Pru jumped up, running up the stairs with glee. Robert looked after her with a playful disgust. Then he turned that disgust on Rachel. “Did you just ask that so Pru could do her little demonstration? We’ve said—we shouldn’t enable her.”
Pru came back down the stairs with a bowl full of water. There was a model boat bobbing around on the top of the bowl. She placed it in the center of the table. “Here’s one I made earlier. Now, this is all very simple. It all has to do with swimming pools.”
“Swimming pools?” Rachel said, feigning confusion and ignoring a side glance from Robert.
“Yes. Interning for a spa company, I was able to learn certain tricks. And while I was there they were perfecting something—something which is pretty commonplace now—the invisible pool. My company was trying to figure out how to make swimming pools a little less...roomy. You got a whole room for a swimming pool and not much else. You can’t entertain in that room, especially if you don’t want to go swimming. So, they had the idea—what if you could have a swimming pool that’s not so permanently on display all the time. What if it was invisible, hidden, and could just become a swimming pool when needed. Right? You have a swimming pool under the floor. Then the floor lowers, leaving pockets where the water can flow through. The floor goes down and down, revealing the pool. When you’re done swimming or sitting or peeing in the pool, whatever, you press a button, and the floor comes back up. Same thing happens, but in reverse. The floor has enough drainage to let the water pass through it. The floor rises and the water goes from on top to underneath.
“I wondered if maybe I could do the same thing but in reverse. I wondered if I could create something, suck the water out, and create...let’s say, a room. Then we could get rid of it at a moment’s notice. Flip a switch and the room is gone.” Pru picked up the little toy boat. It had an extension on it that didn’t match the main boat’s color. It created an extra part of the boat.
“Roomy,” said Rachel.
“So,” Pru said, holding up a hand to silence Rachel, “we’re all going to be in this secret room, right. Matt’s out there, making a mess on deck. We hear a guy spot the boat. The guy runs off to go call the police. We sit tight. And we may have to sit tight for bloody hours. We wait for a window. The police or ambulance or whatever will take Matt away, and then they’ll be back soon enough to set up a crime scene. That is the window.
“Matt gets taken, and by the time police realize that six people had gone in and only one has come out, and what’s more, two of those missing are bloody Claypaths, we’ll have scarpered. We have to be very careful there are no witnesses when we finally come out of the boat, and we all know there’s no cameras or anything round there. We pop out and I flick my switch. And the extra rooms disappear, and what’s more, the hatch we use to get to the secret room is closed up.”
“Okay. All joking aside, I don’t actually get that bit,” Rachel said.
Pru smiled like she knew something no one else did, and she was very clearly relishing that fact. “I’ve made it so the hatch is the same dimensions as the cupboard under the bed in Edmund’s uncle’s narrow boat so if any joint is visible then it’ll look natural.”
“Okay. That is clever,” Rachel said. “You’ve earned your demonstration.”
“Thank you,” Pru said dutifully. “Check this out.” She held up a switch, and gestured down to the boat. Everyone watched it. It had settled on top of the water. The “secret” room was underwater. Pru pressed the button. “Watch carefully,” she said. “Now you see me...” The secret room started to shrink—the water flowing out of it, spurting back into the wider body of water. When it was impossibly small, they saw the pieces of metal that were the walls and floor break off and sink to the bottom of the bucket. What was left was the original narrow boat. “Now you don’t.” Pru smiled, clearly happy with herself. “The bits of metal float to the bottom of the canal, and seem just like some leftover rubbish. Boo-yaa!”
There was curt applause and Pru took her bowl of water and put it on the floor.
“Great,” Tim said. “So we’re all okay with the plan.”
“I will stay behind,” Amber said. “Someone needs to be your eyes and ears in Marsden. Someone needs to guard The Hamlet. I am honored to do this for you.”
“Us or just Tim?” Robert mumbled.
Tim slammed his hand down on the table. “Robert, do you have something you would like to share?”
Robert shook his head.
“Okay, then. I have purchased a cottage in the middle of Sherwood Forest. It wasn’t official. It was cash in hand. That is where we will go after we ‘die.’ We must stay out of sight, at least until Matthew is convicted. After our names and faces are out of the news, we can start to be a little braver. In the early stages, Amber will rendezvous with one of us, rotating, at a location, again rotating, getting us food and water, as well as letting us know of anything we should know.”
“Looks like we’re in your hands,” Edmund said to Amber.
Amber said nothing, but gave a beaming smile.
That he didn’t trust in the slightest.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The present...
“You happy now?” Tim said. “I told you it wasn’t important.”
“The metal sheets,” Robin said.
“They’re the parts of the secret room that broke off. When we heard that the Monster had them, and that the investigation was picking back up, I decided it would be better to come back and get them,” Tim said. “They were supposed to just sink to the bottom of the canal and stay there, until maybe someone just mistook them for rubbish. And by then, maybe they’d be all the way down the opposite end of the Narrow. But you just had to get involved and mess this whole thing up.”
“You messed it up good enough yourself,” Robin said. “It would have only been a matter of time before someone worked out what you did.”
