The others murmured their agreement, except the Reverend who turned his back on me and fumbled at the dining room table for his Bible.
‘Do we agree?’ I asked, my question clearly directed at him.
He sighed, turned and held the Bible in the air. ‘Bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you,’ he said. ‘Come, Rafe.’ Surprisingly, he opened his arms, walked over to me and gave me a bear hug. ‘I’m sorry.’
I tried not to recoil, and was surprised at how small and frail the Rev now seemed.
We all wrapped ourselves with whatever scarves, coats, gloves, balaclavas we could find, and in a few minutes, seven of us ventured into the bleakness of the storm. I placed a wool hat in the doorjamb to stop an inadvertent lock, and realised as we went outside that I had again underestimated the weather. The wind had died down and it had stopped snowing, but it was way below zero, too cold to snow. The fallen snow had hardened to ice, like razors, treacherous to walk on. I was right: if a helicopter was to land anywhere, the courtyard would be the best place, clear of trees and large enough for manoeuvring. But maybe not on this ice.
I directed everyone to head for some benches half-buried in snow. These could be pulled out and placed in four obvious-from-the-air locations.
We wrestled with the outdoor furniture, but the cold became unmanageable. The benches were difficult to budge. Finally, we succeeded in moving one, and cleared a space large enough, I imagined, for a chopper to land.
‘Come,’ called Reverend James, his breath misting in the freezing air. ‘Let’s go in. At least we’ve made an effort.’
I saw his point. It was dangerous to stay outside any longer. Back inside, we rubbed numb hands and burning cold cheeks.
Danny began piling logs onto the already burning flames. ‘Mike will get help.’
‘Mike can be counted on,’ said Reverend James.
I unwound my scarf, warmed my hands by the fire. Mike. Mike. Mike. The Mike I knew was a vain, narcissistic yet strangely compliant person, eager to please, brainwashed into parroting whatever Reverend James wanted him to say and think. He was not, in my opinion, capable of masterminding a stunt like the one we had just witnessed. But then the quiet ones are always the most dangerous, their poison seething below the surface. If Mike had murdered Glen and Stephen and was even now planning the next murder, then no help was coming.
The hours passed slowly. The afternoon light faded and with it any hope of a rescue. To pass the time, Danny and Reverend James played a game of chess by the fire, Linda took out her knitting and stared vacantly out of the window, Alison sat hunched over her Bible. Emily pretended to read a book on the couch with her feet up, but every time someone moved, she looked up, like a cat, watching for any suspicious movement. I took out my notebook and jotted down some thoughts in my journal. It looked like an ordinary, cosy winter’s afternoon by the fire.
When it was time for supper, the women moved as one to prepare the meal in the kitchen. They jammed the door open with a chair so that we or they would not be locked out or separated. Tired of sitting, I walked around the room, checking for anything suspicious. I crouched by the cabinet and examined the audio system again.
I sensed Reverend James standing behind me. But I did not turn around.
‘What do you think, Rafe?’ he said.
‘This was planned well before we got here. Before the deaths.’ I turned and stared into his cold blue eyes. ‘When did you plan this trip? And who knew about it?’
He rubbed his hand across his brow. ‘Stephen. Glen. Myself. A few months back. The idea grew slowly. We booked the castle only last month, once you all accepted the invitations.’
This all sounded plausible. But only one of the three was still alive to tell. No one could verify his version of the truth. ‘And who scouted out the castle beforehand?’
He moved closer to me, as if he didn’t want Danny, who was still poring over the chessboard by the fire, to overhear. ‘Stephen came here a week before to make sure it was all in order. I don’t like your insinuations, Rafe.’
I shrugged off my irritation. ‘No insinuations. Just trying to get as much information as I can.’
Reverend James again rubbed his brow with his hand. He was sweating. ‘You’re right, this was planned extremely well. How did he know we’d all be in the living room when he played the recording? Was he watching us?’
I recited the killer’s phrase. ‘I am all around you, I can see you in your secret places, I can read your thoughts, I am omnipresent, omniscient; wherever two or three are gathered in my name there I will be also.’
