More noises came from beyond the door, voices raised.
She ignored them, heaved the gizmo backpack off her shoulders, yelping with pain, disregarding that too, because it was nothing, as were the sounds, and she could hear that Stephen sounded angry, and nothing new there.
Not much time.
She unzipped her parka and yanked up her sweater, every movement hurting, sweat dripping off her forehead, running between her breasts, and quickly she wiped herself with the sweater, needing her skin to be dry, then, fingers trembling, pulled out the waistband of her leggings, felt for the elastic of her panties, pressed Luke’s envelope as flatly as possible against herself, folding it around her curves, pulled up the panties, did the same at the back with Joel’s, adding the piece of paper, then drew up the leggings over them.
The bang made her jump, start to shake again, but it was only the door, someone trying to break through.
She stared at Michael’s envelope, then laid that vertically beneath her thermal vest, the top of the envelope just below her breasts, the base under her waistband.
Pulled down her long sweater, dragged on her parka, zipped it up.
Heaved the backpack on again.
Took a breath.
Yelled: ‘Granddad?’
Went to the door.
‘Liza?’
‘There’s a chair – wait a moment!’
She made a noise about removing the chair and knocked it over.
The door opened, and there they were, Stephen and Keenan and his wife behind them.
‘Thank God,’ the vicar said.
‘Are you all right?’ Rosie asked.
‘Don’t ask the poor girl stupid questions,’ Stephen said. ‘Look at her. Of course she isn’t all right.’
He put out his arms to her, but Liza stepped back.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I just want to get upstairs.’ She realized then that they had what looked like soot on them. ‘What’s happened?’
‘One of the fire doors blew,’ the vicar said. ‘Didn’t you hear it?’
‘No,’ she said, which was true, and she wondered if it had happened at the same time as the blast below, or while she’d been knocked senseless for however long that had been – or maybe it had been the door exploding that had knocked her out, and maybe not Reaper’s backpack at all?
But then she remembered the wind howling through the tunnel, and knew exactly what and who had caused it.
‘Is it very bad?’ She forced herself to ask the right question.
‘Not as bad as it might have been,’ Rosie said.
‘Bad enough,’ Keenan said.
‘Main thing is we’re all getting out,’ Stephen told her. ‘And you’re with us.’
‘But what happened to you?’ Rosie was staring at her. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m OK,’ Liza said. ‘Right now I just want to get out.’
‘Of course,’ Keenan said. ‘But where’s Reaper?’
‘Gone,’ Liza said.
‘And the other one?’ Rosie said. ‘The one called Isaiah.’
‘Gone, too,’ Liza said tightly.
They began making their way up the narrow steps, Stephen first, Rosie trying to help her and Keenan attempting to relieve her of the backpack, but Liza shook them both off and, at the top of the steps, pushed ahead of them all.
‘I’m sorry,’ she called back, ‘but I need some air.’
‘We’ll help you,’ Rosie told her. ‘Wait for us.’
‘I can’t,’ she said, and accelerated.
Jelly legs gone now, functioning on pure adrenalin again, no time to ask herself what she was doing.
Not now.
Later.
EIGHTY-TWO
‘My God.’ Liza ground to a halt in the jam of people gathered near the ragged, blackened, still-smoking hole in the north-east wall of the church.
Daylight beyond it. Christmas Day.
‘I thought it would be bigger.’ The young man with the black hair and ear stud was beside her. ‘Didn’t you think it would be—?’ He stopped, staring at her. ‘What the fuck happened to you?’
Liza said nothing, edged away, wanting to lose him, to lose herself in this crush of hostages with everyone wanting out, saw how hard it would be to get through at all, let alone do what she’d already planned out in her head.
Temporary insanity.
