No Longer Safe

by A J Waines

  ‘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.

  Chapter 50

  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 bac
k 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.’

  Chapter 51

  As soon as we reached the hospital, I was fast-tracked through A&E. I’m not sure why I got to see a doctor so quickly – I wasn’t injured – just a bit cold and stiff from being stuck in the damp for a few hours. And devastated about what had happened to Stuart. He’d been innocently caught up in Karen’s audacious plan and she was going to pay for it.

  The doctor checked my pulse, my heart rate, looked in my ears, my eyes and held fingers up in front of me. He asked about the bruise on my forehead.

  ‘That looks nasty,’ he said, peering at it. ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘Oh – it’s completely innocent. Just banged my head under the sink. I was checking a leak.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘The day I got here. November the thirtieth.’ It felt like months ago.

  ‘Did you get to see anyone about it?’

  ‘No. We were a bit too far from anywhere…’

  He gave me a look that suggested he wasn’t happy with me.

  ‘I think we might need to do more tests, but the police will need to speak to you first, okay?’

  I let myself be led to the police car. I was feeling fairly blasé about everything at that point. Perhaps it was relief at being rescued, but I was also elated to be away from Karen, to be finally going home.

  Shortly after, a weird kind of lethargic stupor came over me. I kept thinking about Stuart and how I’d never see him again. All my hopes had been crushed. Of course, I told the police that Karen had killed him, but it was only once I’d said it out loud that I really started to cry.

  They asked if they could go through my belongings and I agreed without hesitation. I knew there was nothing there, but I did warn them that Karen could have messed with my things and planted something to make me look guilty.

  After the initial chat with the police, there was an odd hiatus and I was left in a room and told to wait. I told them I wanted to go home or failing that I was at least supposed to go back for more tests at the hospital, but they asked me to stay.

  I was left for ages with only a lukewarm cup of tea for company. There was a lot of coming and going in the corridor and I gathered from snippets here and there that they must have been searching the cottage. I bit my nails. Would they find a link to Charlie? What if they found something belonging to Brody and realised what Karen had done? They’d think I was in on it.

  Time passed and still they kept me there. I was starting to think they’d forgotten me. I tried to leave the room but as soon as I opened the door an officer came from nowhere, took my arm and led me back to the chair. There was a mirror on the wall and they must have had someone in there, watching me the whole time.

  I heard shouting and then it went quiet. Where was Karen? Hadn’t they arrested her by now? Had she put the blame on me?

  Finally, another officer came back. They allowed me to make a call and not wishing to worry my parents, I rang Nina. I gave her a quick résumé to let her know where I was. She was appalled by what had happened. After batting questions and answers back and forth about my horrendous experience, she asked how I was coping.

  ‘Not great, obviously…I’m heartbroken about Stuart. I know I barely knew him, but…’

  She said all the right things in an attempt to comfort me.

  ‘Why do you have to go back to the hospital?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m very headachy. The doctor thought the bump was quite bad,’ I said. ‘He told me off for not getting proper medical attention.’

  ‘You’ve been through the most unimaginable horror. You need to be out of there. How long are they going to keep you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s all a terrible mess.’

  ‘Hang on in there, girl. Just tell them everything you know and it’ll be alright.’

  My eyes welled up and I couldn’t answer her straight away. ‘I’d love to see you again before you head back to London,’ she added.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I croaked. ‘As soon as I’m out, I’ll ring you.’

  ‘Take care.’

  I never got the chance to call her again.

  Chapter 52

  Alice was found in the cellar before any more harm was done. I didn’t want her to suffer down there – I just needed her out of the way.

  On the way to offer my information at the police station, I stopped off at The Holland’s farm and left Brody asleep inside the porch. I heard voices inside so, wearing gloves, I rang the doorbell and fled, knowing he’d be found quickly and his parents would be over the moon.

  I’d rinsed the wash-in, wash-out dye from his hair and dressed him in the clothes Charlie took him in – so he barely looked any different from the day he disappeared. I knew by then that my scheme was untenable. I’d told too many people about my baby girl – a boy wouldn’t work. The plan was doomed.

  The police have been searching our cottage, of course, since they discovered Stuart’s body in the cellar. I’d done a thorough job earlier of wiping away any possible prints left by Charlie in the kitchen, the bannister and Alice’s room. Of course, there will be the odd stray hair and bits of skin with his DNA, but they will be mixed up with hundreds from other people who’ve stayed there over the years. I found out he doesn’t have a police record, so his details won’t be on file, anyway.

  We’ve been lucky too. We’d kept Charlie’s head well wrapped in the sheet when we dragged him down the stairs, and the rug where he fell was thick enough to soak up all his blood. Because I’d burnt everything, there were no incriminating traces inside the cottage.

  I’ll need to wait until they get all the test results back, but I’m banking on the police not knowing there was an earlier crime.

  Chapter 53

  They kept me waiting for hours before they took my fingerprints and a DNA swab. They asked if I wanted a lawyer. I didn’t like the sound of that. Karen must have told them a pack of lies about me. She must have been prepared for this and set up a trail of false clues I knew nothing about.

  The next day, the police took me back to the interview room and everything was more serious this time. It was no longer a friendly chat. I was very careful about what I said; I didn’t want to fall into a
readymade trap.

  They asked me about Stuart. Of course my DNA was on his body – I’d found him down there in the cellar in the dark. I’d held him and cradled him, because we were in love and about to embark on a wonderful journey together. No, I didn’t know he was there! No, I didn’t know how he died – except there was blood on his face and his head was caved in. Ask Karen, I said.

  They brought in Exhibit A inside a plastic bag and asked if I recognised it. Yes, it was my pyjama top, but no – I had no idea how it got covered in Stuart’s blood. Karen, I said. It has to be her doing.

  Then there was Exhibit B; did it belong to me. Yes, it was my camera; I’d taken shots of the mountains, the trees, the lake.

  Later that day, I was taken back to the hospital and a different doctor came to see me, a police officer at her side. She asked about my headaches.

  ‘Quite bad, actually,’ I told her.

  ‘And how many sleeping tablets did you take?’

  ‘Just the odd one – and only since I’d been at the cottage, as a last resort. Nothing for anyone to worry about,’ I insisted.

  Her questions went on and on. Had I been feeling unwell at any time? Had I taken any other medication? Didn’t I have some kind of seizure in the bathroom?

  ‘Yes, I’d had a little episode, but it was just a panic attack.’

  I knew it. Karen had told them all my private, personal things and was making out I was some kind of deranged nutcase. But I kept my cool. I knew that once they probed deeper, the truth would come out and I’d be going home.

  ‘What about when you hit your head, did you black out?’

  I remembered the clocks. Karen had told me it was only a second or two, I told her, when I thought it was more like twenty minutes. The doctor shared a knowing look with the police officer and I smiled, because I knew then that Karen was going to be in trouble for lying through her teeth.