‘There should be a tall ladder ahead of you, am I correct?’
Emily called down. ‘Yes… right here.’
‘Now you, Suzanne,’ I prompted.
‘Me? I’m not going up there.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Em’s up there already.’
She shook her head. ‘You go. I’ll wait here.’
‘We’re all going.’
‘Come, Suzanne,’ called Emily.
Suzanne shuddered, but then something seemed to shift in her, as if she had realised we had no choice but to trust each other. She shook out her bandanna hairband and retied as a headscarf. ‘It might be dusty up there,’ she explained.
I came up behind them, into the cavity between roof and ceiling, one hand still clutching the axe, the flashlight in my top pocket. I placed the axe on the ledge inside the space.
Flashlights flickered, dispelling the darkness and revealing a wall and ladder leading to the secret passageway. This is what I had seen from above.
‘Now climb the ladder.’
‘I can’t make out what this metal thing is,’ said Emily when she’d reached the top.
When we had all reached the top, I urged her forward on the rail. ‘A secret railroad of sorts,’ I said. ‘Leading to trapdoors that lead to all of the rooms.’
‘I never would have thought…’ said Emily.
I urged them forward, keeping Suzanne in the middle.
Across the passageway we went, over the torture museum to the right, the library to the left, and then taking the right fork, over the men’s bedrooms.
Until we came to the door.
‘Stop!’ I hissed. ‘Let me go ahead now.’ I squeezed past Suzanne, balancing on the metal line to get to the door. I gripped the axe with one hand, pushed the door with the other.
It opened a crack.
Light flickered on the inside.
But I had turned off the electricity. Maybe this room had its own source of power. If it was what I suspected it was, that would be likely.
I burst into the room, axe at the ready.
Emily and Suzanne stood behind, holding on to me.
No one was there.
The room, the size of a small bathroom, glowed and flickered with candlelight. Candles stood everywhere – on a wide desk, on top of a computer and to the sides of two computer screens. An empty console chair stood in the middle. A control room. With no controller to be seen.
The scent hit me hard – Suzanne’s perfume.
No shadows for a killer to hide. No cupboard he could spring out of. No trapdoor. This room was hermetically sealed and this was the only entrance.
But such light! The candles illuminated the walls. And the many pictures on display, looking like a gallery of revered work, some holy of holies.
‘You’ve been here before,’ said Emily.
‘It was locked last time,’ I said. ‘Come in, Emily, Suzanne.’
They stared.
‘I’ll guard the door,’ said Emily. ‘It must be a trap.’
Suzanne pointed. ‘Look.’
The pictures were not works of art. They had been cut from the pages of high-flying glossy magazines. There were newspaper cut-outs, enlarged copies of those cut-outs. And other, older photos.
All featuring one person.
The fear of being attacked or discovered was forgotten.
‘My God,’ said Suzanne.
‘It’s you,’ said Emily.
I could not believe what I was seeing either. The heady perfume intoxicated me. This was sensory overload, a garish nightmare.
‘I’m looking, I’m looking.’
Suzanne at the Oscars. Suzanne on holiday. Suzanne in her major role in that Tahitian movie.
All Suzanne.
Polaroids of Suzanne at school, as a sixteen-year-old, marching with the drum majorettes. Suzanne on the stage for her crowning of the Miss Riverside High School pageant.
‘I don’t know what this means,’ said Emily.
Suzanne trembled as she moved from image to image, recognising her past, sometimes puzzled. ‘Who took this picture? This is me in my old room at home from my school days.’
I pointed to the computer desk, at a display, surrounded by candles. ‘Look.’
I gripped the axe tighter. In the centre of the console was the message.
A miniature ballerina dancing on a carousel, and around her – and I had no need to count – eleven little figures, plastic fawns playing flutes and panpipes.
‘Eleven pipers piping,’ whispered Emily.
‘I’m scared,’ said Suzanne.