It was chaotic, the clamor hurting her ears, her head. Uniforms present, Fire Rescue, cops, FBI, visible in their parkas, paramedics. Men and women talking into radios, breath steaming. The narthex, main and south-east doors, and nine out of the ten rows of pews all sealed off with crime-scene tape – a risk, still, Liza realized, of the other doors blowing – and creating the jam in this area. She saw Steve Julliard being wheeled out, and someone else on a gurney, Patty Jackson, her parents either side; looked at the dazed people apparently waiting in the front row, Betty Hackett and Freya Osborn among them, both being tended to by paramedics and the pharmacist, Norman Clay. Freya, with a cut on her forehead, was being comforted by the female deacon Liza remembered from hours ago, a calm person as she recalled, Freya talking agitatedly to her now. And however much Liza longed to escape, she knew she had to pass on what she knew. Though not first-hand, not yet, and, turning quickly before Freya saw her, Liza spotted Gwen Turner, felt she could entrust this to her, and made her way across, grabbed her arm, saw relief in Gwen’s eyes at seeing her safe, gave her no chance to speak, just said: ‘Gwen, I need your help.’
‘Anything. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ Liza leaned close and spoke against her ear. ‘I need you to tell Freya Osborn and the police that Bill was badly hurt hours ago by the one called Amos, and they just left him in the library in Shiloh Oaks, so he needs urgent help’ – she had to take a breath – ‘but they can’t just go steaming in, because they’ve booby-trapped the doors there too.’ She pulled away. ‘Have you got that?’
‘Yes, but you should tell them yourself.’
‘I can’t,’ Liza said. ‘I can’t, OK?’
‘Sure. I’ll deal with it right away – but you need to get checked out.’
‘She will be.’ Keenan came up behind them, and turned to his wife. ‘Rosie, can you make sure Liza gets to a paramedic?’
Liza watched as Gwen reached Freya Osborn, then quickly turned again, back into the throng, but Rosie stuck with her, told her about Joel apparently setting off the explosives deliberately, said that Simon felt certain he’d given his life to free them.
‘Liza, I’m sure you should be sitting down.’
‘I don’t need to.’ Liza wanted to be rid of her, of everyone, but Rosie wasn’t going anywhere, was asking her questions about what had happened down in the undercroft.
‘We weren’t in the undercroft,’ Liza told her quickly, quietly. ‘Reaper had a backpack of explosives. There are tunnels below the church, below most of the village.’
‘And that’s where you’ve been, with him?’ Rosie looked horrified. ‘Oh, my God, you could have been killed.’
‘But I wasn’t,’ Liza said.
‘And right now’ – Stephen Plain materialized beside her and took her arm – ‘you just want to get out of this place, right, Liza?’
She looked at him, startled, and then, instantly, driven by some curious instinct, decided to trust him, kept her voice low.
‘I have to get to our house, Granddad.’
‘I see.’ Her grandfather was calm. ‘Leave it to me.’
‘I just heard they’re going to evacuate the whole village,’ Rosie Keenan said.
‘In those conditions?’ Stephen nodded toward the cavity through which people were being slowly moved, his height giving him a vantage point. ‘Have you seen it out there? It’s like the North Pole, and I heard a paramedic say they can’t risk bringing vehicles in.’
‘The police are going to want to talk to Liza,’ the vicar’s wife said.
‘Not yet,’ Liza said sharply. ‘I can’t.’
‘Reaper’s gone – you can tell them that, Rosie, if they ask. I think he blew himself up, but I wasn’t there. He told me to get out, and then …’ She stopped, starting to tremble.
‘Easy.’ Her grandfather gripped her arm more tightly.
Liza became aware that people all around were staring at her.
‘I need to get out now, Granddad,’ she said.
‘No problem.’ His voice was even lower. ‘Just leave it to me, Liza. Better not say much from now on – you’re suffering from shock, so stop talking and take my lead.’ He turned to Rosie Keenan. ‘I’m going to get her to the house.’
‘But people are saying it’s dangerous.’
‘Poppycock,’ Stephen said. ‘We’ll go ahead. See you soon.’
The retired doctor used a blend of authority and a charm that Liza had never witnessed before, though when necessary he turned curmudgeonly and people stepped aside, let him through, assuming perhaps that he had special dispensation. And a few times, hearing her name spoken, Liza was aware of people staring, saw Jill Barrow waving, glad too that she was safe, and wanted to acknowledge her.
