Ten minutes later, Sarah finally found her son’s GoPro in a box of discarded school gear under his bed.
The device was an expensive relic of his gap-year trip to Thailand.
She headed back down to her office.
“Tell you, Jack — it’s one very battered old camera,” she said. “But amazingly not only does it still work, it even has the data card still in it.”
She opened a drawer in the desk, pulled out a cable and plugged the tiny camera into her computer.
“Okay,” she said. “What now?”
“Bit of an experiment,” he said. “Set it up to record, can you?”
Sarah picked up the camera, found the controls, pointed it at Jack and set it to record.
On the big screen she could see Jack’s face, as he in turn peered at the image.
“So that’s today’s time and date,” he said, pointing to the data in the corner of the screen.
“Yep,” said Sarah — and suddenly she realised what Jack was suggesting. “Oh God, I think I know what you—”
She stopped recording and opened the camera’s menu. As expected, there was a tab for time and for date.
“If this works, then …”
With a few clicks she changed it from the current day, to a few days earlier and a different time.
Question was, would the camera’s GPS override the manual settings with the correct time?
She hit “record” again, waved the camera back and forth, then hit “stop” and reverse.
A quick glance to Jack before she hit “play” again.
“Moment of truth,” she said.
On the screen the recording played — with the incorrect date and time showing. She hit “pause” and sat back in her chair.
“Damn,” she said. “How on earth did we miss this? Why didn’t we think of it earlier?”
Jack slid her coffee across the desk and she took a sip, then looked at him, angry at herself.
“So easy to do,” she said. “And I guess the police — with no reason to question the video — just took the date and time as read.”
“We all did,” said Jack. “But just so we’re sure what we got here — the video at the house could have been made absolutely any time, right?”
“Right. Any time. Any day before — or after. God, maybe even with Zach lying there in that room.”
That thought — chilling.
“Whoever did it,” she said, thinking out loud, “all they had to do was take out the data card from Zach’s helmet-cam, replace it with the dummy walk-through.”
“And then it would look like it was shot by Zach — on the supposed night of his death.”
“But Jack … this video … it throws all those rock-solid alibis up in the air.”
“It does indeed. Those alibis — are worth nothing.”
“So, any one of the group …”
She shook her head, still trying to process this incredible revelation.
But then Sarah realised. Her hand instinctively flew out to Jack’s wrist and grabbed it hard.
“Jack. Chloe.” For a second, no recognition on his face. “She’s out there with them all — right now, today, some kind of tribute thing they’d doing for Zach, at one of his favourite sites.”
“You know where?”
“She just said the airfield.”
“You mean the old military base?” said Jack. “That’s mostly underground, isn’t it?”
“God, you’re right,” said Sarah, shooting to her feet. “The missile silos—”
“Sure — seen them from the road. But it’s all closed off. I’ve no idea where the entrance is.”
“I’d better text Chloe that I’m—”
But Jack rose and took one step in front of her.
“No. Alert her, and if the person who did this really is in the group they’ll smell it a mile away. Her fear. Hard to hide that. Too dangerous.”
“I know … Megan. We can call Megan,” said Sarah, picking up her phone.
She tapped the screen, found Megan’s number, called — then waited. One ring. Another.
“Sarah?”
“Megan, I’m so glad you answered. Are you with Chloe?”
“Chloe? No, she’s with the others.”
“At the silos?”
“They will be by now. I was running late, I’m just at Huffington’s grabbing some food and coffees for everyone.”
“Thank God. Look, Megan, stay there, will you? We’re coming to get you. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Sarah — what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
“We’ll explain when we get there. Oh — and Megan — don’t talk to anyone, okay? On your phone … anybody.”
“Okay, okay, but—”
“Ten minutes. We’re on our way.”
Sarah put down her phone then looked at Jack, his face grim.
“We’ll take your car,” he said.
They started for the door, Sarah knowing that she hadn’t been as scared for her daughter in her entire life. Every nerve and muscle she had — wound up so tight.
“Sarah — got to hurry. But we’ve been in scenes like this before. Okay? We can handle it.”
And together they flew out of the front door and into her car.
Seconds later, with the tyres spinning the gravel outside her cottage, they were on the road to Cherringham and, beyond that, the old airbase.
*
Jack had spotted Megan waiting on the High Street.
The car came to an abrupt stop, and Megan had hopped in the back, belt on quickly, as Sarah had pulled away — fast as the speed limit allowed — racing out of the village.
Megan now sat in the back seat, her cardboard tray of coffees and bag of cakes on her lap.
As Jack looked at her, he couldn’t help thinking how incongruous it was with what they were about to do.
For a second, he had a flash of memory from years back: an urgent call to a robbery in progress in the Bronx. With homicide and hostages in play — his own mug of joe splashing in its holder, and his buddy’s donuts flying across the dash — they had cornered fast and took the ramp up to Triboro Bridge.
But now, this was Cherringham. The urgent race to the airfield a few miles outside the village was a far less hazardous drive.
Though what awaited them? Perhaps something just as dangerous.