Tim smiled. “You’re a bad liar, Robin. Anyone ever tell you that? No one would have known a thing. We would have disappeared. Matthew would have been convicted. And your wife would stay right where she is. Right under people’s feet while they get pissed and eat food and warm themselves by the fire.”
“Why go through all this?” Robin said. “All this stuff that you’ve done. If you were going to betray Matthew, why not just frame him for Sam...?” His breath hitched and he let out a sob at her name. He tried to carry on but couldn’t.
“We thought of that,” Tim said, “but we couldn’t have done it well enough. Matt was in his house when all this was happening, and his aunt would provide an alibi. And Matt didn’t drive or have a car, so how could he run someone over? And besides, back then, we still wanted to protect that smug bastard. We didn’t want to frame him. That only came later, when our desire to protect him evolved into something else.”
“He’s your friend,” Robin said. “How could someone—How could you do that to a friend?”
“He’s not my friend,” Tim said. “Not anymore.”
Amber stepped forward. “Okay, enough stalling. Time for the main event, buddy.” She brought the gun up, holding it at Robin’s head. “You ready to drown Ms. Morgan here? Or whatever she’s called.”
Sally grunted. Robin couldn’t believe she was still conscious. “You’ll have to come and get me, bitch.” But Sally didn’t move—she couldn’t. She was bleeding from a gunshot wound in her stomach, after all. And she had lost a lot of blood. Even in the bad light, Robin could tell she was a sickly pale color. All that and Sally was still trying to fight back, even if it was just with words.
And then Sally surprised him and the two captors in equal measure. She must have used the last of her strength to lurch forward. She connected with Amber’s torso, head-butting her. Amber was propelled backward. The gun flew out of her hand and clattered somewhere off down the tunnel.
Robin took this as his only chance—
for Sally’s sake, if not for his own. He felt angry, murderous, and Tim had paused in front of him, wide-eyed and off guard. As Amber and Sally collapsed in a heap, Robin pushed himself off the wall and charged into Tim. He collided with him, sending himself and the young man tumbling into the back of the tunnel.
They kept going, Tim being pushed and Robin doing the pushing.
Robin expected to hit the opposite wall, but instead they both went sailing even farther, colliding with metal railings. The railing gave way and Robin realized his mistake too late. They had been next to a cut-through and Robin had sent them into the canal tunnel.
Robin and Tim went plunging headfirst into the ice-cold water of Standedge.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
During...
The service station near Sherwood Forest was full of truckers and families on road trips. Everyone was rushing around. No one gave a toss about the man with the beard and the low cap sitting drinking a latte. Even when the hot brunette sat with him, he barely got a glance.
“There’s someone poking around,” Amber said, giving him the box of supplies. “His name is Robin Ferringham.”
Tim shook his head. “Who’s that?”
“He’s a writer. He wrote this book.”
She pulled a copy of Without Her from under the table. Tim looked at it—looked at the pictures on the cover. It was unmistakable.
“Her.”
“He’s the husband. Don’t worry—he’s running around like a headless chicken at the moment.”
Tim’s eyes widened and looked at her. “How?”
“Don’t know,” she said. “Still trying to find out. But you’re going to have to start to consider that you might have someone in your cottage talking.”
“A traitor?”
She nodded. “Who else knows? No one.”
“Okay,” Tim said, “I’ll deal with it. But in the meantime, have you had any luck finding the evidence?”
Amber shook her head. “It’s probably halfway down the canal by now.”
Tim sighed. “Okay.”
Amber got up. “Make sure you find the traitor. And make sure to make an example of them.”
Tim grabbed Amber’s arm before she could walk away. “What would you do?”
“You want to ask The Hamlet barmaid or the cat skinner?”
“The one I fell in love with.”
Amber smiled and bent down and kissed him deeply. She pulled away before she bit his lip. “I’d kill them.”
She walked away, leaving Tim to his latte and a little light reading.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
During...
Matthew wound his window down and then the other, relishing the way the wind played on his face. Freedom—it felt so much better than he had even imagined. Mr. Ferringham had done it—he’d kept his word, and now it was time for him to keep his. He thought he knew where his old phone was—all he had to do was charge it up. He knew he’d saved what he needed to find.
Loamfield undid his tie with one hand and threw it into the back next to Matthew. He was driving along the highway, back toward Marsden. They’d be at Matthew’s house in no time at all.
This was really happening.
He was really going home.
“I hope whatever you’ve got to give Robin Ferringham is good,” Loamfield said, looking in the rearview mirror. “That man just saved your arse. Big-time. I couldn’t have done anything like that. If you’d have got into a courtroom, you would have been all kinds of screwed.”
Matthew nodded, but didn’t say anything. A black van came up alongside Loamfield’s car. The windows were tinted and he couldn’t see inside. For some reason, it made him feel incredibly uneasy.
“What’s this idiot up to?” Loamfield said, as the van coasted across the lines into their lane. Loamfield hugged the hard shoulder. “Drunk much?”
