As they drove off, Abby had butterflies in her stomach. In a couple of hours or so she’d be in a place where she’d arranged to see her husband again. She was nervous the entire drive. As they crossed the border into Spain, Abby half expected to be set upon by a swarm of flashing blue lights, but they drove through without any interruption. She suspected her number plate would register somewhere but defiantly thought she’d be away, lost again in the countryside, before anyone had the chance to act on it.
A warning sign pinged up on the dashboard – a bright orange light in the encroaching dusk. They were low on fuel. Abby didn’t want to risk trying to get to Hernani on what was left in the tank.
‘We need more petrol,’ she said to Ellie. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for a station.’
A couple of miles later, a slightly dilapidated service station loomed up ahead. Abby pulled in, noting the weeds encroaching around the edges of the darkening forecourt, the rusty old car abandoned at the back. They were in the middle of nowhere, driving miles between sparsely populated villages; she supposed it didn’t get much custom.
She got out and filled the car. Standing with the pump in her hand, she gazed around. There was one other vehicle on the forecourt, a decrepit pickup, being filled by an equally decrepit-looking man. He replaced his pump and went inside.
‘I might just go in the shop,’ said Ellie. ‘See if they’ve got any mints.’
Abby nodded and then, once the tank was full, followed her sister in.
It was bright inside and Abby made her way over to where Ellie was browsing the confectionery. As she crossed an aisle she didn’t see a man coming in the opposite direction and he accidentally caught her shoulder with his own. Both instantly went to apologize, just as her bag fell to the floor. It spilled open and with a tidy thud, the envelope of money fell out, notes fanning themselves as they escaped to the ground.
For a moment, everyone stared. The shop was silent, just the distant murmur of a radio playing, but the money appeared loud, shouty. Look at me! it seemed to say, grinning ostentatiously.
Abby looked up at the man who’d bumped into her. He was young, slight, with longish dark hair and low-slung jeans. He caught her gaze, backed away with an apologetic smile. ‘Perdón.’
Abby bent down and quickly retrieved the cash, stuffing it back in her bag. She exchanged a look with Ellie, then went to the till. The older man from the pickup was at the desk paying. The girls waited their turn, and when he was finished he turned and left the shop, the younger man following after him. Abby paid for their fuel and the mints.
As they headed back to the car, Abby noted that it was now completely dark and she wanted to be on her way, to get to the sanctuary of the hotel. She saw the tail lights of the pickup leave the forecourt and disappear from view.
‘That was a bit awkward,’ said Ellie as she got into the front seat.
Abby nodded. The garage had probably only seen a handful of customers all day – it was bad luck that they had arrived just as there were other people in the shop.
Ellie opened the map. ‘Right, back on the road, then there’s a left turn about three miles up.’
Abby pulled away from the petrol station. Within a couple of minutes they were back in the countryside, the street lighting gone. Her headlights picked up a rabbit bolting across the road and she was glad to have missed it. It vanished into the thick trees on the verge and was swallowed up into the woods.
The movement caught her eye at just about the same time Ellie screamed. Abby felt the car slide across the road and frantically swung the wheel back, while the hairs on the back of her neck tried to crawl into her scalp. She attempted to flick her head backwards, to see, but her eyes got no further than her sister in the seat next to her.
There was a knife at Ellie’s throat. Terror and confusion washed over Abby and she tried to turn, to understand, but—
‘Keep your fucking eyes on the road,’ snarled a man’s heavily accented voice from the back seat.
Petrified, Abby snapped her head back. She could hear Ellie whimpering next to her.
‘Don’t . . . don’t,’ stammered Abby.
‘Do as I say or I cut her.’
Ellie let out a sound, panic and terror mixed into one.
Abby fearfully flicked her eyes up to the mirror. In the shadows she saw long dark hair and a youthful face. It was the man from the petrol station.