‘Not now,’ Stephen told her. ‘Ignore them all.’
Outside – really outside, at long last – the sky blue with just a few fluffy clouds, walls of snow everywhere, great drifts piled up, the icy, crystalline air acted on Liza like some high-octane energy drink. Listening to agitated conversations here and there, they learned that the freed hostages were being divided into those needing assistance and those able to walk to buses waiting on Shiloh Road beyond Elm Street, ready to take them to Shiloh Town Hall. And in less abnormal conditions, there would, she guessed, have been buses and ambulances lining up on Main Street to get them out fast, but the Blizzard-to-End-All-Blizzards and still-present danger had rendered the village a no-go area.
‘Home, right?’ Stephen asked.
And here was yet another of these surreal experiences: having her grandfather on her side and asking no questions, just seeming to know that she needed his help, which seemed quite a Christmas gift – along with freedom and life – so she wasn’t going to let herself think about anything else, was just going to stick her freezing hands in her pockets and move forward, cut off all the mess and pain crowding her mind.
‘OK, here we go then,’ Stephen said, and began to guide her through the deep snow, heading for home.
‘Ms Plain?’ a voice said.
They turned and saw a pleasant-faced, ruddy-cheeked middle-aged man in a parka and woolen hat, holding out an FBI badge.
‘Special Agent Clem Carson,’ he said. ‘Are you Liza Plain?’
‘She is.’ Stephen tightened his grip on Liza’s arm. ‘I’m Dr Stephen Plain, and this is my granddaughter. Right this minute, I need to get her back to my surgery, which is just up there.’ He pointed vaguely.
‘There’s a chance it might be unsafe, sir,’ Carson said. ‘That’s why we’re moving everyone out as quickly as we can.’
‘Quite a proposition,’ Stephen said, affably. ‘So you people must have your hands full, which is why I’m going to take care of my granddaughter, who has been through more than enough.’
‘Granddad,’ Liza said, ‘I think I should give Agent Carson what the FBI are going to want most.’
‘And I think the FBI can wait a half-hour.’ Stephen glared at her.
‘My backpack,’ she said. ‘If you could just help me off with it, sir?’ She gave him a weak smile. ‘It’s the equipment the gang gave me so I could transmit. It’s evidence, obviously.’
‘It most certainly is, ma’am,’ Clem Carson told her. ‘You did a great job.’
‘You do realize she had no choice,’ Stephen said. ‘They all had shotguns. I take it that’s understood.’
‘I’m sure it is.’ Carson helped to ease the backpack from Liza’s shoulders, saw her wince, heard her groan of pain. ‘I’m betting you’re glad to be rid of that, ma’am.’
‘You have no idea,’ Liza said. ‘I lost the camera underground but I’ll be able to tell you where to find it, if you’ll just give me some time to rest.’
‘Best place for now would be my car, ma’am.’ Carson hoisted the backpack onto his right shoulder.
‘Best place for now is our house.’ Stephen put his arm around her.
‘Hey!’ a male voice yelled, and they all turned toward a commotion starting up, because some people had just emerged from two narrow town houses on Main Street, and other doors were opening.
‘Oh, dear Lord,’ Clem Carson said. ‘They need to be staying inside until they’re called.’
‘Best go help your colleagues then,’ Stephen told him. ‘We’ll wait for you.’
‘I’d rather see you both to safety first, sir.’
Someone started calling on a loudhailer, and Liza put her hands up over her ears.
‘Just go deal with that, for pity’s sake,’ Stephen said.
Carson looked at them both. ‘You’d better join the line, get yourselves to the town hall. We’ll come find you there.’
‘We’ll look forward to it,’ Stephen said.
‘Please take good care of the backpack,’ Liza said urgently, wondering suddenly if she’d done the right thing handing it over to a stranger with a badge. ‘It’s evidence of a lot more than you think.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘At least six murders, for one thing.’
Clem Carson stared at her.
‘Now go,’ Stephen barked at him.
Carson turned and ran.
