Scared to Breathe, page 20
I pick up speed. The sooner I get the door or window fastened the sooner I can get back into the safety of my bed. Huh. Who am I kidding? Only children believe blankets offer security. I cross the hall and enter the small sitting room then through to the library. Nearly there. A draught of cold air wraps itself around my feet and I shiver, goosebumps rising on my arms and legs. It’s so dark, as though all the colours of the daytime have been layered one over the other like printing ink until the only colour left is black. The lantern barely lights a foot in front of me. Maybe Reuben was right. I should have gone back to Luton, at least until the overhead lighting is sorted.
The tall French window smashes into the wall again and this time glass shatters. Damn. I hasten across the room to secure the door to prevent any more panes breaking but before I get there I spring away to my right as something moves to the left of me. Still backing away, I bring the lantern round to see what it was. Or who…
The light from two tiny candles is pitiful. It barely penetrates the darkness but I’m too afraid to step forward again.
‘Who’s there?’ I can’t help asking.
No one answers. Of course they don’t. The storm continues to rage outside and gusts of air surge through the open door to make the candles flicker. To make the shadows flicker too. Was that what I’d seen? Am I literally afraid of my own shadow now? I step to the door and with glass crunching underfoot I reach for the handle. It’s cold and wet in my sweaty palm. I’m exposed here and the rain soaks into my wrap while the strong wind flaps it around my legs. I scrape the soles of my slippers on the door sill to dislodge any fragments of glass then drag the door shut. I click the latch then test it to see if it holds. It seems fine but I puzzle over why I couldn’t open it earlier. The wind continues to throw rain through the broken pane but I’ll have to sort it out in the morning.
As I turn back to face the room a sudden flash lights up the wall of the library and I see a man-shaped shadow. My shock turns into a scream then I run, the poker bashing painfully on my shin and my wet slippers skidding on the wooden flooring as I bolt through the sitting room doorway. I catch my shoulder on the frame and pain erupts down my arm. A door creaks behind me but I don’t stop. I weave in and out of the furniture in the drawing room and rush into the dining room. The candle flames gutter and die as they drown in liquid wax. I slam the door behind me and throw the poker and lamp on the floor then grab a dining chair and tilt it, ramming it under the door handle.
It isn’t enough. One push from the other side of the door would send it flying across the room. The chest of drawers. They’ll be better. My breath’s coming in short gasps now and sweat trickles down my sides. My left arm feels numb. I run to the chest of drawers and lean all my weight into it, pushing it across the floor. The feet scratch the polished wood but I don’t care. It crashes into the dining chair sending it skittering away. With the furniture positioned across the doorway I turn and look wildly around. I need something else to go across the other doorway that leads to the kitchen but no. It won’t work. This one opens outwards.
Under the bed.
No. Too obvious.
The cupboard.
I grab my thin duvet and rush to the huge sideboard. I open one of the doors and crawl inside, grateful I’ve emptied it of old rubbish, and tuck the cover under and around my sodden robe. I find a screw head on the inside of the cupboard door and use it to pull the door shut. I wrap my arms around my knees and hunch into as tiny a ball as possible. I rock slowly back and forth, blood pounding through my veins. I’m trembling all over.
I listen.
Nothing.
I put my head on my knees, silent tears soaking into the thin duvet and then lift my head in horror.
I can hear the unmistakable sound of laughter. Deep and male. There’s no doubt about it now. I’m not going crazy or suffering from paranoia. There’s someone in the house.
Chapter 43
A layer of sweat coats my skin but I’m too afraid to move, to push the cover off my damp body. Instead, I sit perfectly still and focus on the trails of moisture tickling my skin as they run down my sides and back. I try to breathe slowly, to calm my pounding heart. Will he go around the house and through the kitchen to get to me? Does he know the layout of the building? Can he get in? No, I don’t think so. The doors are all bolted. I wait, tugging hairs out one at a time, concentrating. Listening for footsteps or the sounds of a search.
