The woman’s eyes blazed at the mention of Bert’s name. ‘What do you want with him?’
Jennifer tugged her jacket around her shivering body. ‘I’m looking for my friend Will, and I think Bert may know where he is. Has he brought anyone here?’
Bert’s mother relaxed into her rocker, setting it back in motion. ‘I’m waiting for Callum. He’ll be home soon. Bert’s in bed. He’s a sickly child.’
Jennifer sighed. She was not going to get any assistance from a dead woman’s ghost and it was time to move on. ‘Mrs Bishop, I don’t think it’s good for you to stay here.’
‘I’m waiting for Callum.’
‘He’s waiting for you, Mrs Bishop. He’s been waiting a very long time. Don’t you want to go to him?’ Jennifer swallowed, mystified at the words leaving her mouth. It was not the first time she found herself uttering words she did not understand, but if they provided comfort then she was happy to continue.
The woman’s face clouded over, the frailty of her soul laid bare. ‘I … I can’t leave the house.’
‘Yes you can. You don’t need it any more. Let it go. When you feel Callum’s presence, step up and take his hand. But you don’t need to stay here. There is so much more for you, if you can find the strength to leave.’
But she wouldn’t. At least not yet, and she returned her gaze to the fire as it hissed and spat orange sparks that went nowhere, delivering heat that could not be felt. Slowly Jennifer left the sad figure, and wandered through the rest of the house, her ear sharply attuned to the flapping of the ravens gathering on the fence outside. She rubbed the back of her hand. It had healed well, but the small scar would serve as a reminder of her stubbornness, and inability to ask for help for fear of looking like a fool. She checked her mobile phone, the absence of calls a painful reminder that time was running out. Five minutes. She would give herself five minutes and leave.
Every room door was ajar and she was relieved to see the loft hatch gaping open, its mouth an empty chasm as sharp-clawed rodents scurried overhead. Officers would have already searched the gloomy space, which meant she didn’t need to. The oppression in the house grew with every second that passed, until the derelict building took on a life of its own. I shouldn’t be here, she thought. Not only was she under a ceiling that may well give way, her presence was most unwelcome, and the birds that had swooped to attack her were now gathering outside.
Jennifer ventured into the kitchen as the building groaned above her. Small black pebbles of droppings littered every counter, and in the absence of food, there lay empty bread wrappers, chewed by rodent teeth. It felt as if a hundred sets of eyes were beating down on her back. She wondered if the attending officers had felt it when they conducted the search. She turned to leave, passing each ramshackle room until she came to the largest bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was caked in a layer of dust. The peeling sash window allowed generous light to flood over the rusted metal bedstead, and she guessed it was Bert’s room. Her heels echoed as she walked across the cold wooden floor, and she imagined a small hungry boy, lying on the sunken mattress as he stared at the oak tree outside. She pulled back the damp mouldy blankets and lingered long enough only to check under the bed. Another wave of despair passed over her. Will was not there. He never had been.
She turned on her heel and made her way to the hall, but the noise of the ravens suggested there were more than one or two waiting for her exit. She peered through the gap in the door, catching her breath as she caught sight of the black feathered sentries gathered on the fence. A horrifying sense of dread enveloped her as she realised she would have to pass them on her way out. Why didn’t I park the car nearer? she thought. If the birds attacked, they could do a lot of harm in the precious minutes it would take her to reach it. Tapping her fingers against her bottom lip, she formulated a plan. She picked up an empty milk bottle from the floor and pressed the central locking button through the gap in the door. A chorus of excited caws ensued as her car beeped in response, and they flapped and danced on the fence in preparation for their prey. They’ll rip me to shreds, Jennifer whispered as she backed away. She would get only one chance. She had to be quick or she would pay the consequences.
She returned to the kitchen, holding her breath as she slowly turned the handle of the back door. Relief flooded through her as it opened, and she tentatively slid out, tiptoeing through the undergrowth at the side of the house. The front of the house was black with ravens, their beady eyes focused on the front door. She flung the milk bottle, sending it rebounding on the front porch, startling the ravens long enough to race to her car. Soon she was safely inside, sending gravel shooting in her wake as she raced down the driveway for home.
