The Watcher (58 page)

Without warning she heard Tara’s voice again and felt the shudder of horror that it had caused in her.

‘No, at some point it wasn’t enough just to scare Roberts and Westley.’

‘And that’s when you killed them?’

‘Yes. But at the moment I did it . . . it wasn’t them I was killing. They were just a continuation of a moment that had freed me. But that hadn’t satisfied me completely. I’ll never, never, never be satisfied.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I can’t stop. When I killed Roberts and Westley, I recognised that I won’t be able to stop for as long as I live.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Lucy. My mother. I can’t stop killing my mother.’

John had not expected that somewhere like the Peak District would have cul-de-sacs, but it seemed that they had landed in just such a road. They had followed the country lane for ages without seeing Tara’s car, and now suddenly everything ended in a kind of turning circle. Without any warning. Dense woods lay ahead of them and to either side. And nowhere was there any sign of another car, let alone of a hut or of two women trudging through the snow.

He would have to turn the car around. But first he stopped. ‘All right. Looks like that’s as far as we’re going with this road. It must have been the wrong one.’

Samson sounded depressed. ‘There must be tons of roads like this around here.’

‘No doubt. Show me the map again.’

He studied it. ‘I’d say we’re somewhere around here. In other words, we’re still in the area that Sherman circled. Although pretty near the bottom edge of it. The hut might be nearer the centre.’

‘If it is even in the area. Sherman never saw the hut himself, after all. And it’s thirty years since the location was described to him,’ Samson pointed out.

John felt like flinging the book at him but he controlled himself. ‘Of course. He might have got it wrong in his mind. Or the hut might no longer exist. Maybe Tara Caine headed somewhere completely different. She and Gillian could be in Cornwall. Or Scotland. Or in a godforsaken Welsh village. Who knows. But this hut is the only, minuscule lead we have, and although I’m going half crazy thinking that we might be wasting our time here, we’ve got no other choice. All the other options are even more absurd.’

‘Of course,’ agreed Samson. ‘So . . . we’ll drive back?’

John turned on the engine. ‘Yes. I remember that back near the start of the lane there was a turn-off. It seemed to head north. We should try that next.’

‘But it was a very narrow lane.’

‘It looked cleared to me. And who knows what road it might lead to. The roads here are like a spider’s web – each thread is connected to all the others. At some point we’ll have tried them all.’

They drove on. The evening was sunk in complete darkness. Samson looked anxiously out of the window, always hoping to discover some decisive clue. One thing he was sure of. Their theory that the women had only taken the more important roads seemed to be correct. He could not even make out any of the minor tracks for all the snow.

It’s going to be OK
, he said silently to himself, but he was not sure if he believed his own words.

He had not noticed that they had driven down the dead-end road for so long. In any case, the drive back seemed to take ages. They had rejected the turn-off the first time as being too narrow. They had not spotted any other options.

‘It’s taking too long,’ John moaned through gritted teeth.

They turned into the lane. It appeared to lead to a wide, hilly, treeless landscape.

‘The high moors,’ said John. ‘They start here.’ He cursed. ‘Sherman mentioned the moors. We’ve come too far south. I should have noticed that earlier.’

He braked as the road divided. They had come to a small crossroads. They could carry on straight ahead, or turn right or left.

‘Shit,’ said Samson.

‘We might as well toss a coin,’ said John. He peered out, trying to get his bearings. ‘Sherman said that the hut was built on the edge of some woodland. Which makes sense. Caine’s father built it himself and he won’t have wanted to drag tree trunks over hill and dale. Where can we see some woods?’

Both men got out. The wind, which seemed strong and – at least it appeared to them – colder, made them jump.

‘God, it’s cold,’ said John. He breathed into his hands, which already felt frozen from the shock of the cold. Hopefully Gillian was not out in the open somewhere in this wide expanse, far from any human habitation. You could easily freeze to death on a night like this.

‘Over there,’ said Samson. He pointed north. ‘I think there’s a wood on the horizon!’

