'I wish I could see you,' sobbed Lucy, reading his mind.
Sam had a thought.
'Hold on a minute,' he told her. He stood up, dug into his pocket and pulled out the flash-light. Clicking it on, he pointed the thin beam in Lucy's direction. What he saw alarmed him.
Lucy had only been held prisoner for a few hours, but looking at her, she could have been in this dark, dank room for days on end. Her hair was dry and matted. Dark circles underlined tired, red eyes. Her skin looked pale and washed out, and she was shivering non-stop. Most of all, she looked absolutely terrified.
Sam took off his jacket.
'Here,' he said, wrapping it around her shoulders. 'You need warming up.'
She let him drape the coat around her while taking the flash-light off him. Sam smiled as she shone the light directly in his face.
'Oh, Sam!' she squealed in delight, embracing him once more. 'I never thought I'd see you again!'
Bill Seymour coughed.
'Erm...I'm sorry to interrupt you two, but I think we have more pressing matters right now.'
Sam took the flash-light back and waved its beam around until it rested on Seymour's face. He didn't look in any better shape than Lucy. His glasses lay tilted at an angle on his nose. The small amount of hair he had was standing up on end. And he, too, looked cold with a face as white as a ghost.
'Bill, what are you doing in here?' asked Sam, moving the beam away from Seymour's face onto the wall behind.
'Dave Starkey put me in here, same as he did with young Lucy here.'
Sam continued to let the beam slide from wall to wall, giving him a picture of the room they were in. It was spacious and bare, with no way in or out apart from the door he had been propelled through.
'I gathered that, Bill,' he said, pointing the light back in Seymour's face. 'What I want to know is why? You scarpered off pretty quickly earlier.'
Seymour waved his hands in front of his face.
'Will you turn that thing off, Sam?' he complained. 'Or at least stop pointing it in my face. It's blinding me after being in the dark so long.'
Sam switched the flash-light off. He felt Lucy take his hand and press into him. She was still trembling. He put an arm around her and pulled her close.
'So, what happened?' he asked Seymour through the darkness. 'I take it you drove straight here from your office?'
Seymour sighed before answering.
'That's right,' he confirmed. 'I left the office so quickly because I didn't know who that other man was or what he wanted. I just wanted to pass on what you told me. Warn Molly that Dave was responsible for Carl's death. I thought she might be in danger herself.'
Sam recalled Peter Canning falling through the doorway to Seymour's office. With Sam having already shredded the accountant's nerves, he supposed he couldn't blame the man for getting out of there as quickly as possible.
'And what happened when you got here?' asked Sam. 'I take it Starkey didn't throw you a welcome party?'
Seymour coughed. It was a harsh, tearing noise. Sam knew the cold basement was no good for a man of Seymour's age.
'It was almost as though he was watching out for me,' spluttered Seymour, clearing his throat. 'He had the front door open before I even knocked on it. I told him I wanted to talk to Molly and he asked me what about. When I refused to tell him, he pulled a gun on me.'
'So, you told him I figured out he'd killed Carl?'
'I had to,' replied Seymour, taking deep breaths. 'I honestly thought he was going to shoot me there and then.'
'Well, none of it matters now,' said Sam. 'Molly knows everything. She was in on it with him.'
Both Lucy and Seymour gasped.
***
'How are we going to get out of here, Sam?'
'I don't know, Bill,' replied Sam glumly. 'I can't see any obvious way out.'
Sam had been in there with Lucy and Seymour for ten minutes now. Lucy had told him of Starkey's anger at finding the phone in her possession. How he had screamed at her, telling her there was no way he could let her go now. Thankfully, Starkey hadn't turned violent. He had simply snatched the phone off Lucy and stormed out of the basement. Sam didn't have the heart to tell Lucy it had been one of Molly's daughters who had sneaked down with the phone out of pity for her. Hearing that would upset her even more.
