the paper. ‘You know what this is?’
She didn’t respond.
‘It’s a suicide note.’
It was a suicide note. He was going to kill her and then claim she had committed suicide.
Oh God. That was why they were going to Eastbourne, but it wasn’t Eastbourne that was their destination.
It was Beachy Head.
Some of the highest cliffs in the country and a popular – if that was the word – suicide spot.
And he was going to kill her there, then leave the suicide note on her body.
But there was a problem. Yes, he had her signature, but if he was writing the note it would be obvious what he had done. Matt – God, how her heart ached for Matt – would know immediately it wasn’t her handwriting.
So there must be more to it. She felt exhauste
d. Every time she thought she had a handle on this, a new, unanticipated aspect of his plan appeared.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Do you want to hear the rest of it? It’s brilliant. I’m sure you’ll agree. Absolutely brilliant.’
Even after all this I still hope she might be impressed by what I am doing, but then I push that aside. She is nothing to me now. Just another one of the ants swarming around my feet.
But I do have a problem.
The SOS. As soon as those two idiot police said there’d been an SOS from the house, I saw it. I’d thought she was at home, getting ready for the plastic surgery, getting ready for our new life, but in fact she was working on getting away from me.
And she had sent an SOS.
Here’s the problem: whatever else happened, everybody would know she had tried to escape. It would be so embarrassing. The thought she could prefer that fool of a husband to me. Unbearable.
So yes, I can kill her, but I will still be humiliated. But this will change all that. At the very end, I will win. Yes, I may have lost battles, but the war will be mine.
They will think we chose to die together, lovers in each other’s arms.
It does not matter what is true. I am creating an illusion. That is enough.
I will sacrifice her to avoid the shame and embarrassment this would cause me. She can hardly complain. She brought it on herself.
‘So,’ I say. ‘Do you want to hear the rest of it? It’s brilliant. I’m sure you’ll agree. Absolutely brilliant.’
She shakes her head.
‘It is,’ I say. ‘You may not like it, but you’ll have to admit it is brilliant. Should I elaborate? Give you the details.’
She does not reply, so I start to read.
‘To whom it may concern. We have decided that we have only one course of action available to us. We want to be together, for eternity, and we know now that will be impossible, so we have decided to take matters into our own hands.’
She closes her eyes and starts to hum. It is the equivalent of a child sticking its fingers in its ears and pretending it can’t hear.