“Michael!” he shouted. “Get up here now, boy. It’s her!”
And then Hyde’s voice calling up from below.
“What?”
“It’s her!”
Katie panicked as she heard footsteps on the stairs. All she knew was that she had to get out of this room, away from here, away from everything, and without thinking she made a move to get past Hyde’s father. But the old man reached out fast, grabbing her wrist. She cried out, twisting her arm over his in an attempt to break the hold.
“No, you don’t,” he told her.
The footsteps were coming more quickly now. Fear gave her strength. She turned her arm again—and at the same time shoved Hyde’s father with her free hand. The grip disappeared as he stumbled backward, then lost his balance and clattered to the floor in a tangle of bony limbs.
Get out, get out, get out …
She ran to the door and out into the hallway.
Michael Hyde had just reached the top of the stairs, and she collided with him, neither of them really aware of the other until it was too late. The force of the impact seemed to knock the panic out of her for a second, so that she registered everything that happened next in slow motion. The shock on Hyde’s face as he fell away from her, arms pinwheeling, hands clawing out for purchase but finding none. His body tumbling backward down the stairs, the bottom of his dirty shoes flying up and over, the sound of the banister ripping loose, and then the repeated thuds as his body collided with the stairs and the walls, each one making the whole house shake to its foundation.
The sharp crack as his body hit the floor down below.
The sight of him lying there motionless.
Katie stared down at him. For a few seconds, everything in the house was as still and silent as Hyde was now.
And then:
“What have you done?”
She looked back helplessly, momentarily lost to shock. Perhaps spurred by the sounds he’d just heard, Hyde’s father had managed to drag himself to his feet. He was emerging from the bedroom now, the cane raised properly, his face contorted with rage.
“What have you done?”
Without thinking, Katie set off quickly down the stairs, stepping over Hyde’s body when she reached the bottom. He wasn’t moving. His arm was bent at a hideous angle beneath him; his head was turned to one side, his face against the dirty wooden floor. The eye she could see—smaller and lower down on his face than it should have been—was closed. A small pool of blood was spreading beside his head.
“You’ve killed him!”
The old man was at the top of the stairs now, screeching down at her.
“You’ve gone and done it! You were always going to, weren’t you? You’ve finally gone and murdered my boy!”
She stared up at him, blinking stupidly, then looked back down at Hyde. A part of her brain seemed to have stopped working. What had just happened? And then a primal feeling rose up inside her and took control: she needed to get out of here as soon as possible.
She ran through the kitchen toward the back door. Hyde’s father’s screams faded away behind her as she went, but his words followed her outside into the evening gloom, and then all the way back along the driveway and up the street, the whole world juddering around her as she ran, faster and faster and faster.
You were always going to, weren’t you?
You’ve finally gone and murdered my boy.
* * *
The car felt safe.
Katie sat there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths. Her heart was beating too quickly, and her thoughts whirled in her head. It felt like she was going to be sick. It wasn’t just the shock of the accident itself—and it had been an accident, she kept telling herself—but everything that had happened before it too. The photographs and notes on the wall and what Hyde’s father had said to her.
You shouldn’t have run, she told herself.
She realized that now. Because it had been an accident. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, and all the evidence she needed to justify being in the house was taped to Hyde’s bedroom wall right now.
But it wasn’t too late to put things right.
She took her cell phone out to call the police.
It rang again just as she did, and she almost dropped it in surprise. The screen showed another unidentified number, different from the one that had called her back in the house. She stared at it for a couple of seconds, then accepted the call. Her arm was trembling slightly as she held the phone up to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Is this Katie?”
A man’s voice. Quiet and nervous.
“Yes,” she said.
“You’re Chris’s big sister, right?”
She hesitated. “Yes, I’m Chris’s big sister. Who is this?”
Silence again.
As Katie waited for the man to speak, she glanced in the rearview mirror. A car was approaching, driving a little too quickly. She watched as the vehicle turned onto Hyde’s street. There were two people inside, although it was impossible to get a proper look at them. A man in the passenger seat. A woman driving. There was something about both of them and the car that made her sure they were police.
Shit, shit, shit.
Surely it wasn’t possible for them to have got here so fast?
“It’s James,” the voice on the phone said.
Her attention snapped back.
“James Alderson?”
“Yeah. You left a message for Chris at my studio. He didn’t want me to call you, but … Well, I think I have to now. I think we need help.”
Alderson’s voice right now was as faltering as Hyde’s father’s footsteps had been back at the house. He sounded completely lost.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“I think Chris is in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“He’s been taken.”
A chill ran through her. Even though she didn’t understand what was happening, what he’d just said felt horribly correct, like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle clicking into place right where it belonged.
“You need to call the police,” she said.
“He told me not to.”
“He also told you not to call me.”
“Not unless I had to,” Alderson said. “But if anything happened, I got the feeling it might be okay. Because he trusted you. Because you always looked after him.”
Katie glanced in the mirror again. She knew she should return to the house and explain to the police what had happened. That was the sensible thing to do. But her brother was in danger. And Hyde’s father’s words were still echoing in her head.
It’s all your fault.
All because of you.
Katie pressed the phone harder to her ear.
“Where are you, James?”
Thirty-two
The red car again.
There it was, pulled up at an angle over the tatty grass verge in front of Michael Hyde’s house, illuminated by the beam of their headlights. Pettifer was driving, and she parked up behind it without a thought. It meant nothing to her, of course, but there was a moment in which Laurence couldn’t take his eyes off the vehicle—at all the stark joins in the metal. The photograph he had looked at yesterday was seventeen years old, but even back then it had felt as though the car somehow existed in both the past and the present simultaneously. Here and now, that effect was redoubled. Looking at the car in front of them, he thought that perhaps no single piece of original metalwork remained.