Seymour emphasised again that although he knew Molly, the girls and Starkey were staying at the farmhouse, he had no reason to be suspicious. As far as he was aware, Molly needed a quiet place to grieve and Starkey had the property at his disposal. He refused to accept the idea the two of them were romantically linked, even after Sam's stunning revelation that Molly had willingly gone along with the murder of her own husband. No, insisted Seymour, Molly and Dave got on each other's nerves too much to be anything more than friends. After the argument Sam had witnessed upstairs, he was inclined to agree.
In turn, Sam told Lucy and Seymour how close he had been to reeling Starkey in upstairs. How Starkey's resolve had been weakening in the face of Sam's accusations until Molly had appeared in the room. How her outburst had seemingly restored his conviction.
'There's one really strange thing about Dave Starkey's behaviour,' mused Sam out loud.
'What's that?' asked Lucy, her teeth chattering wildly. All three of them were huddled up close to each other now, trying to use their combined body heat to ward off the increasingly cold night. They talked in darkness as Sam wanted to save the flash-light for any emergency that might present itself.
'The way he keeps denying everything,' continued Sam. 'Killing Carl, setting fire to the factory-'
'He must still be hoping to get away with it all,' snorted Seymour.
'But why not just admit it to us?' Sam persisted. 'What's the point in continuing to-'
'Ssshh!' whispered Lucy, placing a finger to her lips.
Sam gave her a curious look.
'I just heard something,' she said quietly. 'A thud. Listen.'
They heard the click of a switch on the stairway. A strip of light appeared at the bottom of the basement door. Footsteps began descending the stairs. Sam felt Lucy grip his shoulder. He heard Seymour take a sharp intake of breath.
The three of them waited.
Chapter 73
A key turned and the door swung open. Light flooded into the basement. Standing in the doorway was Martyn Taylor. He was grinning widely.
'Have you folks been having fun down here?'
Sam blinked several times, his eyesight adjusting to the sudden light.
'Martyn, I thought I told you to keep out of it,' he laughed, giving Lucy a hug. Confusion was written all over her face. 'It's okay, Lucy. He's here to help us. I'm just glad he never does what he's told.'
'Martyn Taylor?' asked Seymour uncertainly. 'Martyn Taylor...off the Withdean estate?'
'The one and only,' beamed Taylor proudly. 'Sorry, Sam, but there was no way I was going to miss all the action.'
'You followed me in here?' asked Sam.
'That's right, my friend,' said Taylor, stepping into the room. 'Although, I thought you were a goner when Starkey pulled that gun on you.'
'I take it you heard everything that was said?' asked Sam.
Taylor nodded.
'I listened from in the kitchen. But I think you've got it all wrong, Sam. Starkey didn't kill Carl Renshaw-'
'What?' exclaimed Sam, Lucy and Seymour in unison.
Taylor didn't get the chance to elaborate.
'Come to the bottom of the stairs! All of you!'
The four of them inched over to the doorway and looked up the stairs. Dave Starkey was standing at the top, leaning unsteadily against the wall. Blood streamed from a wound on the top of his head. His face was an unhealthy shade of grey. Most importantly for those standing below, he had the gun in his hand once again.
Sam looked at Martyn Taylor and raised his eyebrows.
'I walloped him over the head,' protested Taylor, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. 'I th
ought he was out cold.'
'Well, he isn't any more,' replied Sam in the same hushed tone. 'And now we're really in it.'
They watched Starkey attempt to venture down the steps, but he was too groggy for the task. He gingerly stepped back up onto the top step and rested against the wall again.
'Okay, I want you all to move up one or two steps,' he instructed, wiping away a thin line of blood trickling into his eye. 'I want to see exactly who's down there.'
Taylor went to step forward but Sam tugged him back.
'Did he see you?' Sam whispered urgently to Taylor, keeping hold of his arm. 'Does he know it was you that hit him?'
'No!' replied Taylor. 'I hit him from behind.'
'So, if he doesn't know you're here, why don't you stay back in the basement? You could-'
'Let go of me, Sam!' hissed Taylor, trying to shake himself free of Sam's grip. 'I'm not hiding from anybody, especially not that piece of-'
'Okay, okay,' said Sam, noting the steely look of determination in Martyn Taylor's eyes. 'Suit yourself.'
