Unfortunately it didn’t end there. The sense of foreboding grew worse and at about three o ’clock in the afternoon, a terrible knot of anxiety gripped my stomach.
All around Chichester echoed the sound of police sirens. The wail of an ambulance rose even louder, pulling me unsteadily towards the window.
“Does anyone know what’s going on?”
My harassed practise manager looked at me strangely. “Sounds like a police chase. I wonder if it’s got anything to do with that old paedophile who was in the news, the one they spotted in Sussex. Maybe they’re onto him.”
My mouth turned dry. I tried to speak, except the words were imprisoned behind a wall of terror.
“Dunno,” another colleague said, “but I reckon the police have got their work cut out. There’s been a fatal stabbing in Bognor, it was on Spirit FM News.”
An icy, leaden sensation froze me to the floor. I could hardly breath, my heart hammering in my throat. My immediate horror was for Joe. For three long days, I hadn’t heard a word from him, so where was he?
“Are you okay, Maisie, you look pale?” Swooping to my side, my manager touched my shoulder, his expression laced with worry.
“I-I need to get back,” I mumbled. “I’m worried about Connor...”
Guilt pricked my conscience when I thought about how much leave I had taken lately. I swore I would make the time up - though right now, fear was my driving emotion.
By the time I fought my way through Chichester, the roads were clogged with Friday holiday traffic. It was closer to four o’ clock when I turned towards East Lavant, my biggest concern being Connor. I hadn’t been kidding when I warned him of a dangerous man in the area - and my colleagues had just confirmed it.
But more than anything, I badly needed to know where Joe was. My next priority was to contact Sam and if he was none the wiser, I would call the police.
With my thoughts racing wildly, I didn’t dare slow down. The enclosing tunnel of trees seemed particularly dark and threatening. But with my foot down on the accelerator, I flung myself down the secluded road, desperate to reach my home and only when I swerved into the driveway did I stop.
Letting myself into the house, though, I sensed the emptiness I was walking into. The silence was unearthly and as I turned to close the door, the first thing I noticed was Connor’s coat missing. I felt the breath drain from my lungs but kept walking, never once breaking step.
Typical.
My colleagues were right. He was determined to push the boundaries this time, though it did nothing to ease my anxiety.
I wondered he had gone gallivanting off on some adventure.
Hadn’t he voiced an urge to explore the woods the last time he was here?
My feet ferried me through the lounge towards the back of the house and into the dining room. Maybe he was in the garden, unless he was hiding somewhere inside. Nothing he did would surprise me. Yet at the same time, his absence stirred a riot of emotions.
I didn’t need this.
Frozen by the patio door, I saw no sign of him in the garden, either. Every minute dragged on in agonising silence, until my ears picked up the purr of another car engine; one I recognised.
Spinning around, I gaped in disbelief as the door burst open and Sam materialised in the lounge. Sam. I hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about Connor... Yet catching the startled look in his eye, I was once again rendered speechless.
“Maisie,” he spluttered. “You’re home early.”
I watched in a dream as he strode into the kitchen and without even looking at me, opened the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of wine left to chill, he unscrewed the cap and poured two glasses. Then at last, he met my gaze. There was no denying he looked pale and shaken as he pushed one of them into my hand.
“What is it?” I mumbled, my voice feeble. “Has something happened?”
“Sit down,” he ordered curtly, “and yes, I’ve got news but I’m afraid it’s not good. Drink your wine. I think you’re going to need it.”
A terrible fear wormed its way through me again, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. “This is going to be about Joe, isn’t it?”
He remained very still, his eyes never leaving me. Glancing at my wine, I took a hefty gulp without thinking.
“I-I thought he’d be in my flat,” I kept rambling, “but he’s not even answering the landline...”
I took another gulp, dizzy with fear, then lowered my glass to the table.
What was it Sam wasn’t telling me?