As Sarah drove, Megan hurled questions at them both, and Jack answered most of them, but not all.
He and Sarah had agreed to not tell Megan too much — not wanting to alarm her. Telling her only that maybe one of the group had been, somehow, more involved with Zach’s death than they’d let on.
Not surprisingly, she’d found this hard to believe. But now Jack could see she was taking them seriously.
“Tell me about the kit you guys all have,” said Sarah. “You always wear the same gear on every urbex?”
“How do you mean?” said Megan, her voice a bit shaky.
“Like those climbing helmets,” said Jack, twisting in his seat to look at her. “All different colours. That something you plan, or just random?”
“I — I don’t know,” said Megan. “I mean, I’ve never thought about it. I guess, it’s just whatever people choose.”
“So, you wouldn’t be able to tell from seeing the colour of a helmet who was wearing it?” said Sarah. “Like, green means it’s Luke, or blue means Tom?”
“Think … just random. Like, I’ve got two or three. All different colours.”
Jack glanced across at Sarah and caught her eye briefly.
Not the answer they needed.
Who was in the red hat? Tom? Luke? Ella? Maybe even Megan herself?
Could be any one of them.
No way of knowing.
But then an idea — a long shot.
“Megan — don’t suppose you have a photo of the whole group — maybe on your phone?”
“Sure,” she said. “Got a few.”
“Share with me, would you?”<
br />
“Why?” said Megan. “Why won’t you tell me what’s really going on? You said this is all to do with Zach’s death, but how?”
“It is, Megan,” said Sarah, “but, please, listen to me. You’re just going to have to trust us. We think we’re really close to finding out what really happened to him. Okay?”
“I guess so,” said Megan, and she took out her phone and tapped the screen.
Jack’s phone pinged, and he looked down at the image Megan had sent: a perfect shot of the whole group of urbexers on a beach somewhere in front of an old abandoned hotel.
Each face — clearly visible, the coloured helmets all mixed up.
He took the photo and attached it to a quick message:
Big favour. This photo — recognise anyone? Just between you and me — okay?
Then he sent the message to Seth Clarke, knowing it was a roll of the dice if Seth decided to answer.
Or even if he recognised a face.
He stared grimly out of the passenger window. Out of the village now, Sarah had sped up and Jack felt himself pressed against the door as she took a curve fast.
“Airfield’s about two miles,” she said. Then to Megan: “We want the main entrance?”
“No way,” said Megan. “There’s a perimeter road, okay? Go round it, clockwise. About a mile round, there’s a gap in the fence — that’s where we always go through.”
“Why come here for Zach’s tribute?” said Sarah.
“That’s just it — years back this was the first one we ever did together. Real special, you know?”
“Guess it’s been abandoned a long time?” said Jack.
“Yeah. Ten years. Maybe more.”
“Dangerous?”
“Not if you know what you’re doing,” said Megan. “Zach knew it. Showed us how.” She took a breath. “Safe for us …”
Jack hoped so. Was anything “safe” now? he thought.
Then his phone rang. He tapped the screen.
“Seth.”
“Jack.”
“What you got?” said Jack.
“That photo — recent yeah?”
“Think so.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You recognise somebody?”
“Yeah.”
Jack felt his heart skip a beat.
“And?” he said.
“Guy on the left — just on the edge of the group. Took me a minute or two, he’s changed, but …”
“Go on.”
“The glasses, the hair — different. But yeah, it’s the same guy. He was doing a stretch at Strangeways when I was there.”
“Name?”
“This didn’t come from me, right?”
“Won’t breathe a word,” said Jack.
“All right. Severin. Jimmy Severin.”
“Okay,” said Jack, hiding his surprise at the name. “Tell me more.”
“You sure you want to know?”
“Need to. He a dealer?”
“No,” said Seth. “He wasn’t nailed for drugs. Worse than that. Much worse.”
Jack felt his lips dry. He looked across briefly at Sarah, knowing she couldn’t hear Seth’s words, but could certainly hear his.
“Go on,” said Jack.
“Severin was serving a stretch for attempted murder. Knife attack during a robbery. Nearly killed a poor bastard.”
“You sure?”
“Hundred percent. Bloke like him — you never forget.”
“Gotcha.”
“He round here somewhere? Cherringham?”
“Yes,” said Jack.
“Well, you’d better be damn careful, Jack. Looks can be deceptive. That Severin’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”
And with that the call ended.
Jack saw Sarah look across at him, enquiring, clearly guessing what the conversation had meant, wanting to know more.
But Jack knew this wasn’t the moment.
No, he’d wait until they were by the silo, Megan out of earshot to tell her.
Tell her that Luke Sharp — aka Jimmy Severin — was a killer.
15. The Silos
Sarah walked carefully down the dank concrete ramp, stepping around the piles of rubble and rusty steel that glistened and flashed in the pool of light from Megan’s headcam.
They walked three abreast — Megan in the middle, Jack on the other side. Now fifty feet under the Cotswolds countryside. And constantly descending deeper, their footsteps echoing in the grim, grey space; the air dank and smelling of mould.
