Last Rites (27 page)

I sat back with a smile. I was impressed. A killer
drawing a big arrow to his own home, created by a desire to do exactly the opposite.

But then something occurred to me, and I thought about Lancashire for a moment, a county clustered around the west coast, with the jaded resorts of Blackpool and Morecambe, and further inland the larger cities of Preston and Lancaster. East of all of that, the clutter became countryside, as the concrete turned into the hills of the Ribble Valley and the ruggedness of the moors further south. Running through those scenes was the cotton belt, the ribbon of cotton towns that hugged the Leeds-Liverpool canal until it disappeared into the Pennine Hills and Yorkshire.

‘But if you add the coven deaths into the equation,’ I said, ‘doesn't the centre of the circle change? Susannah Martin was found in a copse just outside of Skipton, much further east.’

‘Making it somewhere not far from Pendle Hill?’ Joe queried. But before I could say anything, he added, ‘You're trying to make the facts fit the conclusion. That's the wrong way round.’

‘But the same sort of people are victims,’ I countered. ‘Pretty young women, and most of the coven members don't fit that description.’

‘Most victims are pretty young women,’ Joe said, and then he raised his hand. ‘Okay, I'll go with this imaginary scenario. He didn't start off targeting coven members. He went after young women, mostly fair-haired and pretty. If he is killing coven members, he is following the same pattern of victim, but just restricting his choice even more. But none of the rest fits, and why would he
suddenly move on to members of a witches' coven? None of the other coven members died like Rebecca.’

‘Two are missing persons, and so we don't know how they died,’ I said.

‘Or even if they're dead,’ Joe responded.

I breathed out noisily. ‘This is heavy stuff.’

‘No, it's not,’ said Joe. ‘It's imaginary. Maybe you're planning one of those press conspiracies, knitting possibles into probables, but I still don't think Sarah has anything to do with Rebecca Nurse, or the women killed before her – and if this is nothing to do with Rebecca, then you haven't got many coincidences.’

‘I hope you're right,’ I said, ‘because it's Halloween, Samhain, whatever you want to call it, and if there is a connection, tonight is the night Sarah will die.’

‘I know that,’ Joe replied, his face grim, ‘but we have no evidence.’ He sighed. ‘I'll put out a general alert for unusual activity tonight, but the whole county will be filled with masks and lanterns.’

Then I thought of something else.

‘I've been followed,’ I said.

Laura looked shocked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that. Someone in a tatty white van, small, an Astra. I started to notice it, and I've been seeing it more and more.’

‘Why do you think it has anything to do with this case?’ she pressed.

‘Because I've been at Sarah's house a few times, and around Pendle, asking questions. That's when I noticed it, when I was in Newchurch.’

Joe nodded and made a note on a scrap of paper,
putting it into his pocket. ‘Okay, we'll look into that. If we get some news, you'll be the first to know.’ Then he smiled at me and gestured towards Laura. ‘The afternoon is nearly over. Take Laura up Pendle Hill. That's what most local people do on Halloween. If you're right, it's about to get really busy around here.’

I remembered the tradition from my own childhood, the torch-lit procession up the hill, excited children in masks and costumes, the hillside filled with lights, like lines of fireflies.

Then I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I looked at the screen. A text, from Katie.
‘Call me please. Urgent.’

When I pulled up outside Sarah's house, Katie came rushing out to meet me. She wrapped her arms around me, tears running down her face.

‘Jack! I'm scared.’

I pulled away from her. ‘What's wrong?’

She reached into her pocket and produced an envelope.

‘Another letter?’ I asked, surprised.

Katie nodded and wiped her eyes.

‘Hand-delivered again, when you were out?’ I asked.

Katie nodded and sniffled and then thrust it into my hand.

I looked at it and took a deep breath. Everything was coming to a head. The Facebook entry. Olwen's prediction. And I remembered the thread in the other letters, how they started with the accusation, then the evidence, and concluded with the judgement. Only one thing could come next: the sentence.

‘Have you read it?’

Katie shook her head but said nothing.

I looked at it, and then at Katie, who was looking
around as if she expected someone to be watching her. I let out a breath, nervous about opening the envelope, but I knew I needed to see what was in there.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘here goes.’

