‘What have you done with Samantha?’
‘Come on,’ he says.
We go into Thorn House together, and I’m immediately struck by how quiet it seems. Even the tick of the hallway clock appears muffled, as though everything is holding its breath. I stand in the hallway shivering, although I am not cold. William removes his sweatshirt but not his shoes, which are crusted with dried mud and dirt.
‘You left your phone behind,’ he says, quietly. ‘I wouldn’t have known about it if Alex hadn’t told me. “Oh, Frances has left her phone,” he said. “Where’s she gone?” I asked him. You know what he told me?’
I shake my head.
‘He said you were going “up on to the Downs”. But that isn’t what you told me. You said you were going into town, to the library. You were quite specific. And I couldn’t work out why you’d lie about where you were going. It made me wonder what you were hiding. So I picked up your phone.’
‘It has a passcode.’
‘It does, and of course yours is the same as your PIN. One – two – three – four. Theoretically, there are ten thousand possible four-digit combinations the numbers zero to nine can be arranged into, and you’ve gone right ahead and picked the most obvious. It’s asking for trouble. I’ve been telling you that for years.’
He’s right; he has. I keep saying I’ll change it and not getting round to it. Now look what’s happened. He’s got blood on his cuffs.
‘I found your messages to Samantha. I couldn’t work out who she was at first. I thought maybe it was someone back in Swindon, but then I saw the one that said that you were thinking of going out to the old well. The one in the woods, right?’
I nod. My hands hang limp by my sides. That’s the thing I always tell my patients about panic. There’s always a crash afterwards.
‘You know my father boarded that well up over twenty years ago? You know that because I told you the story of the sheep’s skull. So I thought to myself, what’s the deal, Frances? Why are you heading out there to go and look for it? What does that have to do with Samantha? And then I remembered. Edie Hudson.’
‘You were her boyfriend.’
He snorts.
‘I had a lot of girlfriends when I was a kid, if you can believe it. Edie was one of them. She was insane, so I dumped her. Edie was mad about it and ran away. Do I feel guilty? I did, for a while. Did I go and look for her? No. Did I want her to come back? Probably not, if I’m being honest. There you go, that’s it. That’s the story.’
His hand, the one with the gold band of his wedding ring on, lifts to his hair. He tugs at it gently, distracted. But I see it. I see it.
‘I don’t know how you got involved with Samantha. Seems to me like she’s a lot more trouble than she’s worth. I remember reading all that stuff about her in the papers after Edie went missing. Come on.’
I follow him silently down the tiled hallway. At the far end the sun slants through the large arched window that looks out on to Edward’s beloved rose bushes. My stomach is full of shrinking knots, pulling themselves tighter and tighter. When William puts the flat of his hand between my shoulder blades, the skin there grows cold with gooseflesh and it takes all my restraint not to pull away from him. He opens the door to our left, the one that leads into the kitchen.
‘Go on,’ he says. ‘In you go, Frances.’
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, grainy and diffuse. The curtains have been drawn to block out the light but I can make out the bulky shapes of the dresser, the dining table, the long old-fashioned range that heats the room in the winter. Then I see her. Samantha. She is slumped in one of the dining chairs, her chin resting on her chest, wiry hair falling over her face. A rope has been bound around her chest, restraining her. I stare in mute horror.
‘I intercepted her on her way to meet you,’ William says in a low voice, as if she were merely asleep. ‘Good job I found your phone when I did, otherwise I’d never have known where to find you.’
‘What have you done to her?’
‘I made her pull over and get out the car by pretending I was hurt. I flagged her down just two miles up the road. She didn’t know it was me at first. I guess I’ve grown up a lot since the last time she saw me. You know she carries a knife? She pulled it on me once, in the graveyard.’
‘You have to let her go. What is she even doing here? It’s kidnap, William.’
‘Kidnap. Listen to yourself. You’re always so dramatic.’
I take a step towards her and William holds me back firmly. There is a black patch on the back of Samantha’s head. From here, in the dim light, it looks like dark regrowth of roots. I don’t think that’s what it is, though. I think of the blood on William’s sleeve and something in my chest cracks open, leaking cold, cold water.
‘What did you hit her with?’
‘I was careful. I only used enough force to knock her out. At worst she’ll have a concussion. Just hope she can get to the hospital in time. It can be fatal if it’s untreated.’
‘William, you have to let me help her. I don’t know what you’re doing, but this isn’t – it’s not right!’
‘Help her? You have been helping her. You’ve been helping her with this continuing delusion that somewhere out there her daughter is still alive. You’ve stirred it all up for her again. Now look what’s happened.’
‘How do you know?’
‘How do I know what?’
‘That her daughter isn’t alive? You called it a delusion, which would mean you know something to the contrary.’
‘All right, Miss Marple, I think we’re done here.’
He’s been holding me by the wrist, and now he tugs at me insistently. When I resist he pulls me so hard my shoulder seems to pop. I yell out. William just continues to look at me in that same blank way. His eyes, already dark, are almost muddy, his pupils swollen and black. He drags me down the corridor, holding my wrist so tight I can feel the bones grind together. I clamp my teeth against the pain, so sharp it is almost sweet. William motions for me to be quiet before rapping on the closed door further down the hall that leads to Mimi’s recovery room.
I hear her voice, her weak-sounding ‘Come in.’
William opens the door a slice, just enough to poke his head around.
I say, ‘William, plea—’ and he gives my wrist one hard, sharp twist. My knees buckle. I have to hang on to the wall to stop myself crumpling to the ground. Hot breath catches in my throat, silencing me. His voice when he speaks to his mother is calm and gentle, the man I recognise, the man I know the bones of.
‘I’m just heading out, Mum.’
‘Okay, sweetheart. Are you all right? You look a little peaky.’
‘I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.’
‘It’s the weather,’ she says, and I gasp loudly as my wrist sends out bright spikes of pain shooting up my arm. William’s hand tightens.
‘What was that?’ Mimi says. ‘Is someone there with you?’
‘Nope. Just me. I’ll see you later.’
‘Be good. And if you can’t be good—’