Then at last he exhaled a sigh. “No, Maisie, he wouldn’t be. I’ve been in touch with St Richard’s Hospital and I hate to tell you this, but... Joe is dead.”
I stopped breathing, refusing to believe what he had just said to me. The next thing I saw, though, were dots flickering before my eyes, little sparkles like dust motes. Thicker and faster they swarmed, clouding my vision.
I could feel myself weakening. An onslaught of giddiness I could no longer fight, a horrible suffocating feeling, before I completely blacked out.
******
I was beginning to come around, but where was I?
My head felt so leaden, anchored to the floor, my brain thick with fog. All I could recapture was some distant grain of memory, something so devastating I could not bear to face it...
When I finally managed to prise my eyes open, I found myself in a very dark place. Lying on my back, I stared up in dread at the gloomy brick walls surrounding me. Tiny flickers of light illuminated them, shadows dancing.
This could not be real.
But as the fog in my mind began to thin, it dawned on me I was in the basement.
I let out a gasp, as other details began to register. The lights for example. Secured to the wall in sconces, those flickering bulbs resembled torches. I started to shiver, feeling the hardness of the floor beneath me.
“What the hell?” the words slipped out as I struggled to move.
Yet my body felt paralysed, like a fly caught in a web. With some effort, I managed to wriggle on the floor, and felt the resistance of cords cut into my flesh. Not only were my hands tethered, my ankles were too, and something constrained my neck. With my eyes wide open, only then did I grasp the horror. For there, glinting in the shadows, I saw long metal spikes hammered into the floorboards.
Five of them.
And they marked the points of a star.
A pentagram.
I whimpered in terror, my breath rising faster. With the onset of hysteria, my panic rose in waves, prompting an ear-splitting scream.
“It’s no use,” a chilling voice resonated from behind me. “No one will hear you down here.”
Jerking my head upright, I felt the tug of satin around my throat and nearly choked. But I didn’t have to look to know who had spoken. The pain of betrayal cut deep.
“Sam,” I moaned in shock. “What sort of sick game are you playing?”
“It’s not a game, Maisie,” he said.
I detected movement. Then at last his shadow towered over me, but as my eyes took in his features, I saw a man I no longer recognised. Devoid of all beauty and compassion, his face had hardened into a wax-like mask.
“Joe was right to suspect me. You think I didn’t know about your cosy little lunch date in ZiZi’s on Monday? So he believes I’m damaged, does he?” He released a ripple of laughter. “He wasn’t even close!”
“Sam, for God’s sake, stop this! Just tell me what’s going on!”
“Okay, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Ever since we’ve been together, I’ve been tracing your every move. It began with our date in Bognor. Do you ever wonder why you slept so late next day? I sneaked a sedative into your brandy, because I needed some extra time that morning. Time to install spyware on your phone, so when you finally came to, you wouldn’t suspect a thing.”
“Suspect what?” I said numbly. “My mobile was in the lounge. I don’t remember leaving it there... b-but why would you do that?”
He look
ed at me with a smile.
“Why not? We always knew you and Joe would talk about me behind my back, so I needed to know what was said. Do you want to know something else?”
“We?” I whispered. I could hardly breath, waiting for the next bombshell to land.
“His phone’s been bugged even longer. Ever since he got it, in fact. I knew he and Jess had split up. You didn’t have to tell me that, I had the pleasure of eavesdropping on all the drama at their dinner party. Oh, you should have heard it, Maisie, it was classic! And that’s another thing. Were you even aware of fake apps designed to look like Instagram? That’s how I installed the spyware without you knowing, so how could I resist putting a few posts up? I wish I’d seen Joe’s face though. I was rather hoping you’d see them before he did, but Jesus! He proper freaked out!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What posts?”
“Well,” he sighed, “you did drop that little hint about forests. I didn’t know about your phobia but I’m guessing he did, so I put up some pictures. Some really creepy pictures of woods and oak trees did the trick, especially on a misty night. I thought they were quite atmospheric really... albeit the stuff of your nightmares.”
