Henry kept enough of a gap so as not to look conspicuous, knowing his plans could be scuppered if he was spotted. He stayed with the car, pressing the pedals with his bare feet, following it through town, keeping his distance. He pictured Evelyn, lying on the bed, a mass of bones, ribs. Her skin, wasting away.
Henry was struggling to stem his anger and come to terms with the guy driving away. Once he could get himself under control, the punishment would follow.
The hit-and-run driver parked up and the passenger got out. Henry made a note of the address; then he continued to follow the car. After a time, the driver pulled over. He was grappling with his conscience, with what he’d done, distressed, crying in the front seat. Eventually, he reached home, and Henry got out, staying close behind. He saw the young lad opening the communal doors and going into the first flat on the left.
Henry had all he needed. He left immediately, now he knew where the lad lived.
The following morning, Henry drove to where the passenger had got out. After a short wait the guy got in his car and drove to the local university. Henry sat in the car park. He had all the time in the world. Later that day, the passenger came out of the main building, bewildered, disorientated. He got into his car and sat there, pounding the dashboard. Henry watched, like a stakeout, seeing the guy fall apart. The young lad fell asleep in the car for maybe two or three hours.
Henry had wanted to take him there and then but he risked being seen. There were so many students, possible cameras. It was too conspicuous. When the young lad woke, he looked across at the man making his way to his jeep. Henry guessed he was a lecturer, well dressed, long grey hair, smart looking. The old man pulled out of the car park, and the young lad followed.
Henry joined the chain. He witnessed the lecturer’s lewd act, feeling repulsed, disgusted that someone could do this. She was young enough to be his daughter. Henry watched through binoculars, peering at the wedding band on the lecturer’s ring finger.
He saw the young lad take photos, and how the flash revealed him to the lecturer. The older man pulled up his trousers and ran to his car.
Henry waited until they’d left, then followed. He tailed Gareth and the lecturer all night and eventually followed the old man home.
The following day, Henry saw thick smoke rising above the forest as he drove back from town. When he investigated he found the hit-and-run driver was standing by a car, watching it burn. Henry followed him, watching the young lad running through the woods. He followed on foot, then returned to his car. As he drove towards the other side of the woods, he saw his friend pick him up. Again, Henry followed them.
He had to time it right, intending on using the stun gun, injuring them both on the side of the road. Then he’d place them on the coach, tie them to the seats, blindfold them and hold them there until the games could begin.
As he pressed the stun gun to both their necks and watched them drop to the floor, he happened to glance through the window of the house he was outside. He hadn’t expected to witness a murder.
He had just aimed to punish the guys for driving away from the scene of the hit-and-run.
But now… he was going to have a field day with this lot.
26
The Cottage
Lydia, still sore from her time in the car boot, stood on the road, watching the lit window in the distance.
She needed to get to Jack; he’d make everything all right. She was going to find him, untie her husband and make off.
She felt bad for Ben and his family, they’d done so much for her, looked after her and the other passengers. They’d made her comfortable, reassured her and given her the confidence to continue. She’d never forget that. But Lydia couldn’t be here. She couldn’t cope with this. She’d free Jack, then cross the fields and make their escape.
Lydia was certain the caller was more interested in the larger group, held on the coach. He dropped her off, opened the boot and was now headed back to the others.
The alternative scenario was one that Lydia didn’t want to consider. The caller had played games, set traps, like a hunter stalking prey. It was possible he’d let her out of the boot to fuel his appetite.
She went for the former scenario. It was much easier to digest.
As she walked, hobbling from the broken heel, she pictured her husband. How he’d shielded her from the outside world, the hatred, bitterness, everything that came with situations Lydia had gotten herself into. He was her protector; he’d never let anything happen to her. Now, she was going to do the same, repay the kindness her husband showed.
She thought about Chloe, buried in the garden, how Jack had made it better by taking control of the situation.
She recalled that Saturday afternoon, when Dana came over, asking questions and threatening to go to the police. Lydia wasn’t a violent person, she would run at the first sign of trouble, but Jack was helpless, caught in the headlights. Lydia had had to hit Dana, to take her out of the equation. She remembered the sound, how the crack filled the room, and Dana, her eyes wild and startled as Lydia ran at her.
Jack was cross at first. He screamed, charging to where Lydia stood, taking the brass figure from her, wiping the blood. He shook her, his hands placed on her shoulders, rocking her body back and forth, shouting, asking why she’d do this.
Lydia had no answer. She didn’t know why she’d hit Dana that afternoon, except that she was an obstacle in the way of their happiness.
Dana knew what had happened; the bracelet placed Lydia at the house. Dana was playing games. That’s why she had to go.
Lydia had to kill her.
It was the only way.
Their world tumbled even deeper out of control when the door knocked.
The caller had seen everything.
She walked, guided by the light in the window shimmering across the fields, until she saw a sign of life. Now she was closer, she could see the light was in the upstairs window of a cottage. She didn’t have a plan. She hoped to go inside, find her husband and run.
There were other cottages further along. If Jack wasn’t here, she’d check the others. He had to be in one of them. He had to be here somewhere.
She stood outside the driveway and removed her shoes. It was too much of a struggle to walk in them with the broken heel. She stepped onto the grass, feeling relief as her feet sunk into the wet soil. She moved closer, taking the place in, wondering where the caller may be holding her husband.
She thought about the barn, how he’d grabbed her around the throat, dumped her in the boot of the car and driven. Why had he gone and left the boot open knowing she’d get out. It was like he wanted her to escape. He’d chosen to let her go, knowing she’d run. That was the reason he’d pulled up on the road and let her out. He was playing games.
No, she told herself. He is making his way to the coach. He doesn’t care what I do. He’s let me go, and now he’s a long way from here. She needed to be quick; this was her chance. Grab Jack and run.
The cottage was detached, just a small shell of a house, nothing fancy. From the outside, it looked like a movie set, like a large cardboard cut-out. There were two floors. A lantern hung on the wall to the left of the door, lighting the front garden. Lydia noticed how neat the grass was and the bushes had been recently trimmed. There were other cottages, three more further down the path but nothing suggested they were occupied.