Jennifer dropped her car keys onto the hall dresser. Her stomach growled to remind her she had not yet eaten, having been sick with stress all day. She opened the fridge door, gulping back the last of her mineral water. Pulling out a block of cheese, she laid it on the chopping board next to a chunk of bread. She checked her watch. It granted her enough time for a quick shower before Christian came around. She needed to wash away the dark barbs that clung from the horrors of the day. But the feeling of Will’s presence had grown stronger since she came home, each step inside telling her she was missing something, something she should have known. She tore off some bread and nibbled on enough cheese to silence her rumbling stomach. Hopping up the stairs, she turned the shower to the hottest setting and slipped off her clothes. A creeping sensation on the nape of her neck made her whirl around, a shriek emitted through her lips as she faced the steamed-up mirror. There, in the midst of her distress, the answer came. She knew where Will was. It had been staring her in the face all along.
Chapter Fifty-Two
In the mirror, daubed in ghostly fingerprints, were the scrawled words ‘LOOK UP’. Jennifer froze, her heart pounding as she steadied herself against the ceramic sink. Her eyes darted around the steaming bathroom, as she hastily pulled on her shirt and trousers, unable to take her eyes off the fogged writing. It was the only morning she had not showered. Just how long had those words been written on the mirror? And who put them there?
A frown burrowed its way into her forehead, and she stared up at the ceiling spotlights for answers. What does it mean, look up? she thought, her heart picking up a beat.
The extractor fan kicked in, fading the words as it sucked the steam from the room. She squeezed her damp feet back inside her boots, her flesh pinching against the taut black leather. The answer came to her like a bolt of lightning. The loft! He’s in the loft! The realisation invoked a fluttery, breathless feeling upon her. All thoughts of Christian’s visit were forgotten as she dragged the vanity chair to the landing, her mind flooded with thoughts of Will. Her nightmare showed him in a dark space, warm and heady … just like her loft. The moans she heard in her sleep – had they been real? Had he been calling for help? Had Will been lying in agony as she slept in her soft warm bed below? And if so, who put him there? Had the Raven been above her head all along? Had he crept into the loft while she was asleep? Surely she would have known. The thoughts lingered as she pulled down the extendable silver ladder, allowing it to clank against the soft woollen carpet below. A wave of sickness descended on her as fear ran riot with her imagination. She steeled herself as she gripped the cold aluminium, trying not to think the worst. How on earth could Will have ended up in her home? Cobwebs lingered along the edges of the dark space. It was the one room she could not bear to clean. But cobwebs and spiders were the least of her worries as she entered the attic. She inhaled through her nostrils, praying she would not be greeted by the scent of death.
Adjusting her eyes to the dark, her hands grasped blindly for the nylon string to activate the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. She swallowed back the dryness in her throat as dread flooded her system. Stale heat cloaked a musky smell, which hung heavily in the air. She whispered a quick, silent plea for help before calling Will’s name. Her right hand grasped in the dar
k air as her left clung onto the cold metal steps. The long nylon string teased her palm and she grasped it quickly, tugging hard until it lit the loft with a sharp click. Her eyes darted around the shadows and settled in the corner, focusing on a body.
The figure of a man lay on its side, bathed by the shadows of the dim light.
‘Will? Is that you?’ Jennifer said, wobbling as she hoisted herself onto the thin wooden floor. Her heart was pounding faster now, and she prayed for signs of life. Crouching under the slanted ceiling rafters she crept over, trying to accustom her eyes to the faint light. A sharp intake of breath passed her lips as she recognised Will’s suit. It was just like in her dream. He was on his side, facing away, his legs bent up to his chest, his bloodied hands bound behind his back.