Who is it? A Rigby, Julian, newly-released Simon or a stranger…?
The house gives nothing away. Time has no relevance. My whole world has shrunk to the inside of this musty cupboard and I’m either safe or I’m not. Cramp sinks its teeth into the back of my calf and I bite the cover to stifle my moan of pain. I knead my fingertips into the muscle, trying to break the spasm. I have to stretch out. I can’t stay here all night. I’ll count to 1,000 then I’ll come out.
That’s not long enough. Perhaps I’ll count to 2,000 or even 3,000… Four thousand beats later I push the door open an inch and listen.
Silence.
No laughter, no footsteps. I ease myself out of the cupboard, my legs too stiff to straighten, and roll quietly onto the floor wrapped in the duvet. The poker is a short distance away so I roll towards it and snatch hold of the handle.
How long have I hidden in there for? It’s difficult to tell. An hour? Two? My feet and buttocks begin to prickle as the blood flows more freely. Surely he would have got me by now if he was coming for me? Or did I imagine it after all? The room is so bright it hurts my eyes. I blink and rub them then look at the doorway to the kitchen. The door’s still firmly shut. I peer under the bed. I’m alone in the room. I’d have heard if anyone came through the kitchen door. I let out a long breath then sit up and look at the window above me. The sky is dark and full of heavy clouds. No stars, no moon. Rain bounces on the flagstones outside and water spews from a blocked gutter above, splattering on the window in huge drops. If the rain carries on like this there’ll be flooding as the ground’s too hard and dry to absorb the deluge.
I crawl towards the bed, dragging my duvet after me. I climb onto the mattress and curl up like a baby, hugging a pillow to my chest. I’ll face the door and stay awake. But wait. I didn’t check behind the curtains. I clutch the poker tightly and climb out of bed again. My legs feel weak and I have to steady myself before I step forward. I creep towards the curtains then, lifting the poker aloft, fling the left one aside.
Nothing.
I do the same on the other side then breathe heavily with relief. I close the curtains again then fall back into bed, still clasping the poker.
A blade of sunlight cuts through the window, turning my eyelids red. I cover my face with the duvet and roll away from the light, then sit up abruptly as I feel something hard digging into my ribcage. The events of the night before rush into my head and I see the chest of drawers in front of the door. The physical reminders tell me I haven’t imagined it all – the lamp on its side on the floor, the poker in the bed and the sideboard cupboard yawning wide open, littered with loose hairs. I have survived the night. I get unsteadily to my feet and pull the belt of my wrap tighter around my waist. It’s six in the morning – too early for workmen to be on the premises. I look all around the room and listen. A wood pigeon coos outside the window and I’m struck by a strange smell. It’s almost like that of a wet dog. I go to the French doors and move the curtain aside, peering from left to right for any sign of another human being. The place is deserted. The smell’s stronger now and seems to be seeping through the ill-fitting door frame. Wet earth after heavy rain.
I think I’ll feel safer outside. I open the door and step onto the terrace, lifting my face to the sun. What a relief to be in daylight. It has stopped raining but there are massive puddles everywhere. Sunlight sparkles on the surfaces and lights up beads of water on the leaves of the wisteria. The grounds are dark and sodden. The fresh summer air is like balm and the horrors of last night begin to recede in my memory.
I go back inside and shut the doors, feeling stronger and more in control of my fears. I need to check the house to make sure there’s no one else in here and inspect the damage to the study door. I’ll ask the workmen to fix the lock and replace the glass. I shove the chest of drawers back then walk silently through the house. Sunlight pools on the floors, warming the still air and bringing a sense of normality and tranquillity. I look around the room. The French door in the study is still closed but the pane of glass is missing, apart from two jagged shards attached to the frame. A warm summer breeze drifts through, smelling of the honeysuckle that grows around the doorway.
