‘It’s not that simple, Tobey. The police wouldn’t have charged you if they didn’t believe they had incontrovertible proof of your guilt.’
‘I was handling the knife they claim is the murder weapon earlier in the evening. Both George the butler and Jarvis, Dan’s deputy, saw me. Your mum left early and Dan was dead when I entered his study after everyone else that night. Those are the facts.’
‘When did Dan leave the dinner table?’ asked Jon.
‘After the first course. He said he had some important personal phone calls to make, and off he went to his study, closing the door behind him,’ said Tobey.
‘Who apart from you went into the study?’ Jon leaped in before I could.
Tobey shrugged. ‘Most of us at one time or another.’
‘Do you remember in what order?’
‘Not really.’ Tobey’s eyebrows drew together as he attempted to recall. ‘I think Kellan Bruemann went in to see Dan first, followed by Patrix, then Tom, Dan’s brother. Then it was Owen, Sephy and Eva. Or was it Eva first? I can’t remember. Jarvis and Bella didn’t go into the study – at least not that I saw. I was the last to enter while we were still dining. By that time, Sephy had already gone home and Dan was still alive. We all moved to the living room and played cards and chatted for an hour or so. Patrix was the first to leave after dinner and Dan still hadn’t put in an appearance. After that, others started leaving. I went into the study to tell Dan that I was going home, and that’s when I found him slumped in his chair with a knife in his back.’
‘Was his body facing you when you entered the room or did he have his back to the door when you found him?’ asked Jon.
Tobey thought for a moment. ‘He was slumped over his desk but facing the door.’
‘More proof that he was stabbed by someone he knew,’ said Jon. ‘No way would Dan Jeavons let a stranger get behind him, knife in hand.’
Tobey nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words.
‘Why did the knife have your fingerprints on it?’ Jon asked.
‘It was an ornamental knife Dan kept on his desk. I’d been admiring it earlier in the evening. I never denied handling it, but I didn’t use it to kill anyone.’
‘The fingerprints weren’t smudged or obscured,’ I informed him. ‘It looks like you were the last to use it.’
‘Obviously not, as the killer handled it after me,’ Tobey shot back. He paused. ‘It’s not looking good for me, is it?’
‘To be honest, no.’
‘Are you telling me that this case may actually come to trial?’
‘If we can’t come up with some way to prove your innocence, I’d say that was entirely likely,’ said Jon.
‘I didn’t do it,’ Tobey insisted.
‘That’s what they all say,’ said Jon evenly.
Tobey looked him up and down. ‘Callie tells me you’re an investigator. Are you any good?’
‘I’m the best,’ Jon stated evenly.
Tobey raised an eyebrow.
I smiled. ‘He really is as good as he thinks he is. If he can’t exonerate you, then you did it.’
‘Then I guess my fate lies in both your hands,’ said Tobey. ‘Because I’ll tell you this: if this case does go to court, I shall plead not guilty and defend myself vigorously. I have no intention of going down for something I didn’t do.’
‘I believe in you, Tobey,’ I told him. ‘I know you didn’t do it.’
He looked at Jon, waiting for a similar assertion from him. He didn’t get it. Instead, Jon regarded him steadily without saying a word.
‘Reserving judgement?’ asked Tobey.
‘Not really,’ said Jon. ‘You see, I think you’re guilty.’
sixty-three. Troy
* * *
The room is too warm, too small, too dim. The walls are beginning to echo again, to breathe. Out. In. I watch their subtle movement. Slowly and slightly bulging towards me, only to draw in again, just as carefully. Their movement is only noticeable if you watch and wait for it. Only if you sit absolutely still and—
‘Troy? Troy, snap out of it. What’re you doing?’ Libby’s voice breaks the silence.
The walls stop moving.
I turn to her, just in time to catch the concern in her eyes.
‘I’m not doing anything.’
Libby shakes her head. ‘You’re staring at the walls like you’ve never seen them before. You’re not freaking out, are you? Because I’ll lose it completely if you do.’
I glance back at the stationary walls. ‘No, I’m not freaking out. How much water do we have left?’ I ask.
‘Half a bottle each, if that. We should go easy on it. Conserve it until we get out of here. So what d’you think of my plan?’ says Libby hopefully.
‘I think it’s bollocks,’ I tell her straight. ‘Go through with it and it’s suicide for at least one and probably both of us.’
Libby had the perky idea of feigning illness again until they brought both of us out of the basement and into the hall, and she would launch herself at the heavies, taking a hail of bullets if necessary for the greater good, while I made a run for it. I mean, damn!
Libby scowls. ‘Have you got a better idea?’
‘Yeah. If I know my sister, she’s already working on rescuing us. I say we sit tight and wait to be found.’
‘That was my plan at the beginning of all this and you hated it,’ Libby reminds me.
‘Well, maybe I’ve come round to your way of thinking.’
‘You don’t want to do that,’ she says softly. ‘My way of thinking has brought me nothing but misery and a stone in my heart.’
Silence.
‘It’s just that I hate doing nothing,’ Libby admits. ‘It’s like accepting our fate. Consenting to it even.’
On that at least we agree.
‘Have you got someone at home to report you missing to the police?’ I look around at the walls, which are holding their breath.
‘The only person who might’ve reported me missing kidnapped me in the first place, so I’m afraid I won’t be much help in getting us out of here, but your family will report you missing. That’s right, isn’t it? You’ve got someone who cares about you? Right?’
I nod, careful to keep my expression neutral. Libby is gabbling, talking fast to keep me with her. I realize with a start that she’s scared I’ll slip so far down into my own thoughts that she won’t be able to reach in and pull me back up.
‘Yes, that’s right. The police are probably already looking for us,’ I agree, though I have no way of knowing. ‘Did you recognize any of those three men upstairs?’
Libby shakes her head.
‘But you said you didn’t recognize our original kidnappers and they turned out to be your mum and her friends,’ I point out.
‘They had masks on,’ she protests. ‘Mum was the driver in the fox mask so I never got a good look at her. And besides they let Pete’s brother do most of the talking. I’d never met him before so how was I supposed to recognize his voice?’