FIFTY-TWO
‘I’ll give you the money,’ said Abby. Her voice didn’t sound like her own. It was weak, fearful.
‘Turn here,’ said the man, ignoring her.
Abby looked skittishly through the darkness, saw her headlights pick out a turning on the right. For a brief second she considered pulling the steering wheel so sharply it would fling him away but she realized the lean of the car and the position of the knife might kill Ellie instantly.
You have to keep calm! You have to think! Her mind was shouting instructions at her but she had no idea how to implement them. The turning got closer and she slowed the car. As she did, she felt a new sickening terror, that of her fight starting to leave her. She changed gear and with the slide of the stick, a penetrating disempowerment began to take hold. I’m doing what he wants. No, it was all wrong. Not again. A sense of urgency started up in the background of her mind: Stop! Don’t give up!
She turned into the road, sped the car up again. Ellie was statue-still on the seat beside her. Abby risked a glance across and saw her sister was white with terror. She was sitting rigid in the seat, her hands gripping the sides. The man’s arm was pinning back her right shoulder and his thumb knuckle pressed on her windpipe. The blade was resting on the skin of her neck. Ellie’s eyes were locked on some unknown place out of the windscreen; she didn’t look back at Abby.
Suddenly the man punched Abby in the face with his spare hand. She screamed and recoiled as far against the driver’s door as she could. She heard a mewling sound escape from her sister’s throat and understood that, in hitting her, the man had exerted more pressure on Ellie’s neck.
‘Keep driving,’ he snapped.
Abby’s face stung. Her jaw felt as if it had been pushed to the other side of her mouth and she tasted blood. She gripped the steering wheel, fighting back tears. She must do nothing to draw attention to herself. She continued onwards, seeing the trees grow denser as they drove further into the woods. Tall pines, thick with green. They were climbing, a sensation that made her sick with foreboding. It meant they were getting further from civilization, from any chance of someone passing them.
Think! Think! She clung to the notion of the money. He hadn’t said anything about her offer to take it. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Surely, if she could give him the money, then he’d leave them alone? She deliberated bringing it up again. He’d ignored her once but maybe she should say something, tell him how much there was. But she didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. She couldn’t judge him and she was afraid.
‘You can have the money,’ she stammered. ‘There’s a lot. Nearly ten thousand euros.’
He said nothing. The silence grew and in the dark she imagined him on the back seat, watching her. She withdrew into herself, expecting him to slam his fist into her again. She drove on some more. Still he said nothing. It confused her. What was he thinking? What was he doing? She didn’t dare look round. The car engine continued to hum as they climbed the winding narrow road, some miles now from the petrol station, their last point of safety.
Abby was suddenly overpowered by a crushing sense of self-reproach. Why hadn’t she locked the car? Why hadn’t she checked in the shadows of the back footwell amongst all their bags?
‘Right,’ barked the man and Abby jolted. She looked frantically for the turning, seeing nothing. Then a tiny gap in the trees came up. It wasn’t a road, more a track, narrow and steep and overhung with trees. She didn’t want to go up there, was resisting it with every fibre of her being.
But there was nowhere else to go. If she drove past it,
he would respond with violence.
Abby slowed the car and turned into the track.
FIFTY-THREE
All Ellie could think about was the tiny amount of distance between the skin on her neck and the arteries that pulsated underneath.
He’d barely have to exert any pressure; just a nudge and the knife would slice through, disseminating her blood. There would be no mistake. She’d be dead in minutes.
Suddenly the image of being drenched in her own blood was replaced by another. What if it was her windpipe that was opened up to the elements? What if she was gasping for air, a ragged hole in her neck letting the oxygen escape before it could make its way to her lungs? For some reason this frightened her more and she felt her mind beginning to spasm. She was unable to breathe properly, could feel panic begin to overwhelm her.