The room is empty. Empty of threat and menace. I look behind the armchair for traces of an intruder but there are so many footprints in the dust that I can’t tell. I stand by the French doors and study the room. Could I have been wrong? Could I have mistaken the tall standard lamp with the drape of dust sheet for a man? Not really, although in my heightened level of fear last night anything is possible. And what about the laughter? That had sounded real. I consider calling the police to say I had an intruder but apart from the broken glass there really isn’t any evidence, and it smashed because the wind caught it. Nothing is missing and there is nothing worth stealing. I don’t want to waste their time.
I open the door and step outside, careful to avoid treading on the glass, then look beyond the terrace along the banks of grassland that lead down to the lake. Wait. Was that Morse I just saw down by the water? Maybe he’s a regular visitor after all and he might have left the rat. If it is him, I’ll bring him back to the house and call Sandy. I hurry to the kitchen and tip some tuna in a bowl then rush to my makeshift bedroom to pull on shorts and a T-shirt and a pair of trainers.
The lake seems higher and I’m surprised so much rain has fallen in so short a space of time. The ground is still hard underfoot, the water unable to soak into the compacted earth. I’m beginning to feel better now – the terror of last night diminishing in the beauty of the surroundings. Up above me an aeroplane draws a graffiti line across the clear blue sky. It looks like we’re in for another hot day. I walk around the edge of the lake, calling Morse.
There’s no sign of him and I begin to wonder if I saw a fox and not a cat. I tilt my head to one side and listen carefully for the angry squawking of a territorial blackbird, a sure giveaway of the presence of a cat, and I’m surprised to see a constant circle of ripples moving steadily across the surface of the lake. The stream must be full. I approach with caution. The ground seems to have shifted and earth and stones are washing down to the lake. The stream looks more like a river now. Water tumbles and gushes over rocks; swirling leaves and twigs getting caught in broken branches only to be released again to continue their journey.
I wander upstream at a safe distance then come to an abrupt halt. Up ahead, a tree has toppled, exposing a tangle of roots. The soil holding it steady must have shifted because of the prolonged drought, leaving it vulnerable to the furious gales of last night. I study the roots and the shapes they form. How strange. That small bleached branch of twigs poking out from the newly-exposed bank looks exactly like a skeleton’s hand. I might take it home and draw it. I move closer, carefully negotiating my way through the snaking roots, and bend down to peer at the detail of the structure. My heart stops beating. A scream echoes inside my head like a fire alarm and my stomach turns inside out. I back away, tripping over in my haste and nearly falling.
It is a human hand.
Chapter 44
‘Here, drink this.’ PC Mills hands me a mug of sweet tea then sits next to me at the kitchen table. ‘It must have been a terrible shock for you,’ she says. Her green eyes are warm and full of genuine sympathy.
I nod and sip my tea. ‘How long do you think it’s been there?’
‘It’s difficult to tell. The pathologists will need to examine the bones and run some tests but from what I saw it looks as though the skeleton is intact and has been there some time.’
‘Oh?’
‘The tree must have grown around it after it was buried. It wouldn’t have been possible to dig a big enough grave through all the roots.’
Dig a grave? My skin contracts as though I’ve got into an ice bath. ‘Will they be able to find out who it is?’
‘Sometimes we can track people through old dental records. Sometimes they might be wearing a distinctive piece of jewellery or belt buckle that links them to a missing person record on police files.’
‘What about DNA?’
‘Highly unlikely. It was only in 2013 that a separate database was set up to record the DNA of missing persons and I think the body has been there much longer than that.’
I sit in silence for a few minutes trying to take it all in. Someone else had been murdered at Black Hollow Hall. ‘How long will it be before we know?’
‘It’s likely to be at least a week or two for all the tests to be run and analysed. Do you have anyone to stay here with you? I’m sure it must all be very unsettling.’
I need to phone Reuben. ‘I’m not sure. Can I make a phone call?’
‘Of course, go ahead.’
‘I’ll have to go to the coach house. There’s no phone here and my mobile doesn’t work.’