He looked afraid now. I had to try another tactic here. A good detective should not alienate his suspects. ‘Whoever it is,’ I said, ‘he – or she – knows exactly what they’re doing. The thing is, Reverend James, we need to work together.’
It was clear from his expression that this idea offered him as little comfort as it did me. But it was a reconciliatory gesture and he welcomed it. ‘You reassure the others,’ I told him. ‘Keep them safe and together at all times. I’ll try to find out how “this person” is remotely accessing everything.’
The tactic seemed obvious, but Reverend James was buying it. By turning him into a co-detective, I removed any suspicions that the pious Reverend James was my prime suspect. Mike ran a close second. The horrifying third option was that they were collaborators. Hell, even Linda could be in on it. Alison? Danny? I doubted it.
And the most terrifying thought of all was that Suzanne was a suspect too.
Supper was a meagre affair. The conversation centred on Mike and whether he had managed to reach the village before nightfall. Maybe the emergency services had to wait until first light to begin their rescue operation. We consoled ourselves with the illusion that tonight would be our last in the castle. No need to panic.
I did not mention the very real alternative. If Mike was the killer, then we might have cause to be alarmed. We were sitting ducks.
‘I l-lift my eyes up to the hills from whence c-cometh my help,’ said Danny.
‘Amen,’ said Alison.
Reverend James interjected. ‘Danny, let me point out something about that verse. The King James Bible is a mistranslation because of the lack of punctuation in the original. It’s meant to be a question: “I lift my eyes up to the hills. From whence cometh my help?” And the answer is in the next verse: “My help cometh from the Lord”. Not from the hills.’
Reverend James saw me staring quizzically at him. ‘Hermeneutics, Rafe, hermeneutics. It’s important.’
Emily yawned loudly. I could see she had no tolerance for Reverend James’ interpretations. ‘Let’s go to bed,’ she said, stretching her arms into the air.
Reverend James stood. ‘Emily is right. It’s late. And tomorrow we may have a long day. But please remember to lock your doors, pray, keep the angels around you, and no one wander off on their own. Stay safe.’
Lock your doors. I did not bother telling them how useless that would be.
‘Are we going to be okay, Reverend?’ said Alison, following behind him. ‘I’m scared.’
‘God’s testing our faith,’ said the Reverend, resting a hand on her shoulder. ‘We must be strong.’
I tried not to be sceptical, but it was difficult to think he was being sincere. No one looked strong. The women huddled together, not wanting to go alone up into the dark corridor, so we accompanied them and made sure they were locked in their individual rooms before locking ourselves in ours.
At my room, I bade the Reverend goodnight. On closing my door, darkness fell like a heavy shroud. Shadowy figures leaped into corners. Then, as soon as I had locked it, I heard a tap at the door. I jumped, my heart racing like crazy.
‘It’s me.’
I opened the door. ‘Em?’
Bundled in a blanket for warmth, she was worrying her bottom lip with her top teeth. ‘I need to talk.’
She walked across the room and stood by the window, staring out at the void. Meanwhile, I mad
e a cursory sweep-through of my room. I checked under the bed, in the cupboard.
She frowned at me. ‘What are you looking for?’
I stood and dusted off my pants. ‘I’m not entirely sure.’ She left the window, closing the gap between us, and whispered, ‘We both know Mike’s not getting help.’
Mike was the obvious suspect, yes, but it also occurred to me that he had simply vamoosed, abandoning us to our fate. My philosophical training would not let me jump to any ready-made early conclusion. ‘I suspect everyone.’
‘Well, I’m not a murderer, Rafe,’ she hissed, her hand flying to her chest. ‘And I don’t think you are.’ She held out her pinkie and smiled. ‘Blood siblings still?’
I twisted her pinkie in mine.
‘Who has the next card,’ she said, ‘for the fourth day of Christmas?’
I saw where she was going with this, but asked anyway. ‘Why?’
‘We’re not supposed to reveal our card until the day. So if we’re murdered in the night, no one will have seen it coming. Someone must have the five golden rings.’