The inscription underneath was not flattering. Emily read the verses aloud, her voice trembling. ‘Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgement of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters: With whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her fornication.’ She paused, and then continued, ‘And the ten horns which thou sawest upon the beast, these shall hate the whore, and shall make her desolate and naked, and shall eat her flesh, and burn her with fire.’
I nodded. ‘Straight from the Reverend’s sermon I read today.’
Suzanne whispered, ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means that someone is taking Reverend James’ sermons very literally,’ I said. ‘All planned to the letter. Even after his death.’
‘And it means someone knows our every move,’ said Emily. She pointed to a red light flashing on the console above a tiny fish-eye camera lens. ‘We’re being watched. Someone can see everything.’
‘Not anymore,’ I said. I walked over, pulled a bit of adhesive putty off the side of the table and stuck it over the camera lens. ‘Any more cameras?’
I spotted a spherical camera on top of a filing cabinet in the corner and used more adhesive putty to obscure the lens. I looked at the faces of my two companions. They were blank with fear.
‘Interesting how this must have a separate source of power,’ I said, examining the console. ‘We may have turned off the main power to the castle, but this room is still wired.’ I flipped a switch on the console and the room flooded with light. The computer fired up and the monitors sparked into life. A row of switches on the console glowed green beneath the printed words: Door One. Door Two. Door Three. All the way up to Door Twenty-four.
‘This is what I want.’ I studied the console switches.
‘Look!’ said Emily. ‘The monitors.’
Dimly lit hallways.
I flipped a down switch and a lock clicked behind me.
‘He’s locked us in,’ said Suzanne.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve locked us in.’
I flipped all the switches. ‘This is how it works. Now all doors are locked – those still operational. And closed. Don’t look so worried. You’re safe here with me.’
I played with the monitors. ‘Here are the views – what’s left of them – of the castle. The living room. Oh, and the kitchen. Library. But none of these others work – they must be the bedroom cameras I disabled.’
‘My God.’ Suzanne picked up a shiny object from the desk.
‘That looks like your ring,’ I said. ‘The one Glen was wearing on his little finger. I saw it on his body in the snow.’
‘You didn’t tell me that.’
‘Whoever is doing this is doing it because of you.’
Suzanne looked pallid. ‘You mean he took it off Glen’s corpse?’
‘As a trophy, perhaps,’ said Emily.
‘I think I’m getting it now. Glen was punished for his obsession with you.’
‘That’s what this is all about,’ said Emily. ‘It’s all about you, Suzanne.’
I nodded. ‘All those notes you supposedly wrote. They were to lure the victims, but also to judge them, to expose their true intentions.’
‘The perfume–’
‘I swear, I never did this.’ Suzanne backed herself up against the back wall. ‘I’m scared. Really
scared.’
Emily embraced her.
‘I thought at first Reverend James, or whoever the killer is, was trying to frame you,’ I said. ‘That you were there at each death. But then I thought, No, this is someone’s obsession. And it is.’
‘I also thought it was Reverend James,’ said Emily. ‘Punishing us all for what we did.’
‘We’re all part of the game,’ I said, ‘like interlocking pieces of a puzzle. Suzanne, Reverend James, Emily and me. We’re all needed to play this game. But who is controlling it?’
‘You know it’s not me,’ said Emily.
‘Nor me,’ said Suzanne.
‘So there is an outside killer after all,’ said Emily. ‘There’s no way any of us are involved here. It’s the concierge. The owner of the castle.’
Suzanne nodded. ‘I knew he was creepy.’
‘Was he a fan of yours, perhaps? The concierge.’
Suzanne shook her head. ‘When he was serving food, he ignored me completely. I don’t think he even knew who I was.’
‘Maybe the owner is an obsessive fan,’ said Emily. ‘But we don’t know what he wants.’
‘Obviously you, Suzanne,’ I said. ‘And obviously to punish us all for our various crimes – including being involved with you in some way. The Twelve. I don’t know. He never meant to kill you. The eleventh day is for you.’