The envelope was only folded closed, so I flicked it open. I saw a piece of simple lined paper, just like before. I looked at Katie. She had her eyes closed.

I reached in and slid the piece of paper out slowly. As I opened it, Sarah's script appeared again, just a few lines, although it seemed more jagged now, less neat.

I read it to myself first, and I felt my mouth go dry.

‘What does it say?’ Katie asked.

I looked again at the words and then read out loud, ‘
I shall go from here to the place from where I came; from there I shall be carried to the place of execution, where my body shall be hanged until I be dead. Sarah.’

Katie put her face in her hands and began to sob.

‘This is it,’ she wailed. ‘The end.’

As I looked at the words again, I took a deep breath, and realised that there was no other conclusion.

Sarah was back in the circle. She sensed that it was evening, and she was certain about the date. Samhain, her favourite time of year. Dancing with her friends, music, cakes and ale. Her head was down as she tried to think of her friends, to find the strength to meditate, to join with them in spirit, but it was hard. She felt drained, despondent.

She looked up when the door slid open. He wasn't there to bring her food, Sarah guessed that straight away. Although she couldn't see his eyes, concealed as always under the hood, he seemed more animated. He was holding a long piece of cord, and he was swinging it in his hand, the end trailing on the floor behind him. In his other hand he was holding a blue plastic sheet.

Sarah didn't move, except that she looked down at the bones, still visible, like a sign of what was to come. Would her parents ever find out what had happened to her? Or would they always wonder, waiting for her to walk back into the house?

The man grabbed Sarah roughly by the arms and hauled her to her feet, pushing her against the wall, his
hands around her throat. Sarah didn't resist. She wanted to fight him, hurt him, but she couldn't make herself, as if she had no fight left. She felt his hands scrabbling at her clothes, pulling them off. Then his hands were behind her, wrapping the rope around her wrists, tying a knot, and she winced when he pulled it tight. He pushed her face into the wall, the bare stone scratching her cheek, and then kicked her legs open, heavy boots against her ankle bone. She felt his rough fingers fumble with her, his hand between her legs, scratching at her thighs, feeling for her. A tear ran down her cheek and she retched, waiting for him. She didn't move or try to get away. Get it over with, she thought, and then she gasped as she felt the jab of something inside her. She closed her eyes.

But then she was confused. He stepped away from her, pulled her away from the wall, and whatever he had put inside her was still there.

Sarah looked at him, scared as to what was coming next. He threw the plastic sheet over her head and pulled her towards him as he tied it around her thighs.

She took some deep breaths, her panic rising, unable to see him or to guess what was coming next. Her breaths came back at her, damp and warm behind the plastic sheet. Then he grabbed her and walked her towards the door.

Her feet hurt as she was propelled up the steps, her toes banging on the stone, and she gasped when she realised that she was outside. The wind was cold against her bare legs, and when she looked down her body she could just see the ground between her feet. It was
night-time, her legs in shadow. Sharp gravel dug into her feet as she was pulled along, with no idea of where she was going, but she felt a surge of hope, gained some strength from it. She was outside, no longer in the room. Maybe he was going to let her go, tie her up and dump her somewhere, so that she wouldn't know where she had been. They'd had their games, and now it was the end. She was going home.

Sarah heard a car door open and pulled back, not wanting to go in the boot again, but strong hands pushed her onto the floor of the car, face down, wedged between the front and rear seats. When the door closed, she heard an engine start up, and it moved slowly away.

Bobby was pulling on Laura's arm as we got nearer to Pendle Hill. We were walking through Sabden, just along the valley from Newchurch, a collection of stone cottages with peephole windows and small studded doors, and narrow lanes with trailing rose bushes straddling the walls.

There was a crowd ahead, excited children in Halloween costumes and adults holding torches, the night air throbbing with the sounds of footsteps and music coming from car radios, all mixed in with the generators for the burger vans. It seemed like everyone was laughing, the normally quiet village streets brought to life by excited children and Halloween revellers. Older teenagers headed for the hill in outlandish costumes, vampires and horror characters, and parents went along with the game, wearing flashing deely-boppers that they could discard when the children got bored.