He let go of Taylor's arm. Lucy gave Sam a troubled look. He knew what she was thinking. Taylor was a loose cannon, more likely to antagonise the situation than calm it down.
'We're coming up!' shouted Taylor, starting up the stairs. Sam shrugged at Lucy and followed him. Lucy stayed close behind Sam, her fingertips resting lightly on his waist. Seymour brought up the rear.
They had climbed no more than half a dozen steps when Starkey shouted again.
'Right, that's far enough.'
Sam watched Starkey squint down at them, struggling with his vision as blood continued to flow into his eyes. Wiping his brow once more, Starkey re-focused. This time, he got a clearer picture.
'Martyn Taylor!' he gasped. 'What are you doing here?'
Taylor moved up another step, his eyes never leaving Starkey.
'I should have hit you harder,' growled Taylor. 'I'm coming to finish you off, Starkey. I'm going to finish what you started all those years ago when you helped send me down.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' retorted Starkey, uncertainty in his voice. The gun in his hand began to twitch again, just as it had when it had been pointed at Sam.
'Yes, you do!' Taylor shouted, continuing to climb the stairs. 'We both know what you did.'
'I had to do it!' moaned Starkey, breathing hard now. 'You were getting out of hand. There was too much violence, and when you started bumping people off I-'
'Still the same Dave Starkey, eh!' sneered Taylor. 'You were always too soft for that way of life! You and Renshaw. No wonder you both bottled out.'
Sam stopped climbing the stairs. He spread his arms out to keep Lucy and Seymour behind him as he watched Taylor continue to head for Starkey. Sam saw no hesitation in Taylor's steps. No fear in the face of a loaded gun. Sam realised this was the point of no return for Martyn Taylor. His chance to finally unleash the rage simmering inside him for years. For him, it was now a personal duel. Everybody else in the house had been forgotten. Taylor had tunnel vision, and Dave Starkey was going to have to stop him.
Sam started back down the steps.
Chapter 74
Something did stop Martyn Taylor in his tracks, but it wasn't Dave Starkey or his gun.
It was Molly Renshaw.
'What happened to your head?' she asked, appearing at the top of the stairs, looking more agitated than concerned. When Starkey failed to acknowledge her, she followed his gaze down the stairs.
'Oh my god!' she whispered in shock. 'Is that Martyn Taylor down there? What's he doing-'
Then she put her hands to her face in horror. She had noticed those behind Taylor.
'You've been keeping Bill down there, as well?' she gasped, giving Starkey a disbelieving look. She shook her head at him, unable to register the scene before her. Starkey ignored her. His eyes were fixed on Martyn Taylor, now standing motionless halfway up the stairs.
'That's it!' screamed Molly suddenly, making everybody jump. 'I've had enough of this! I never wanted to be part of it in the first place! Girls, go and wait out by the car.'
The tiny faces of her two daughters materialised behind her. Katie and Jenny clung tight to their mother, bewilderment strewn across their faces.
'Go on, girls,' urged Molly, gently ushering them away from the stairs, towards the front door. 'There's nothing for you to see here.'
Sam watched the twins take one final look down the stairs. When they saw Lucy, both girls gave her a weak smile. Sam watched Lucy nod back at them, trying to reassure them she was going to be okay. That everything was going to be fine in the end. Then the girls allowed their mother to escort them out of the house.
But Molly Renshaw wasn't finished yet. She re-appeared moments later and, safe in the knowledge her girls were out of earshot, let rip at Dave Starkey.
'Do you see what this is doing to them?' she yelled, almost in Starkey's face. 'What it's doing to me? All because of this stupid plan you cooked up between-'
'Molly, it's best you get out of here,' said Starkey, not even bothering to face her. He looked dazed. He looked shattered. Yet, his eyes never left Martyn Taylor.
His quiet words were like a red rag to Molly Renshaw.
'What are you going to do now?' she screamed at him. 'Burn the house down the same as you did the factory?'
'Molly,' sighed Starkey. 'Please, just go.'
For one moment, Sam thought Molly was going to give Starkey a slap. Instead, she settled for a withering look before storming angrily out of the house. There followed a surreal few seconds where nobody on the stairs said a word or moved a muscle. Instead, they all listened to the sound of Molly's Range Rover starting up and roaring away from the house.