On either side, the walls ran with water and, as she swept the tunnel with the meagre light of her phone, she could see corridors leading away into darkness. This whole underground base, according to Megan, was nearly as big as a town.
Now Sarah understood the risks that urbexers just seemed to take in their stride.
Already they’d had to cross a rickety gangway over one deep silo, the metalwork over the mammoth hole all loose and rusted, the whole thing swinging and bouncing as, one by one under Megan’s instruction, they had crossed to the other side.
Megan assured them that this route — unlike others down here — was safe.
Sure didn’t feel that way.
Sarah tried to focus on the task ahead.
Not easy.
While Megan had led them through trees and scrubby bushes to the twisted entrance gates of the abandoned American airbase, Jack had quietly told Sarah what Clarke had said.
So now she knew. Luke was probably Zach’s murderer. And God — her own Chloe was somewhere deep in this military installation right now … with him.
Unknowing, unaware, unprotected.
So vulnerable.
Sarah forced herself to keep breathing, one step in front of the other, trying to manage her fear.
She and Jack had had no time to make a proper plan — just enough to agree a basic tactic: keep the whole thing upbeat until they could, somehow, isolate Luke from the others then pull them all out of harm’s way.
And then — though Jack had no idea how they would do it –somehow take Luke down.
“Nearly there,” said Megan, stepping over piles of rubble, pointing her helmet light down for them all.
Then, still breathing, Sarah felt a familiar calmness come over her, a sensation that seemed at odds with the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
She didn’t feel fear now — just an intense, almost physical, focus on locating her daughter and getting her away from this man.
This killer.
She looked across at Jack. He looked back at her.
Calm. Resolute. And — like her — ready.
Ahead now she could see more lights in the darkness — shadows flickering on the ceiling and walls ahead as the tunnel seemed to take a sharp turn.
She could hear voices too.
They rounded the curve in the tunnel and she saw they were in a large open space — as big as a warehouse, the ceiling so high it disappeared upwards into darkness, with galleries and metal stairways running criss-cross from side to side.
All around lay what looked like abandoned gear: tables stacked in piles, shelves, racks, machinery, even the rusted hulks of old military vehicles.
And there — standing at one table covered in flowers and lit with a couple of standing arc-lights — were the urbexers. Tom, Ella, Luke.
And Chloe. Sarah’s heart nearly burst as she saw her daughter spin round at their arrival.
“Mum! Jack!” said Chloe. “What on earth are you doing here?”
*
Jack rapidly took in the positions of everybody in the space, calculating distances, looking for potential weapons in the piles of rubble.
God forbid it might come to that.
The set-up wasn’t ideal: Megan and Sarah to his left, close together. Tom and Ella maybe twenty yards away, to one side of the table of flowers.
And, damn, Chloe standing close to Luke — so close to Luke — the wrong side of the table.
On their faces he saw
surprise.
But on Luke’s face — maybe because Jack now had an insight into the kind of man he was really dealing with — there was also cold, flat cunning.
“Hi everyone,” said Sarah, with — to Jack’s ears — what seemed like a genuine upbeat tone.
“Megan!” said Ella.
“Got the coffees,” said Megan. “Afraid they’re a bit cold.”
And then Jack had an idea.
“Sorry to break up the event,” he said, improvising. “But, hey, there’s a bit of a problem. The police got a call from security here on the airfield? Saying you guys had broken in and, well, you know Alan. By the book!”
“He called me. Said could we could come down here, deal with it nice and quietly, get you guys out,” said Sarah, catching on so fast, a quick smile to the group. “Said they’d ignore it this time, wouldn’t take it any further.”
“Guess, because of what happened to Zach,” said Jack, taking a few steps forward as he spoke. “I mean — makes sense.”
“No way,” said Tom. “This is just crap. They can’t treat us like this. We’re here for Zach!”
Jack had to admire the kid’s chutzpah, but right now he felt he could do without it.
“And we’re not doing any harm,” said Ella. “For God’s sake — look — just flowers, right? And yeah, this is for Zach. To remember him. No way am I—”
Jack saw Megan step forward now — and wished she hadn’t. As she did, he saw Sarah move next to her.
Jack not at all sure about that move.
Because that move clearly caught Luke’s attention. The killer so far — quiet, watching.
And, in that second, Jack saw Luke make a quick assessment of the situation, make his mind up, and then make his move.
Like a snake snapping forward, elastic, sinewy, in one swift arc, he pulled a blade from under his jacket with one hand, while with the other arm he reached around and grabbed Chloe’s neck, pulling her backwards, off-balance, against his chest before she could react, and pressed the blade against her bare throat.
“Chloe!” shouted Sarah, as Ella screamed, and everybody seemed to jolt and step back.
Jack took a step forward.
“Whoa, Luke,” he said softly. “Take it easy now.”
“Don’t. Even. Try it,” said Luke. “Not another step.”
“What’s happening?” said Ella. “Luke? My God.”
Cherringham--Killing Time Page 9