Stop, she thought. You have to stop. Don’t panic, don’t freak out, don’t move. For Ellie was certain he’d kill her for sure if she began to struggle. He was strong – she knew this by the way he was holding her, never letting up on the pressure across her shoulders ever since he’d grabbed her. She suddenly thought of her mother, of her receiving the news that her daughter had had her throat slit by a random kidnapper, an opportunist who’d seen a pile of euros and would have them, with very little regard to the value of human life. She almost laughed: it wasn’t the danger Susanna had been warning her of. Unless . . .
What if Abby had dropped the money deliberately? What if it was a set-up? If Abby had arranged all this in order to get her, Ellie, killed?
You’re mad, thought Ellie, squeezing her eyes tight in desperation. You’ve lost it; you’re traumatized, deranged by fear.
Who is Jamie? her subconscious demanded, puncturing her attempts at rationalizing her thoughts.
Stop! No, stop, thought Ellie. She couldn’t take any more. She had to stop trying to make sense of this nightmare, to unpick her confusion. She had to stop thinking.
FIFTY-FOUR
They’d left Elba quickly – within thirty minutes of Baroni’s call to her superiors. They had needed to refuel on the way but it was still only a few hours before the helicopter was passing over some woods just south of San Sebastián, northern Spain. They circled over a golf course where they had permission to land. Matteo looked down, could see the Spanish police car waiting for their touchdown so he, Baroni and Santini could be driven to the hotel in Hernani. As the pilot landed, Matteo exited the chopper and ran over to the vehicle. He ignored Baroni’s glare as he took the front seat, leaving her to ride in the back with Santini.
Within twenty minutes they were at the hotel. Baroni took charge at the desk but no one had checked in under Abby or Ellie’s names. Neither did the receptionist recognize their faces from the photographs.
Matteo didn’t like it one bit. He knew his wife and sister-in-law should have made it by now. Even by going the longest route possible they’d had time to drive the distance.
So where the hell were they?
FIFTY-FIVE
The car rocked as it hit roots and potholes and Abby winced every time, visualizing the flick-knife blade slipping as it pressed on Ellie’s throat. They drove slowly along the track for about ten minutes until Abby could see nothing but trees ahead of her. They had come to a dead end.
‘OK, stop now,’ said the man. Abby put the handbrake on. The car’s engine hummed.
‘Turn it off,’ he instructed.
She did. In turning the key, the headlights dimmed and Abby felt the trees close in on her. The engine ticked as it cooled.
Why were they here? Deep in the woods, miles from civilization? She struggled to think but her brain wasn’t working properly, it seemed to have got itself stuck. Then, in a mind-gasping rush, she understood.
He’d brought them here to rob them, yes, take their car too. But he wasn’t going to leave them in the woods to find their way back.
He was going to kill them.
She was awash with desperation. You fool, you bloody fool! She was now certain that he’d come here because he wanted their bodies not to be found. She was an idiot to have driven here. She’d gone along with what he was telling her, hadn’t thought about any of it, hadn’t thought what might happen, how she could take back control of the situation. If he’d just wanted to rob them, he would’ve done it metres from the petrol station. Why hadn’t she realized this?
‘Leave the key. Get out the car.’
Abby looked back. He was talking to her. She knew she was doing exactly what he asked again, as she slowly opened the car door, stepped outside. Now’s your chance, she thought. But she did nothing and within seconds he’d got out too and dragged Ellie from her seat as he put the knife back against her neck.
Abby pictured Matteo arriving at the hotel. He couldn’t be there yet, but when he did arrive, she’d already be dead. He’d be waiting, thinking she’d changed her mind about meeting him. That she didn’t trust him or he didn’t matter that much to her after all. It made her unbearably sad.
It was cool in the night air and she shivered. She looked down at her arms, hanging impotent by her side. She felt as she’d done on the ground in a dirty alley in Florence, being kicked – totally and utterly helpless, with a knowledge that her life was in someone else’s hands, free for them to do with as they pleased.