‘My God, Granddad,’ Liza said. ‘That was amazing.’
‘Time for compliments later. Let’s get you home.’
They turned, made it to the corner of South Maple and waited to be stopped, but no one bothered them.
‘What happened to John Tilden?’ Liza asked as they trudged past buried cars. ‘I didn’t see him.’
‘Arrested,’ Stephen said, panting. ‘I saw them take him out just ahead of us.’
‘Poor Eleanor.’
‘Strong woman, Ellie Willard.’
‘Willard,’ Liza repeated, never having heard Eleanor’s birth name before.
‘I’ve always liked strong women.’ He paused for breath, the going very heavy. ‘Seems to me now that I have a remarkably strong granddaughter.’
Liza flushed, then hesitated. ‘I need to ask you something, Granddad.’
‘Fire away.’
‘Were you involved as a doctor in having Joshua Tilden put away back then?’
‘I was not.’ Stephen stopped walking and looked her in the eye. ‘No one called me. If Cromwell did help John Tilden, which is likely, he presumably used his own man.’ He started moving again. ‘Though a cover-up would have been costly, and Tilden wouldn’t have had the means in those days, and I doubt that Cromwell would have used his own money.’
‘Whose then?’ Liza asked.
‘Only one man in Shiloh people turned to when they needed money fast.’
‘Osborn.’ Liza remembered Amos’s loathing of the old newspaper man, thought about the cash, grew hotter, sped up.
‘I always told you no good would come from raking up the past,’ Stephen said.
‘At least people know the truth now,’ she said.
‘At what cost? A child’s life? All those people terrorized.’ And then, seeing her face, he added: ‘I always felt bad about the letter, but I couldn’t do anything about it, and there’s an end to it.’
Liza looked up at him and managed to smile. ‘I hope the house is safe. I’d hate to get you blown up after all this.’
‘Those thugs were bent on keeping people locked in,’ Stephen said grimly. ‘There was no one left in our house for them to worry about.’
Liza looked back over her shoulder. No one was following.
‘We can stop again if you need to rest, Granddad.’
‘Not me,’ he said. ‘I never felt better.’
At the foot of
the driveway, they halted, both panting, Liza feeling weak again, afraid of collapsing before they reached the house. And her grandfather had to be aware of that, had surely to be near the end of his tether too, yet he wasn’t fussing, was simply helping, the last person in the world she’d have expected that from.
‘I see no bombs from here,’ Stephen said, humorously. ‘Shall we approach?’
‘Definitely,’ Liza said.
They clambered over and through the mounds of snow heaped on the driveway and in drifts against the wall of the house and front door, and cleared away as much as they needed to.
She stopped again, abruptly, breathless. ‘I don’t have my keys – I don’t even remember when I last saw my bag.’
‘Not a problem,’ Stephen said.
He fished in his coat pocket and found his set.
‘Better stand back when I open up, just in case,’ he said. ‘I’m old, after all.’
Liza laughed, staggered that she could do that after what she’d seen down below, in Reaper’s ‘place’, quickly set it all aside again, a portion of horror to be dealt with later. And then she looked anxiously back over her shoulder.
‘It’s all right,’ Stephen said. ‘Come along.’
Inside, all was as it had been, except for the snow spilling into the hallway with them.
‘Would you mind,’ Liza asked, ‘if I go upstairs for just a little while?’
‘Alone, do I take it?’
‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Granddad.’
‘No need.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Tragedy aside, it’s been the least agonizingly dull Christmas I can remember for decades.’
Liza reached up and kissed his icy cheek. ‘Thank you. More than I can say.’
‘You just go ahead,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in the living room, having a bit of a sit down.’
‘Are you really OK?’ she asked, remembering his own ordeal.
‘In one piece, and plenty to think about,’ he said. ‘Very glad to be home.’
‘I won’t be too long,’ Liza said at the foot of the stairs. ‘If anyone comes—’
‘I’ll tell them you’re unwell, taking a little time out,’ Stephen said. ‘Now go on.’
She went.
EIGHTY-THREE
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