‘What do you want?’ Jack asked.
The man pushed the door wider, then stepped inside the basement room. ‘Are you a gambling man? Do you like the odd flutter?’ The question was aimed at Jack.
‘Occasionally.’
‘Good. Then you’ll understand how this game works.’
‘What game? I’m not playing any games.’
‘Oh, but you are.’
Jack yanked his arms, trying his best to break the railing above. It was no use.
‘You’ll only end up doing yourself a nasty injury. You don’t want that. Now, I understand your wife is on the coach,’ the man said.
Jack looked up; he had venom in his eyes; saliva was dripping from his bottom lip. ‘Don’t fucking mention her. Do you hear? Don’t ever talk about my wife.’
‘There. That’s it – the sweet spot. I knew you’d have one. Now, listen up. We’re going to play a little game of swapsies. Your lovely lady must be sick of the coach, so, as a change, you’ll walk up and release her, take her place and she’ll come to the executive suite. How does that sound?’
Jack paused, allowing the instructions to settle in his mind. ‘I won’t let her rot in this place. Do what you want to me but leave her out of it. There’s not a chance in hell that we’ll swap places.’
‘Oh, but you must. It’s part of the game. See, I’ve spent some time thinking up these little activities. I’d hate for it to all have been for nothing.’
‘Lydia stays. She’s safer up there. I’m not having her down here with you, locked in this fucking shithole. She wouldn’t cope.’ Jack glanced up at the figure in the doorway.
‘Then, mister, it’s a fail. I had a hunch it would work out that way. We’ll have to settle for plan B.’
He slammed the door, leaving the light on.
Gareth was pleased he could now see Jack. He waited a second for the footsteps to move away before speaking. ‘That was awesome. The way you stood up for your wife. I’ve never seen anything like it. That was brave, mate.’
Jack couldn’t help wondering what the man in the hi-vis meant by plan B.
The footsteps suddenly stopped. There was a bang like the caller had jumped the couple of steps he’d climbed and landed back outside the room. The door burst open, smashing against the wall. The caller raced into the room, holding a large knife in his right hand. He stood over Jack, cutting viciously at the rope. Jack kicked out, struggling to fend off his assailant.
‘Leave him. Please, leave him alone,’ Gareth shouted.
The caller brought the knife into the air and stabbed the sharp blade into Jack’s leg. Jack winced, wriggling on the floor like jelly dropping from a plate. Then the caller grabbed Jack around the neck, dragged him to his feet and carried him out slumped over his shoulder.
As he left, he turned out the light, leaving Gareth in the dark.
Upstairs, the man placed Jack down on the living room floor and went outside to watch the coach through his binoculars.
The family were stood at the front, the husband and wife – such heroes. The daughter was a little further back. The old man at the front had taken his seat. His wife was sat mute, taking in the mayhem around her. The younger woman was sat behind. She didn’t speak much from what he could see. He had plans for her later.
He moved to the kitchen sink, first cleaning the blade, running it under the tap so the blood spilt down the plughole. He took a tea towel from the handrail of the cooker, wiped the knife and placed it back in the hip holder under his jacket. He’d need it again, no doubt. Then, he removed his hi-vis jacket and checked for blood. There were marks on the cuffs, smears up the arms and on the collar. He wiped hard with a sponge so the stain spread over the plastic material. Once the jacket was clean, he hung it on the towel rail in the bathroom.
Back in the living room, he wrapped a towel around Jack’s leg, stemming the flow of blood. He needed to keep Jack alive for what he had planned later.
Jack winced, holding his leg. He was weak from the blood loss. He tried to sit up while his leg was being strapped and attempted to throw his fists towards the caller’s face. It made little impact. Jack was weak, hungry, and the stab wound had made him disorientated. He slumped back and his attacker laughed.
He was pleased with the progress. It was all working out, his plan – the passengers on the coach, the basement, the games he’d created. He picked up his second phone and dialled the number, waiting for the reply. He heard the voice from the coach as he moved back towards the front door; holding the binoculars to his face with the other hand.
‘What a great night. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alive. The power surging through my veins is something money could never buy, a feeling that could never be explained, a wish that could never be granted. I’m running short over here.’
Mr Do-Gooder said, ‘Running short? What do you mean?’
‘Well, we had three. Nigel, Gareth and Jack. Isn’t it unfortunate what happened in the barn? Hey, I must tell you, while you’ve been busy, Mr Do-Gooder, I’ve had my own fun down here. I had a task set for Jack. He failed miserably at the first hurdle, choosing to disobey my orders so I had to hurt him. Wow, you should see the mess. Anyway, I have another game. The lady further back – Lydia I think she’s called – I want you to untie her, bring her outside. You’ll like this one. You’re going to help her.’
‘How am I going to help her?’
The caller listened as Ben sighed, then he continued speaking, ‘Well, here’s the plan. I have two boxes hidden in the barn. One of them contains a dead body. Lydia will know what we’re talking about. It’s something a little close to home, shall we say. She and her husband are used to hiding things. The other box is empty. Now, if Lydia picks the box with the dead body, she can go back to the coach.’
‘And if she picks the empty box?’
‘The basement is a little dull at the moment. The young lad is all alone. I’ll come for Lydia and your daughter.’
The caller pressed the button to end their communication. He watched across the field, seeing the anger in Mr Do-Gooder’s face. He was standing alone at the front of the coach, staring at the phone screen. Then he moved along the aisle, holding his daughter, pulling her close.
The caller closed the front door and moved along the living room floor. The place was outdated, the decor old fashioned.
He thought how much he’d like to live here as he opened the closet door to his right. The cottage’s two previous tenants were lying slumped on the floor. He’d get rid of them later and clean up. It was a shame that it had to end like this. They’d fallen behind on their rent and avoided his phone calls. When he’d sent final demand letters and hadn’t heard anything about the rent he was owed, it was the last straw. The cottage belonged to him, and the tenants were in the way. They were now thieves.
He had feared the blood would run onto the wooden floors.
It appeared to have stopped.
20
The Coach
‘What did he say?’ Laura asked. Ben had not used the speakerphone for the last call. It would agitate the passengers if they heard what the caller was planning.