The window of the van started to roll down. Loamfield didn’t see, but Matthew did. The person behind the wheel of the van...
But...it couldn’t be...
“Speed up,” Matthew shouted.
The van touched the right-hand side of the car, ever so gently, and then Matthew felt it push the car farther over onto the hard shoulder.
“Shit,” Loamfield said. “What the...?”
“Mr. Loamfield, speed up,” Matthew said. “It’s him.”
The van moved away quickly, swerving back into its lane. Loamfield looked at the van, must have seen who was driving. “Wait—wha...?”
The van swerved back into the car, slamming into it. Matthew felt himself get thrown to the left, his seat belt cutting into his neck. Loamfield’s tie hurtled out of the open window. And then the car was airborne, flying off the highway, careening down the hill into the trees below.
All Matthew knew was the tree coming toward them. And then, black.
He was out for mere seconds, but in those seconds he felt he lived another life. Pain. His arm. His left arm was on fire. He couldn’t open his eyes, or maybe he just didn’t want to.
The sound of a car door opening. And then hands on him, pulling him out of the car. Someone hoisted him up, and his left arm hung limp.
He opened his eyes to see a fuzzy world. Trees everywhere. He was moving. Pointed down. Looking down, he could see legs moving. Fireman’s lift—he was on someone’s shoulder.
Consciousness came and went. But every time he surfaced, they were still there. The trees. Going by. Whoever had him was taking him a long way.
And then eventually the trees became constant.
They had stopped.
The sound of an engine coming closer, closer, closer. And then it stopped. A sliding door.
And suddenly, he was airborne again. He had been thrown, and in a second he crumpled on a cold metal floor, with his left arm under him and howling with pain. He tried to straighten up and saw that he was in the back of a van.
The figure who had carried him, dressed all in black, wearing a cap, climbed in after him and slid the door shut. Matthew tried to look around but his neck felt stiff and unwieldy.
“Drive,” the figure said. And the metal started pulsing under Matthew as the engine started.
The figure took off his cap. And smiled. “Hey, Matt,” Tim said, “long time no see.”
Chapter Seventy
During...
Tim slammed through the cottage door, dragging Matthew by the scruff of his neck. Pru was at the kitchen sink, washing up and listening to a podcast. She looked up at the sound and her eyes widened.
“What’s going on?” she said. “Is that...?”
Tim threw Matthew on the floor, and the young man collapsed in a heap. Unconscious. Bleeding forehead, either from the crash or where Tim had knocked him out with the butt of the gun, Tim didn’t know. “Do we have any rope? I’m going to tie him up in the basement.”
“What have you done, Tim?” Another voice. Another female voice. And then they all came in—Edmund, Robert, Rachel. Tim wondered, as he often did when he saw them all, which one it was. Which one had betrayed them? Which one was helping Ferringham? Who was the reason Matthew was on their kitchen floor right now?
I’d kill them, Amber had said.
“Shit,” Robert said.
Tim hadn’t told the others what Amber had told him in the van. Ferringham had found another way into Standedge—an opening in the side of the disused railway tunnel. How was that possible? How did he know? Tim didn’t want to tell the others, because if they had found the opening, it would have saved a lot of grief. Pru wouldn’t have had to make her contraption—they could have disappeared far more easily.
Matthew groaned on the floor—he was waking up.
“I need rope now,” Tim said to the shocked faces in front of him.
They looked down at Matthew. “Tim,” Rachel said, “we need you to
talk to us. What is happening?”
Tim looked up at them all, angrily. Amber said that someone had sent a map to Edmund’s father, James Sunderland. He looked at Edmund, saw him look away under Tim’s gaze. Tim kept staring.
“Why are you acting this way?” Rachel continued. “Why are you the only one allowed to go see Amber anymore? We just want you to talk to us.”
Tim tore his eyes from Edmund and looked at his sister. She looked pleading, loving, pathetic. They all were. They were followers. They weren’t strong enough to take the reins. To do what was necessary. “Rope,” Tim said savagely.
Pru cursed under her breath and went into the cupboard under the sink. She pulled out a coil of rope and threw it to Tim.
“Thank you,” Tim said. He picked up Matthew by the scruff of the neck and dragged him across the kitchen floor. Matthew moaned in response. The others parted to let him through. He didn’t look at them, couldn’t bring himself to anymore. They made him sick.
He got to the stairs down to the basement. And made his way down. Making sure Matthew slammed on every step.
“What the hell are you doing, Tim?” Edmund said, behind him.
“I’m doing what I’ve always been doing,” Tim said, going down the stairs and not looking back. “I’m cleaning up your mess.”
Chapter Seventy-One
During...
It was three months since Tim dragged Matthew through the kitchen door. And now Tim was sitting at the kitchen table, in the dark, halfway through his second bottle of vodka for the day.
Matthew was still down there, in the basement. He wanted so badly to kill him. He needed to feel that rush again—the rush he’d felt in the basement of The Hamlet as he choked the soul out of that woman.
They were in the living room. Pru, Robert and Edmund. They were playing cards or some rubbish—something inconsequential and stupid.
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