Jennifer inched forward, blinking away the tears pricking her eyes. ‘Will,’ she said, ‘please Will, say something.’ The silence was deafening. Fumbling in the shadows, her legs became weak, and she stumbled onto her knees as the loft walls began to close in on her. ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ she slurred, clambering over to Will. Anguish and torment stabbed her heart as a dark pool of blood soaked into the knees of her trousers.
‘Will!’ she cried, her voice piercing through the stifling air. With shaking fingers she tentatively reached out to touch his cheekbone, whimpering ‘Please be OK, please be OK.’ She could not bear the thought of touching his cold dead body. Relief flooded through her as she felt life in his clammy skin. Tears sprang to her eyes at the sight of Will reduced to such a pitiful state. Cradling his head, she called his name, lightly tapping his cheek. But it made little difference as he lay lifeless and gaunt under the light of the single bulb.
She shook her head, trying to ward off the drunkenness invading her body. She was sick, but could not understand why. Could there be a gas leak? Carbon monoxide? she thought, feeling like she was on a carousel. She needed to get out of the loft before she passed out, or they would both be in mortal danger. Shuffling over to some boxes, she tipped over the one containing the blankets and sheets she had been saving for the dogs’ home. She worked swiftly, placing a folded blanket underneath Will’s head, and covering him with the other. She winced as she pulled back the blanket to inspect his bindings.
‘Sick bastard,’ Jennifer said out loud. It was the Raven’s handiwork. And she had been next. She needed to get help, but couldn’t leave him either. Pulling her sleeves down over her fingers, she unwound the wire around his wrists and ankles as gently as she could. The barbs prodded into her skin, intermingling her blood with Will’s, another wave of dizziness overcoming her as she laid him in the recovery position. But even the movement was not enough to bring him around. She quickly scanned his body, each injury stabbing her heart. His shirt was damp with the blood pooling on the floor, and she nimbly opened the buttons to discover the small knife wound to the right of his stomach. Grasping the edge of a sheet, she ripped enough padding to press against the wound, holding it in place with the waistband of his trousers. She touched his face, promising to return. If she passed out here, it could be days before anyone found them, and by then it would be too late. Feeling drunk, she clung to the ladder like it was a lifeboat, clambering down the stairs to search for her phone. But her mind was foggy and she could not remember where she left it. The doorbell rang, and she swung it back, virtually running into Christian, who looked as shocked as she was.
‘Jennifer, are you OK? Oh my God, is that blood ?’
‘I need a phone … call for help,’ she said, concentrating hard on her words. ‘Will’s in the loft. He’s hurt. I need … ambulance.’
‘What! Are you OK?’
‘I … I don’t know,’ she gasped, hanging onto the banisters for support. ‘I don’t feel so good. I’ll explain later. Please, call them.’
Christian’s blond quiff bounced as he nodded ferociously. ‘Of course. You go inside, I’ve got my phone in the car, I’ll call them straight away.’
Satisfied, Jennifer turned and headed back upstairs, her legs feeling like lead as she forced them up each step. Half way up she heard a car door slam. At least help was on its way. Just how long had Will been up there? He must be dehydrated and in need of food, but moving him would only exacerbate his blood loss further. The way she was feeling, she could barely make her way upstairs.
She gritted her teeth in determination as she mounted the stepladder and hoisted herself into the loft. ‘It’s OK, Will … help is on its way,’ she said breathlessly as her heart pounded like a jackhammer.
Someone shuffled in the kitchen downstairs. It must be Christian waiting for the ambulance, Jennifer thought. She touched Will’s face, cursing herself for not bringing water up with her.
‘Will, if you can hear me, just hang in there. Help is coming. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.’ Jennifer shuffled over to the tiny loft window, one of the original features of the Victorian home. It offered a view of the streets below, and she peered out through the glass, praying for an ambulance to arrive. But there was no ambulance. What she did see chilled her to the core.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Jennifer’s stomach lurched as footsteps creaked on the loft ladder. She needed to get back to Will, but her sickness was coming in waves, weakening her legs, and blurring her vision.
Christian appeared through the hatch, his expression blank. ‘The ambulance will be here soon. Is he still breathing?’