Then, as though the interruption had never occurred, normality resumed.
Martyn Taylor continued his slow ascent up the stairs.
Dave Starkey placed both hands on his gun in an effort to steady the weapon.
And Sam kept backtracking down towards the basement, forcing Lucy and Seymour to do the same behind him.
'Look at you, Starkey!' jeered Taylor. 'Letting a woman talk down to you like that! Like I said, you haven't-'
'Keep back!' yelled Starkey, taking a small step backwards. 'I don't want to use this.'
Without taking his eyes off the scene above him, Sam backed down another step. He heard Seymour step back into the basement, then Lucy. He needed to get them all out of the firing line.
Starkey was a nervous wreck holding a gun.
Taylor was in an unrelenting, murderous mood.
Something had to give.
There had been another reason for Sam's hasty retreat. Dave Starkey wasn't the only one carrying a weapon in the confined area.
Martyn Taylor also had one on him.
Sam had noticed it just before Molly arrived on the stairs. The glint of a gun handle in Taylor's jacket pocket. It explained Taylor's slow, purposeful climb up the stairs, taking advantage of Starkey's reluctance to shoot, getting himself into firing range.
Now, peering up from the basement doorway, Sam watched Taylor slyly slide his hand into the same pocket. In that moment, Sam knew for certain Dave Starkey was no murderer. He just didn't have it in him. Whereas, Martyn Taylor most certainly did. He was the hardened criminal here. The one with cold blood running through his veins. It dawned on Sam that Taylor must have brought the gun to their confrontation outside The Duck. Sam had no doubt he would have used it then as well, if needed. Now, Taylor was going to get the chance.
Sam wanted no further part in it. He wasn't interested in watching two men gun each other down. Let them shoot each other, he reasoned. His priority now was to protect the innocent. With a heavy heart, Sam went back into the basement, waved Lucy and Seymour to the back of the room, out of range of any stray bullets, and waited for the inevitable shooting to start.
As the seconds passed, nothing happened. No gunfire. No struggle. Not even a spoken word. Mystified, Sam silently instru
cted Lucy and Seymour to stay where they were and went to investigate. He took a look up the stairs.
What he saw made his jaw drop.
Starkey and Taylor were standing stock still, facing each other, both brandishing their weapons.
There was a third figure.
Sam thought he was seeing things. Looking at a ghost.
Carl Renshaw was standing at the top of the stairs.
Chapter 75
Sam was speechless. Martyn Taylor, however, had plenty to say.
'I knew it!' he cried. 'I knew you two were up to something! There's no way he would have killed you. You two were always bosom buddies, sneaking about together.'
Sam couldn't understand Taylor's attitude. He sounded almost jubilant. It didn't take long for Sam to discover why.
'Oh, yes!' exclaimed Taylor gleefully. 'Now I get to sort you both out at the same time.'
Sam had heard enough.
'Martyn, just forget about your stupid squabble for a while, will you?'
'No way, Sam,' answered Taylor, without turning around. 'I've waited too-'
Carl cleared his throat. Sam looked at him. The man who had indirectly brought them all here was finally going to speak.
'Please, both of you. Put your guns down and let's talk.'
They all looked at Carl. Begrudgingly, Starkey and Taylor lowered their weapons. They didn't put them away, but Sam still let out a grateful sigh. It was a start.
'I'm sorry, Sam,' muttered Carl, looking at Sam with some embarrassment. 'I never meant to drag you into any of this.'
Sam studied him while trying to digest the words of a dead man. Carl had lost some weight, but apart from that he looked in pretty good health.
'What's this, then?' Sam asked him. 'Have you risen from the dead?'
Taylor snorted dismissively.
'What does it look like, Sam? They've-'
'I can figure out what they've done, thanks, Martyn,' snapped Sam. 'I just want to hear it for myself.' He was thinking of the last few days. The accusations that had been thrown at him. The cloud of suspicion he had been living under. The ordeal that Lucy had suffered. The whole bloody episode.
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