She shook her head. ‘No.’ She pointed out the last part of the verse we had read on the console. ‘“…shall make her desolate and naked, and shall eat her flesh, and burn her with fire.” Does that sound like he never meant to… doesn’t mean to kill me?’
I now hugged her too. ‘We’ll never let it happen.’
Emily sat at the console, brushed the display of the eleven pipers piping to one side, and tapped the keyboard. A computer screen blinked to life.
I peered at the screen. ‘Emily, what are you doing?’
‘If we have computers up here, we may have internet access. Maybe we can call the police, dial 999, or whatever it is in Italy.’ She hunched over the keyboard and began typing. ‘My God, we have internet access, I think.’
‘Get the police,’ said Suzanne. ‘Get the cops. Quick.’
‘And the ambulance, fire engine, helicopter, the lot,’ I said. ‘Squadre volanti.’
Suzanne grabbed my shoulder. I turned and she pointed to one of the monitors. ‘Watch out!’
On the monitor of the corridor outside, some dark shape was hurtling full speed towards the door.
‘The cart!’
The door shook and a loud crash jolted the room like a thunderbolt.
‘Jesus, it’s being used as a battering ram.’
The cart reversed, and again backed up along the corridor and hurtled towards the door. This time the door shuddered, but it did not break.
‘Shit,’ I said.
‘We’re under attack,’ said Emily.
I stared at the monitor. Tried to see where the trolley was.
‘I’ll hold the door. Emily, you try to get the police. Suzanne, watch the monitor and tell me what’s going on.’
I heaved at the cabinet in the corner and rocked it across the room, pushed it against the door. The trailer struck again with such force the whole room shook. One picture of Suzanne fell off the wall. But the door held, the lock intact.
Another hit would do it.
‘Emily, any luck?’
‘I’ve found the website for emergency calls. Just says dial 112. The whole of the EU. Or 113 Polizia.’
‘And if you don’t have a phone?’
‘I’ll find a way,’ Emily said.
Suzanne gave a cry. ‘It’s reversing and coming back again.’
I held the cabinet against the door, waiting for the next blow.
‘Got it,’ Emily said a few seconds later. ‘Calling now… where is the mic on this thing?’
The computer speakers clicked and we heard a voice on the phone. ‘Pronto? Qual è la vostra situazione di emergenza?’
‘We need help!’
‘Pronto? What is your emergency?’
‘Damn. They can’t hear us, the mic’s not connected.’ She fumbled with the microphone lead and plugged it into the computer.
‘Watch out!’ yelled Suzanne.
The impact of the next blow to the door bowled the cabinet over and I had to hold it up to stop it falling onto the console. I pushed it level again. But the door had been breached. I knew because a cold draught of icy corridor air entered the heated room. The lock beeped once and clicked as it was torn from the wood.
‘Shit.’
I pushed the cabinet back in place, and Suzanne kept an eye on the monitor for movement. ‘Nothing out there.’
I gripped the axe tight. ‘It may be all remotely controlled.’
‘Not from this control room. He must be in another part of the castle.’
Emily yelled into the mic. ‘Come quickly, 112, emergency. Please come quickly.’
And miracle of miracles, a woman’s voice responded in English, with an Italian accent. ‘Please stay calm. Tell me where you are and what is the emergency.’
‘There’s been a murder. Several murders. We are trapped in the Castello di Rocca. Emilia. The killer is trying to get us…’
We waited while the emergency respondent absorbed the information.
‘Stay calm, and stay on the line. Please give us your exact location.’
Emily looked at me. ‘I have no idea where we are.’
‘Castello di Bloody Rocca,’ I shouted into the mic. ‘They should know where that is. Near Reggio Emilia. Ciano d’Enza. The river Enza. Get them to trace the call.’
‘Ciano d’Enza,’ shouted Emily. ‘Come quickly, he’s going to kill us.’
The computer went dead. The monitors died. The lights went out.
‘Power is gone,’ said Emily. In the flickering candlelight, her face looked red and ghostly.
‘I will kill him,’ I said. ‘Whoever he is, he won’t enter this room. I promise you that.’