It couldn’t be that easy. But she was right. The murderer’s whole plan and the order in which he or she was going to kill The Twelve was all laid out in the cards given to us at the beginning.
‘And another thing,’ she said. ‘Did you smell perfume in the guillotine room?’
I nodded. ‘It was the same aroma I smelt in Glen’s room after he died.’
‘It’s rose. I noticed it in our bathroom.’
‘Everyone needs to reveal their cards. Ridiculous that we haven’t thought of that.’
‘Whoever has the five rings will be killed tonight. And we need to get the hell out of here before our cards are up.’
I gathered her in my arms, blanket and all. ‘I swear I’m not going to let anything happen to us.’
‘I’m not sleeping alone in my room,’ she said, looking at me as she once had as a round-cheeked teenager. ‘I’m staying with you.’
5
Five golden rings
I woke, pressed right on the edge of the king-size bed, tangled in blankets. It was still inky dark in the room, but the digital clock on the mantelpiece showed 07.04. I slid out on the left side, leaving Emily sprawled diagonally across the bed like a cat, and like a cat she opened one eye. ‘Going somewhere without me?’
‘I must make sure everyone is accounted for.’
She reached over to hold me back. ‘Still alive, you mean.’
I dressed in the dark on my side of the bed, and she rolled over to her side, stood and dressed too. ‘We’ve got to get out of here today,’ she said.
I opened the door and peered out. ‘Let me go first,’ I said. ‘Wait a while before you come out.’
She walked over to me and pushed the door closed again. ‘You worried about what she will think?’
She hadn’t changed one bit, knew how to stick the knife in. I shook my head. ‘Emily?’
She folded her arms and smiled. ‘Whatever you say, captain.’
Two could play at this game. I raised one eyebrow. ‘Speaking of appearances, what will your husband think, you sleeping in another man’s bed?’
She grabbed both of my hands. ‘I don’t know. I suppose his wife sleeping in another man’s bed is no problem,’ she said. ‘It’s what she does when she’s not asleep that will upset him.’
I massaged her cold hands. ‘Well, that’s fine then,’ I said. ‘You were out like a light all night.’
She bit her lip and pulled her hands away. ‘And to tell the truth, he wouldn’t care. We’re sort of separated.’
I scrutinised her face in the half-light. Sometimes I didn’t know when she was pulling my leg or being serious. ‘Oh? I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I’m relieved.’
The others were already up. Danny and Reverend James were hunched by the fireplace trying to revive the fire. I could hear Alison and Linda in the kitchen. The aroma wafting in through the open door told me they were making coffee. As I walked in, everyone paused for a fraction of a second then refocussed on their tasks. Suzanne sat alone by the window. I walked over, stood next to her chair and stared out at the clearing sky.
‘How are you?’
‘I hardly slept.’
It was an accusation. Or a seduction. The look she gave me would have melted me years ago. I wondered now, as I always had, how she managed to show all those expressions – hurting, seductive, pouting, vulnerable, pleading, sulking, standoffish – in one pose.
I had been in love with her since that first day I met her at school. My feelings hadn’t changed; they were hard-wired into my DNA. I had come all this way to see if I had been cured, but now I suspected she had done permanent damage to my heart.
‘I need to speak with you, Rafe.’ She glanced around at the others.
Enter Emily. ‘Good morning, everyone.’ Her smile faded when she saw Suzanne and me in close proximity, heads together in a conspiratorial huddle.
‘Breakfast will be ready soon,’ said Alison, entering with a tray of steaming coffee. ‘Come and sit at the table.’
I left Suzanne and headed for my seat, but Reverend James grabbed my arm. ‘A word?’
‘Sure.’
He made an urgent gesture towards the dark corridor, and I reluctantly followed him. ‘This is meant to be a spiritual retreat.’
Puzzled, I looked back at Suzanne. But the Reverend’s glance toward the kitchen where Emily had just disappeared told me what he was referring to.