I looked towards the hill, at the dark shadow looming ahead. Heading upwards, I could see a long line of torches and lanterns, and the side of the hill flickered in reds, blues and greens from the glow-sticks bought from street peddlers.

Sam Nixon was with us, along with his wife, Helena. He'd called me, asked for a progress report, so we followed Joe's suggestion and headed to Pendle Hill, to get lost in the crowd. But I didn't feel the excitement. All I could think about was Sarah.

Sam and Helena were with their children, two young boys, both young enough to enjoy the adventure of a late-night walk up a spooky old hill. They were pushing each other, spoiling for a wrestle, and so we set off walking, hoping that the trek might quieten them down.

Helena set the pace, talking to Laura, just small-talk about children and school, the pressures of motherhood. Pendle Hill was almost invisible in the darkness, so we just followed the lights and the noise of laughing teenagers, their bags clinking with alcopops, ready for the party at the top. The ground was firm underneath, the night cold and clear, and the stars twinkled brightly over the towns and villages, the streetlights turning the road into orange strips as we got higher.

‘How do you think the police are faring?’ Sam asked. ‘Will they catch Sarah?’

I thought of all that Kinsella had talked about earlier in the day.

‘If you're hoping for a murder case, I think you might miss out,’ I answered. ‘There's a possibility Sarah has been kidnapped.’

Sam looked astonished, and I gave him a summary of what Olwen had told me. He didn't answer straight away, and I didn't push it. We just followed our partners and the children, the night getting colder all the time.

‘That will be a relief for her parents, in a strange kind of way,’ he said eventually.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Mr and Mrs Goode are solid people. The thought that their daughter was a murderer was a lot to take in. If Sarah is a victim, then she will remain special, still the gentle girl they know.’

‘There's a downside to that,’ I said.

‘Which is?’

‘That if the theory
is
correct, then tonight is the night that Sarah dies.’

Sam looked at me, and I could tell he was shocked, despite the darkness.

‘Why tonight?’

‘Because of this,’ I said, gesturing to the scene around me. ‘Halloween. The death may be symbolic, when it comes.’

‘And what do the police think about that?’ he asked.

I smiled ruefully. ‘They're unconvinced, and if they're wrong, then Sarah Goode will be having the worst night of her life right now.’ And then I felt a stab of guilt as I thought about how we were enjoying ourselves. ‘And her last,’ I added quietly.

The journey didn't take long.

Sarah could hear other traffic going by, the noise of everyday lives. She was naked under the plastic sheet, jammed between the seats, sweating and scared.

They hadn't travelled far, just a few turns and a couple of hills, when she heard the road change from the tarmac hum to the scramble of a track, and she was bounced
around in the cramped space between the seats, her head banging on the floor of the car.

Was this it? The release point?

She was jolted forward as the brakes sent small stones scattering, and they arrived at their journey's end. She sensed that she was about to get her answer.

I was deep in thought, my mind on Sarah, when I saw movement in front of me, sharp and fast, moving from side to side. Then I saw it was Bobby, running towards me, roaring, his face hidden behind a monster mask, a black plastic cape over his coat, a scarred red face and gravestone teeth, the hair coming down in black nylon curls, Laura's torch flashing around in front of him.

‘You scared me,’ I said playfully, pretending to go to my knees. When he grabbed me, his arms squeezing hard around my neck, I could hear his excitement from the shrieks coming from behind the mask.

‘Did the pumpkin get too hot?’ I asked him.

‘It was too heavy,’ he complained. ‘I gave it to Mummy.’

I saw Laura lift the lantern ahead of us, and the flicker of the candle inside threw orange shadows over her face.

I heard Bobby yelp as I lifted him onto my shoulders and felt his thighs clamp my cheekbones. People jostled us as they went past us on the path, but Bobby liked it up there, with a good view over the Lancashire countryside, the old cotton towns nestling in the valleys, sometimes spilling onto the hilltops, the farmsteads just
dots on the hills, the lights weak and yellow. I guessed that somewhere, in a dark space between those lights, was Sarah Goode, and I felt my mood slide again.