‘No phone signal? Don’t you feel cut off?’ She looks around the vast kitchen and rubs the back of her arm.
‘Do you think I’m in danger here?’ I ask her.
PC Mills’ eyes widen in surprise. ‘From whoever buried those old bones out there? I doubt it.’ Her eyes narrow now as she looks at me, then she asks, ‘Why? Has something else happened?’
Lots of things. But I’m not sure where reality begins and imagination ends. ‘How can I find out if someone is still in prison or not?’
‘There’s a Prisoner Location Service but it doesn’t give information out to the public without good reason. Who are you trying to locate?’
‘My uncle. My dad’s brother. He was put away for twenty years for murdering their father. Do you think he could have had anything to do with this… skeleton?’
‘I’m sure we’ll look into all the angles.’ She puts a comforting hand on my forearm. ‘This must all be very difficult for you.’
PC Mills’ sympathy pulls a thread in the tight weave of denial I’ve built around myself. I need to tell someone the truth. ‘I keep thinking there’s someone in the house but I’m not sure if I’m imagining it. Last night I thought there was an intruder. The door to the library smashed in the storm.’
‘Do you want to show me?’
I lead PC Mills through the house. Her neck cranes from left to right as she takes in the splendour of the old building, so I explain how I’ve come to own it and the conditions of the will.
‘I can see why you don’t want to give up on the place,’ she says. ‘It’s absolutely beautiful.’
When we reach the study doorway she looks around, careful not to disturb the scene in case she destroys evidence.
‘Did you say the door was swinging about before the glass broke?’ she asks.
‘Yes, it shattered while I was in here.’
‘In that case I can’t see any sign of a break-in, Tasha. There are no marks on the frame and there are so many footprints and scuff marks from your builders it would be difficult to work out if a stranger was in here.’ She looks at the tall lampstand and squints. ‘Might you have mistaken this for a person? In the dark, I mean. You said you only had a couple of tea lights.’
‘I might have done,’ I admit. But what if someone had draped that sheet over it on purpose to make it look like an intruder?
‘What else has happened?’
I tell her about the power going off and the cat in the house but it sounds so weak I can’t go on. Was the laugh real or had I imagined that as well? I need to seek help. I lead her back to the kitchen.
‘I’ll take a statement from you as soon as you’ve made your call,’ PC Mills says as she sits back down at the kitchen table.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Reuben sounds stunned when I tell him I found a skeleton in the grounds. ‘What? For real? You mean a human skeleton?’
‘I found a hand sticking out after a tree got uprooted in the storm but apparently the rest of the skeleton is there too.’
‘Jesus, Tash. Are you okay? Are the police with you?’
‘They’ve got a team here.’
‘Do they know who it is? The skeleton, I mean.’
‘Not yet, but they think it’s been there a long time.’
‘You must feel terrible,’ Reuben says. ‘Why don’t you go back to Luton and I’ll ask my boss if I can come home too?’
I certainly don’t want to stay here for another night on my own but neither do I want to go to Luton unless I’m sure Reuben will be able to get back. He’s only just landed in Germany for a three-day stint. I suppose I could stay at Reuben’s parents if he can’t.
‘Okay.’ I let out a long breath. ‘Let me know what your boss says and I’ll pack a few things.’
‘I’ll call at noon. Make sure you’re by the phone.’
I give my statement to PC Mills then wander down towards the lake. A tent has been erected over the skeleton and a wide area has been cordoned off with crime scene tape. Metal squares are laid on the ground like tiles to form a walkway. A large man dressed all in white with equipment slung over his shoulder is lifting the flap of the tent. Probably going in to take photographs. I shudder at the thought of a body being concealed in my own garden. As I turn to look back at the house my emotions are in turmoil. In the light of this real trauma, my terrors of last night seem pitifully unreal. I’m going to do what I should have done months ago – make an appointment to see my doctor. Anxiety is running away with me, threatening my well-being and my relationship too. I need to put a stop to it once and for all.