I held my rage like a cup of hot liquid that was about to spill over. I itched to wield that axe now. I was ready.
Suzanne leaned over Emily. ‘Are the police going to come?’
‘They will,’ I said. ‘Well done, you two. We just have to hold out. Keep vigilant. We’ll keep him at bay.’
I said this for their benefit. The sinking feeling in my gut told me that the message had not got through, that the emergency services had no idea where we were and might even treat it as a crank call.
The smell alerted me before the sound of hissing that we were being outmanoeuvred, that whoever this killer was, he had many tricks up his sleeve. He wasn’t going to enter the room, not with me wielding an axe. But he didn’t need to. The truth, the horrible truth was, I realised, he was going to gas us.
‘Quick, try to block the gas coming in.’
‘What is it? Poison?’
‘Cover your nose and mouth,’ I said. But I saw that Suzanne already had a bandanna around her face.
‘There must be an air vent. Those candles need air.’
I pushed the cabinet away from the doorway to breathe fresh air from the corridor. But then I smelt a pungent perfume coming from the caboose. The killer must have set up a pipe leading into the hole in the door made by the caboose and now was pumping gas into the room. I had to stop it. I had to–
My last thoughts were, he’s gassing us with Suzanne’s perfume. Or he has mixed the chloroform with her perfume.
I woke up, the room spinning, metal handcuffs cutting into my wrists, to find myself shackled back-to-back with Emily on the console chair. The cabinet had been cleared away from the door, which was now open wide.
‘Emily, you okay?’
Emily moved her head back and bumped my head. ‘Ow.’
‘Suzanne!’ I craned my neck around the room. ‘What was that stuff?’
‘I think it’s some gaseous form of etorphine,’ said Emily. ‘I told you. The stuff they use to t
ranquilise wild animals.’
‘At least we’re still alive.’
‘Suzanne!’ I called again. I wriggled.
‘She’s not here, Rafe.’
‘Christ.’
‘She–’ said Emily.
We were thinking the same thing, I knew.
‘She must be part of it,’ said Emily.
‘She had that bandanna on her face before we even knew we were being gassed.’
‘But… this shrine? What’s that all about? None of it makes sense. She’s been targeted. She’s a victim.’
‘And I want to know why we are still alive,’ I said. ‘He– She– They could have killed us… again. We’re being played with here.’
‘Don’t speak too soon, Rafe. We’re handcuffed to this chair.’
‘Handcuffed. Hmm.’ I strained my head to see the handcuffs that shackled us. ‘These are the same ones I used on Reverend James.’
‘He wants us alive,’ said Emily, ‘to torture us at the end. On the twelfth day. I feel sick.’
‘If these are the same handcuffs I used on Reverend James, then we have a key,’ I said. ‘In my pocket.’
‘Praise the Lord.’ Even in the circumstances, her ironic response made me laugh.
‘Can you reach into my left trouser pocket?’ I called. ‘I can feel the key there. I’ll try wriggling it towards you.’
She contorted her hand and stretched her fingers. I felt her hand groping for the key. ‘Got it!’
‘Now the difficult part,’ I said. ‘Can you get it into the lock and turn it?’
‘Easy peasy,’ she said.
It was not easy. Emily strained and swore, chafed the handcuffs, had to take a rest, and then clicked the key in the lock. She turned it slowly and it snapped open.
I pulled the handcuff off my wrist. ‘Wonder Woman,’ I said.
‘Now you uncuff me.’
I did it.
‘My hands are completely numb,’ said Emily. ‘But we’re free. Now what?’
‘We get the hell out of here.’
‘What about Suzanne?’ she said. ‘We have to find her.’
‘If she’s been kidnapped, yes. If she’s in league with this madman, no.’
‘Either way, we have to find her.’ Emily pointed to the display of eleven little fawns playing flutes and panpipes she had pushed aside to get to the computer. ‘Whoa!’ The plastic ballerina in the centre was smashed into pieces.
Twelve Days Page 24