Jennifer nodded, taking small, quick breaths as the room began to swim. She strained to listen for sirens, but silence was returned. Christian took another step up the ladder, and her body stiffened in his presence. She locked her eyes on his, stunned by his betrayal.
‘There’s no ambulance is there, Christian? Or should I call you leader?’
His mouth twisted in a sneer as he clapped, the palms of his hands striking together in three slow, forceful beats.
‘Well done, detective, you got there at last. Tell me, what part of my award-winning performance didn’t ring true?’
Jennifer pointed to the window. ‘The chalk … from the quarry. It’s all over your tyres,’ she paused to look him in the eye, barely believing her own words ‘It was you all along.’
‘I can’t take all the credit, darling, Cousin Bert had his role to play too. Such a shame you had to interfere. Still, I’m sure we can rectify that.’
‘You … you helped him?’ Jennifer said, the weight of betrayal falling heavily.
Christian climbed off the ladder and sat on the loft entrance, his legs dangling down. ‘Darling, I didn’t help him, I orchestrated him. That’s what made it all so perfect. There’s nothing to trace the murders back to me.’
Will stirred in the corner, a small moan escaping his lips.
A cold sweat ran down Jennifer’s back. The answer had been staring her in the face all along. She needed to buy some time while she worked out a course of action. There were two things Christian loved most in the world: a captive audience, and the sound of his own voice. She relied on him not being able to pass up the opportunity for either.
‘Why?’ Jennifer said, knowing that even if she was able to get past Christian and make it downstairs, she could never leave Will at his mercy.
‘I’m here to finish what Bert started. He’s always idolised me, you see,’ Christian sighed dramatically. ‘It used to be such a pain, until I found good use for him.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jennifer said. She mentally assessed his strength. He was slim but toned and completely blocking her exit from the loft. She, on the other hand, was sick and groggy, while Will was unconscious and bleeding out. The odds were not in her favour. She tuned in to his voice as he revealed the truth.
‘It all started with Felicity. The engagement was all her idea, and I couldn’t dump her after she appeared on that reality TV show. Our relationship boosted my ratings, and I knew the press would turn against me if I broke off the engagement. Next thing I know, she’s arranging the wedding and talking about k
ids. I mean really? As if I’d want to spend the rest of my life with that. So I did the only thing I could do, I found someone pliable, someone whose life meant nothing, and used it to my advantage. Bert had told me how he’d used the cards to kill people in the past, so I decided to test him out on Alan Price. All I had to do was plant the seed in Bert’s brain and let him think it was all his idea.’ Christian smiled at his ingenuity, the light from downstairs casting his face in a ghoulish glow.
Jennifer was sitting now, shifting slowly backwards, her hands silently groping the floor, for something, anything she could use to defend herself. ‘But you reported Bert for harassment,’ she said, needing to keep his focus turned inwards.
Christian flapped a well-manicured hand. ‘Oh that? It was just a cover, something to make me the victim. It was me calling him. Sometimes he’d tune out, but I knew a part of him was always listening.’
‘You were so bereft,’ Jennifer said, fighting the rising nausea. Mind over matter, she thought, taking slow deep breaths to work through the sickness and build her strength. But she needed more time. Time Will couldn’t afford.
Christian beamed a smile, revealing perfect white showbiz teeth. ‘I know, and to think they said I couldn’t act! I even managed to get a couple of newspaper interviews about my tragic loss, as I waited for the insurance policy to come in. God knows I needed to bolster my show ratings. Felicity and that silly cow of an ex-wife of mine bled me dry. My livelihood, my home, everything was at risk. The network had been threatening to drop the series. Don’t you see? I had to do something.’
‘But murder?’ Jennifer said, fighting to steady herself. ‘You were making money from the cult. Why resort to murder?’
‘I didn’t set up The Reborners’, I managed it. They needed someone intelligent, who could launder the money and control the members. But drugs aren’t my scene, and it became too big for me to handle.’
Time To Die Page 28