“I see,” I said with a shudder. “So you’ve been playing nasty psychological mind games with both of us. Joe was right, you’re not the friend we knew. What the hell happened to you, Sam, to fuck you up like this?”
“Woe, steady!” he laughed. “D’you know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you use the F word? Sweet little Maisie. So innocent and pure...”
The tutting that followed turned my stomach, and that was when I became aware of how chilly I was, my arms and feet bare. Writhing on the floor as he stood over me, it struck me I was no longer in my work clothes but wearing a long satin gown. He had not only bound my wrists and feet, but dressed me up. Even as I struggled to glance at myself, I knew that gown would be red.
“Anyway, I’m digressing. Let’s go back to the night of the dinner party. Joe saw those posts and panicked. They had a blazing row and he dumped her! And how kind of you to give him a key to your flat. I knew he’d go back, but the rest is a mystery. You haven’t spoken to him lately, have you?”
“Joe,” I whimpered. A sob caught my throat as the worst memory of all came charging back at me like a tornado. “What happened to him?”
The smile dissolved from Sam’s face, filling me with dread.
“He came face to face with Mr. Mortimer, that’s what,” he hissed. “He always was a meddling bastard but no one counted on him racing up to London to go blabbing to the Met. He shouldn’t have done that, he was warned not to... Remember Schiller, do you?”
“Schiller,” I echoed. “Mortimer’s thug. How could I forget?”
“We laid a trap,” he added coldly.
“Who’s we?” I finally dared myself to ask.
“This may come as a shock, sweetheart, but I’m not on your side, and I never have been. Sorry to deceive you, but Joe always was a pain. He should have listened to the warnings when he had the chance and just buggered off!”
“How can you say that?” Tears blurred my vision as I struggled to speak but the horror of Joe’s murder was ripping me apart. “He was your friend!”
“I know,” he continued, “but we could never go through with our plan with him in the way, so he had to die, and this time, Schiller did not fail. He was hidden under the stairs when Joe came back. Did you hear about the fatal knife attack on the news earlier? It was him.”
“You bastard!” I could hardly find the breath to splutter the words out.
If only I’d thought to contact Mark. In all those days when I couldn’t reach Joe, I should have known something was wrong. Yet I hadn’t acted on it.
“How could you leave Joe at the mercy of that monster?” I screamed. “Have you forgotten how much he cared for you? We were kids, Sam... Joe, Maisie, Sam, three kids too young to protect ourselves. He’d have done anything to protect you!”
“I know,” he sighed.
The next time he looked at me, I saw the tiniest flicker of pity.
“And Sam was very grateful!”
His words punched into me with devastating force.
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “You’re not him, are you?”
“No, Maisie,” he smirked. “Would you like me to put you out of your misery and tell you who I really am? I’m not Sam, darling. I’m Duncan.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Maisie was in fact very much in DC Mark Anderson’s thoughts. From the instant Matt had warned them of the chilling screen shot taken from Joe’s mobile, he had agonised over her safety. If only his colleagues could do more. But after scouring her residence in Bognor and the remote woodlands around East Lavant, not a trace of her enemies could be found. Furthermore, he had left several messages, urging her to get in touch, and was surprised she had stayed so silent.
And now a fatal stabbing had occurred.
Mark chewed his lip as they fought their way to St Richard’s Hospital. Dressed in plain clothes, he was happy for his partner, DC Anthony Monroe, to take the wheel.
Just thank God they had kept the victim’s name out of the news, for Maisie’s sake.
“Harold is such a dick,” he growled under his breath, “I don’t know why we couldn’t have just visited her before this happened.”
“Calm down, Mark,” Tony said, “you know he’s got her down as something of a hysteric. He didn’t want to cause undue panic.”
Angered by such complacency, Mark fired him a look of irritation.