FIFTY-SIX
It felt strange, being in the house alone. Susanna had got used to Matteo being around. She’d been surprised when he’d knocked on her bedroom door earlier that evening to explain he had to go out and would be away overnight, maybe longer. She’d pressed him for more detail but he’d been evasive, deliberately so, she thought, citing something to do with a friend. It had sounded highly suspect and it crossed Susanna’s mind that his absence was connected to Abby and Ellie, but she had no way of finding out. She’d even called Baroni but had got her answerphone. So far the lieutenant hadn’t called her back.
Now it was dark, Susanna could go outside. She took her simple supper of tomato salad and grilled tuna and sat on the terrace to eat. There was something intensely magical about Mediterranean nights: the gently warm air, the sound of crickets with their high-pitched song. In the softness of night, the scents of the garden grew stronger. Hypnotic jasmine hung in the air. Susanna stood at the top of the steps that led down to the sea. It was a full moon and the light glinted off the waves. She thought of her son then, of how small he’d been when he died. Such a tiny little coffin. She was suddenly engulfed by a desire for him to be alive that was so strong it made her gasp. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. So many things in her past that she hadn’t meant to happen.
A distant rhythmic banging made her jump. There was someone at the door. Curious, Susanna made her way back through the house.
She stopped for a moment at the front door, suddenly nervous, aware she was alone. Then there was another knock – louder this time – and she jumped. Susanna tentatively opened the door.
It was her mother. Kathleen didn’t ask to be invited in, just entered as if it were her right. Not many people said no to her, Susanna supposed. She’d lived a life of believing herself to be a superior breed, had an innate sense of entitlement and expectation for herself and her offspring.
‘Where’s Matteo?’ asked Kathleen as she swept into the living room.
‘Gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Something to do with the girls?’ Kathleen said sharply.
‘Possibly.’
‘Don’t you know? Why aren’t you with him, for God’s sake?’
‘He wasn’t issuing invitations. Anyway, he said it was to see a friend.’
‘And you believed him?’ scoffed Kathleen.
‘No, not exactly. I . . .’ Susanna trailed off, unsure of what she was going to say. Suddenly she felt as if she should have pushed Matteo, not been so inadequate and weak.
Kathleen settled herself into a seat. She sat back, appraised Susanna. ‘Your own children and yo
u let them despise you.’
Susanna’s mouth dropped open in shock.
‘Chip off the old block.’
‘I don’t despise you, Mummy,’ said Susanna, feeling an instant need to defend her position, reassure her mother. Even as she did so, her weary internal voice was asking her why. After all these years, could she not tell when she was being manipulated and bullied?
Kathleen made a sound of disdain. ‘Are you not going to get me a drink?’
Susanna jumped up. ‘Of course. Would you like a tea? Coffee? Or I think there’s some orang—’
‘Anything.’
Susanna went into the kitchen. As she poured a glass of juice from the fridge, she took a deep breath. Don’t let her get to you, she told herself, trying to be stern, but when she went back into the living room, her hands trembled as she handed over the drink.
‘Thank you,’ said Kathleen, then she waved impatiently at the empty chair opposite her.
Susanna knew to lower herself into it. She waited as her mother took a sip of the juice then laid her head back and closed her eyes. Susanna watched her, as a gazelle might view a sleeping lion. After a moment, the glass began to tip in Kathleen’s hand. Susanna hesitated, unsure of whether to act, then as it tipped further, she got up, alarmed. She reached out her hand.
‘Leave it,’ said Kathleen, her eyes still shut.
Susanna froze.
‘Sit down.’
She retreated to her seat.
‘You can tell me the truth, you know,’ said Kathleen. ‘I know you poisoned Ben and I know you did the same to Ellie when she was small.’
Susanna looked at her mother’s face, old now. She could see the folds on her neck, the lined skin. Despite the fact Kathleen wasn’t even looking at her, Susanna was too intimidated to form a robust denial. ‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘You’re wrong.’
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