Two people have died and all you are worried about is this? I said nothing, just gave him a look of disdain. You puritan! Violence and murder are okay, but human intimacy is the ultimate crime? I pushed past him and strode back to the table.
Emily came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of buttered toast and stood near me. I put an arm around her, hugged her close. He watched.
‘You all right?’
‘Of course.’
Reverend James took his place, looked anywhere but in our direction.
Linda brought in a plate of bacon and eggs and blackened tomatoes. ‘Sorry, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘I’m not at my best today.’
Reverend James said grace and we ate. Well, the men ate. Suzanne pushed food around her plate, Linda pecked at her meal, Alison took small mouthfuls and chewed forever. Linda turned anxious eyes on her husband, and he reassured her that the food was fine.
All through breakfast, Suzanne kept glancing at me, nodding her head slightly as if to say, please let’s talk. But there was no opportunity. Reverend James was determined to keep me away from both her and Emily.
After breakfast, Alison stood up first and took her almost full plate to the kitchen. ‘Sorry, Linda, I’m not feeling too good. I need to go to the bathroom.’
Linda leaped up. ‘You shouldn’t go alone.’
Reverend James jabbed his fork in the direction of the women. ‘All of you go with her. We’ll hold the fort.’ Linda followed Alison. Suzanne stood up to join them, wiping her mouth with a napkin and giving me a quick look.
‘I think an equal number should go and stay,’ said Emily, folding her arms, ‘and I’ll stay here, thanks.’
The Reverend glared at her and waved the other women through the doorway. As they passed through, I wedged the door open so it would not lock.
‘Can we talk?’ whispered Suzanne as she passed me. I nodded.
Reverend James motioned Danny to follow him to the fireside table, where he opened his Bible and read aloud a verse in Psalms: ‘“The Lord is my light and my salvation; I will fear no one. The Lord protects me from all danger; I will never be afraid.”’
Emily leaned over to collect my plate. She spoke softly in my ear. ‘That perfume we smelt in the torture museum, it’s Suzanne’s.’ She passed her wrist under my nose and I inhaled the heady rose and musk scent. ‘You said you smelt it in Glen’s room too.’
The muscles around my heart tightened.
‘That means she was wit
h Stephen and Glen before they died.’
It was a horrible thought, but I wondered now whether Suzanne wanting to talk to me in private was a ploy to lure me into some danger. Was she… could she be…? No, I could not think of the possibility of her being the murderer. ‘Or,’ I said, ‘someone wants us to think she was with them before they died.’
‘And it could be any of us,’ I said. ‘Anyone could have taken that perfume. You–’
She punched me on the arm. ‘I can’t be a suspect, I keep telling you. I’m on your team.’
‘Then tell me what you and Glen were talking about the night he was killed.’
She looked across at the fireside table where Reverend James and Danny were bowed over the Bible. ‘Not here.’
I scrutinised the high ceiling, the corners of the room, the walls, the mirror.
‘What are you looking at?’
‘For bugs. Listening devices.’
‘We need to talk. In private. Let’s take a walk.’
But as she stood, Reverend James stood too. ‘Rafe?’ he called.
I ignored him, strode to the closet and selected an oversize coat from the peg. Emily grabbed one for herself. On the top shelf, I pulled down the coil of rope I had placed there and smuggled it under my coat. We pushed through the front door.
‘Rafe!’ called Reverend James. ‘Don’t go out on your own.’
He motioned towards us. I shut the door on him.
Emily held on to my arm as we crunched on the snow. ‘You just stone-walled him completely.’
‘No bugs outside. And we can’t talk with him listening to us.’
She tightened her grip on me and we marched across the courtyard. ‘Who do you think it is?’
‘Until now I thought for certain Reverend James,’ I said. ‘But now I think it’s Mike. He didn’t go for help. He’s hidden somewhere in the castle and wants to pick us off one by one.’
‘That’s a horrifying thought. I can’t imagine Mike… And it would be just like the Reverend to set up that recording to scare us, planning this all – the twelve days of Christmas. To punish his wife and her lover.’ Emily held me tight as we walked on the frozen snow.
Twelve Days Page 10