Laura dropped back and slipped her hand into mine. ‘This could be quite romantic, if things were different,’ she whispered in my ear.

I looked around. I could see the lights and steam from a burger van that was parked further along, just before the track got too slippery.

I squeezed her hand. ‘It must be the cold air that makes you so easily pleased.’

Laura glanced over at some teenagers; they were showing off, laughing too loudly at a joke that probably wasn't that funny. ‘I wonder what they would say if they knew what could happen tonight,’ she said.

I looked at the youths, and then at the other children with their parents, loving the change from the homework routine.

‘I reckon they would come out just the same,’ I replied.

I could see Sam and Helena further up the hill as they let their children run around, yelping and squealing, and Laura followed my gaze.

‘I love you, Jack Garrett,’ whispered Laura. ‘You know that, don't you?’

I squeezed her hand. ‘I like it when you remind me.’

‘Do you think we'll ever be like that?’ she said, looking towards Sam and Helena. ‘Our own children, I mean.’

I felt a jolt, unsure what the right answer might be, but then I realised how Laura's hand felt in mine, comforting, warm. ‘One day, I reckon,’ I said softly, ‘but we'd have to get married first.’

Laura looked up at me, her eyes gleaming, and then she kissed me. For a moment, it felt like it had the first time, the flutter of nerves, that tingle down my spine, and then I felt Bobby kick his legs against my chest.

‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded.

I squeezed his ankles. ‘Just telling your mummy that she is special.’

Bobby giggled at that.

‘You'll keep me safe, won't you?’ Laura murmured in my ear.

‘That's your job,’ I said. ‘You're the one with the truncheon.’

Laura laughed at that and linked her arm in mine. In that second, some of the stresses of the past few weeks lifted, and it felt like we were a brand-new couple again.

Sarah felt another blast of cold air as the car doors opened. Rough, callused hands grabbed at her legs and started to pull her out of the car. She shouted out as she landed on the ground, her shoulder taking a jolt, and then she felt cold gravel beneath her as she was pulled to her feet. She was gripped tightly by the arms, making her cry out in pain, and then she was pulled down the track, stones and grit scraping the soles of her feet as she did her best to keep her balance. Her captor was silent. The noise of the traffic was louder now, like it was overhead.

Was she about to be left? There had been too many opportunities back in the room to kill her. Any time, she could have been tortured, killed, dismembered, disposed of, never seen again. Like the bones in the dirt. She was different now, away from the room.

Sarah wasn't taken too far. Her feet hurt, cut by stones, and when they stopped, her chest ached and her legs felt weak. Sarah listened, and she thought she could hear water, just a light trickle.

The plastic sheet was torn off her head. Sarah blinked. She couldn't wipe her eyes as her hands were still bound.

She saw flickering lights. The stars were bright, her first view since she'd had a different life, but then she saw more lights, headlights as they swept the sky above her. She could see the concrete supports, the motorway, a bridge over a river. Sarah tried to look around, to take in her surroundings, and she saw houses not far away. There was a glow of a conservatory, the clean lines of a modern cul-de-sac, and streetlights that led away, up a hill.

She was about to shout out when a cord was wrapped around her neck. It was pulled tight so that a small knot dug into the back of her neck, and then she was turned around as it was connected to her wrists. She tried to pull away, acting on instinct, but it made her gasp as the cord around her neck went tighter.

‘Even the start of a scream, and I'll kill you right now,’ he whispered into her ear.

He turned her round again so that she was facing him. The wind was cold, and she was naked. He pulled her closer, one hand behind her, clutching her bound wrists. She could smell cigarettes, and could feel his erection pressing hard against her stomach.

‘What do you see?’ he hissed at her.

Sarah shook her head. She couldn't speak.

He yanked the cord down, pulling her head back. ‘Tell
me,’ he said, and brought her right up against him, so that his hood was brushing her face. Her chest hurt; she wanted to take a breath, but couldn't, the rope squeezing her throat. Sarah looked up to the stars. She thought they were moving, streaks not dots.

‘Tell me what you see,’ he said, angrier now.