Had they forgotten Maisie and her friends were central to a major investigation? Had it slipped their minds that the perpetrators were still at large?
“Is this for real?” he snapped. “You saw that text!”
“Sure, but it could easily have been a bluff,” Tony argued. “Winterton’s the one they were putting the frighteners on. Isn’t he the one we should focus on?”
Swallowing back his frustration, Mark didn’t get a chance to reply. The traffic lights had turned green, and with a clear view of the A&E department, where staff would be awaiting them, it was time to mentally prepare himself.
“Let me do the talking,” he said.
A mist of sweat clung to his brow as they were led down a corridor to a room. Only now, though, did his thoughts turn to the second man involved in the knife attack, as they marched up to the door.
Yet the sight of the man resting in the hospital bed brought him to a skidding halt.
Mark’s mouth fell open. “Joe!” he breathed
“That’s right,” whispered Joe, through gritted teeth, “now for God’s sake, please don’t let on it was Schiller who died in the attack.”
Inching his way to the bedside, Mark left his colleague hanging back.
“Can you bear to explain what happened?”
Adjusting his position, Joe winced, but with his torso laid bare, it was impossible to ignore the swathe of bandages around his middle.
“I’ll tell you,” he hissed, “but we ain’t got a lot of time.”
Terror flashed in his eyes, a look of pain buckling his features. Yet Mark recognised the fight in him, of a mind to let him say what he had to.
******
With the hands on the clock turning faster, Joe wished he didn’t have to describe the bloodbath he had left in Bognor. He was still in shock. But it seemed unlikely the police would take any further action unless he told them what had happened.
All things considered, he was lucky to be alive. He might have guessed they would lay a trap for him, too rash in his departure to prepare himself... but when Schiller had slashed him across the belly, he had genuinely believed his life to be over. The pain had been excruciating, draining the breath from his lungs.
Yet when Schiller licked the blood off his fingers, something inside him had snapped. He had listened to the thug’s taunts in outrage, listened to the man list the things he intended to do to him, and a murd
erous red mist filled his vision.
At that point, he knew he needed to act fast if he was to survive. So the next time Schiller brought the knife down, he had flung out his elbow to shield himself, taking another nasty gash to the forearm.
The pain had barely registered then, his attacker caught off guard. Joe had used this to his advantage, and hooking his feet around Schiller’s ankles, succeeded in tripping him up.
“H-he went down with a crash,” he stammered, the scene playing out in his head like a horror film, “d-dropped the blade...”
He pressed his eyes shut, fighting another wave of nausea, but every grain of hate he had ever felt for that man had brought out his killer instinct.
Yes, Schiller had gone down like a sack of shit.
Schiller’s roar of outrage still resonated. Joe could picture the knife as it went skidding across the floor to the edge of Maisie’s flat, his hand out quick to grab it.
In no way was Schiller about to give up the fight, though. Disentangling his legs, he had struggled to his feet enraged, and Joe needed to up the offensive immediately. Wasting no time, he drew back his knee, and regardless of the pain ripping through his innards, delivered a hard kick to his groin. Maybe it was his bellow that drew attention but the rest was a blur.
‘Piece of scum! I will gut you like a fish!’
The last memory he recalled was of the man leaping on top of him, using his body weight to pin him down. Yet both had forgotten the knife clenched in Joe’s fist, its lethally sharp tip pointed upward. Schiller landed heavily, knocking the breath out of him, but in that same pivotal moment, had been impaled upon his own knife.
As the blade thrust deep into his heart, even Joe guessed the wound would be fatal, a fountain of blood soaking him. But in that final frantic struggle, he had hauled himself out from under Schiller’s bulk, and within a few torturous seconds, the man was dead.
“I-I didn’t mean to kill him,” he whimpered.
Tremors wracked his body as he finalised his story. He looked up, amazed to see such compassion radiating in Mark’s eyes.
Lethal Ties Page 40