Sarah shook her head again. He sounded more distant now, his voice an echo.

‘Tell me, tell me,’ he said, and he tugged at the cord.

She let out a strangled gasp and her vision became speckled, her chest aching for air. She thought she saw herself on the grass, underneath him, and then she saw her mother crying. Her knees started to give way and his voice faded, her terror replaced by calm.

As she fell, she thought she heard him groaning. It sounded like moans of ecstasy.

Sarah wasn't sure how long she had passed out for. The sounds came back slowly and she lay on her side on the cold, hard ground for a while, stones cutting into her arm, coughing so that her chest hurt as she gulped in the cold air. The cord seemed looser around her throat.

‘What did you see?’ he asked, just behind her, his voice quieter now.

Sarah took some deep breaths, tried to think about where she was. ‘Are you going to let me go?’ she asked.

He chuckled.

Sarah didn't say anything, so he jumped to his feet and yanked on the rope binding her wrists.

Sarah yelped and stood up slowly. Tears started to stream down her face. She no longer felt the cold. Her life was
going to end soon, she knew that; she was about to die at the hand of someone she didn't know She strained on the rope to get away, but he yanked her back, pulling her to the floor, hurting her neck.

‘Let me go, please,’ she pleaded desperately.

‘What, you won't tell?’ he said mockingly. He kicked her. ‘Forget it, because my little helper has prepared me a treat.’

Sarah tried to pull away, her feet scattering stones, blood on her toes. ‘No, no, no!’ she wailed.

‘Do you want to know what you've got between your legs?’ he continued, enjoying himself now.

Sarah remembered him putting it there, his rough hands, his force. She could still feel whatever it was inside her. She shook her head slowly and said nothing.

‘Gunpowder,’ he said simply. ‘We're experimenting, branching out. He's got a thing for explosives. This is a new idea of his. Gunpowder and ball-bearings, jammed into a condom.’ He chuckled. ‘Like a small bomb.’

Sarah's mouth dropped open. She went pale, cold. She began to sob, and then she began to thrash on the rope, trying to get away, knowing what was coming, but it went tight around her neck again. She thought of her parents, thought of home. She tried to scream, but he shot forward and put a rag in her mouth. It was soaked in petrol. Sarah coughed and gagged.

‘You've got a little string in there,’ he said, the excitement making his voice higher.

Sarah's head hung down, tears falling onto the ground.

‘Works like a fuse,’ he said, and then he began to laugh as he walked towards the car. Sarah looked around, tried
to figure out what to do, to quell the panic so she could work out how to get away. She looked back to the houses, the security of the lights, the lantern glow of trick-or-treat children on the cul-de-sac. She could get there, make a run for it. She was young, fit.

She set off, her bare feet pounding on the cold, hard ground, her hands still behind her back. Her chest hurt and she was weak from hunger, but terror drove her onwards, her head thrown back, just the noise of footsteps in her head.

But the ground was uneven, it was difficult to keep her legs upright. She hit a dip and went down hard, with nothing to break her fall. As she turned around, panting, crying, looking up, she saw him over her, laughing at her, something in his hand. A canister, large, like a fuel can.

She struggled to her feet, ready to run again, but he was moving too fast. She heard movement, a shout, and then felt a splash. It was petrol, the stench sweet in the clean air, filling her nostrils.

And then she saw him flick the lighter into life.

She screeched through the rag in her mouth, knowing what was coming.

He laughed and then tossed the lighter towards her. The flame came arcing at her, spinning slowly, yellow and blue stars dancing in the air, and then it hit her in the chest, cold metal. The pause was only for a fraction, but in that moment she saw everything. Her house, her friends. Her parents smiling. Last day at school. Her first time. The last time. Kisses. Fights. Laughter. Tears. Then she looked down and saw the flames spread in a flash, and then that was all Sarah could see.

A deep breath sucked in flames and the heat poured into her, igniting the cloth, drowning out her screams. She stumbled around, her thoughts slashed away by pain, tearing at her as the fire raged. Then the world went black as the gunpowder caught hold.

The last sound Sarah heard was the noise of her body falling to the floor as her hips exploded and her legs left her body.