The slightly darker strip in the distance could be a wood, John had to admit. That would mean that they needed to carry on straight ahead. They could not see anything to the right or left, although that did not necessarily mean that there
wasn’t
a wood there. In those directions the terrain was more hilly and it was not possible to see as far. They could only see to the first large hills. What lay behind them was anyone’s guess.

‘Let’s carry on in this direction,’ he decided. ‘Perhaps you’re right, and that is a wood over there. We can’t see anything else, so – as we’ve done until now – we need to be happy with the leads we have. Onwards!’

They got back in. They drove on.

Following their tiny chance.

She had fallen asleep in the end, although she had wanted to avoid that at all costs. She woke with a start from a confused dream. She tried to sit up, but the pain stopped her. What was it? Everything hurt – every bone, muscle and nerve. She groaned, but then the realisation penetrated her sleepy haze that she had not suddenly fallen victim to some mysterious illness. What she was feeling was the result of the cramped way she had been lying. And the terrible cold. She had the impression that she had literally frozen stiff. She could not let herself fall asleep like that again. It was dangerous. She was lucky that something had woken her.

Something? Her dream, perhaps. She had been standing in front of her mother and Lucy had been talking to her. She had spoken so quietly that Tara had not understood anything. She had only seen her lips move and strained to hear a word or two. But in vain. She had pleaded with Lucy to speak up, but Lucy had just smiled and ignored her. It had driven Tara crazy to imagine that her mother might be saying something very important, the answer to all her questions, but that it would be lost because she could not hear her. Her heart had started to beat wildly. And that was what had woken her.

The thought came to her that her dead mother might have saved her from freezing to death by appearing in her dream. Was it possible? It would be the first time that her mother had intervened on her behalf. Tara did not know if she liked the thought of this or not. She had waited for years for Lucy to treat her like a mother should, and now she was not sure if she still wanted it.

No, I don’t, she decided, and ignoring the pain coursing through her body, she sat up.

And saw Gillian.

She was perhaps ten paces from the car. Not that she could actually recognise that it was Gillian. She just saw in the moonlight a dark figure outlined against the white snow. She was standing there, immobile, apparently looking at the car.

It could only be Gillian. Who else would be wandering around in this wilderness?

Tara was now wide awake. She lowered herself slowly back down on to the back seat. She wondered whether Gillian had seen her, or at the least seen a movement inside the car. If so, she had not reacted at all. Because of her stiff bones, Tara had only sat up partially, and without any quick movements, so she might not have been visible from outside.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! She felt queasy just to think that she might still have been sleeping. Gillian would have been able to overpower her easily. It would have been the end of everything.

How on earth had she managed to leave the hut? The place was so secure that it was practically impossible to get in or out when it was locked up. The only imaginable possibility was that Gillian had somehow found a tool that had helped her to break the lock or the shutters. But there was nothing inside the hut, absolutely nothing. Tara had emptied it years ago. There was no cutlery, no bottle opener, no toothbrush, nothing. The only things Gillian had to hand were two keys. It was a mystery how she had managed to get out with them.

The keys.
The car key
. It was within reach now. If she could take care of Gillian, then she would have the key. And would finally be able to leave this inhospitable place. She felt goose bumps all over as she imagined turning on the engine and cranking up the hot air. The longing for warmth was so strong she could have cried.

But she needed to keep a clear head. She tried to fish out her pistol but it had slipped too far forward under the front passenger seat. She could not find it. Never mind, she was a lousy shot anyway and only hit her target when it was right in front of the barrel. She had the knife in her hand but she could not rule out the possibility that Gillian was armed too. After all, she had used
something
to free herself from her prison. Nor was Tara’s position on the back seat particularly good. If Gillian looked into the car before she got in . . .

Cautiously Tara pulled the blanket up over herself and the whole back seat. She pressed herself as flat as she could into the soft upholstery. Of course, the blanket had been in the boot. But she doubted that Gillian would notice such details right now. And she, Tara, had the upper hand. Because she knew where Gillian was, while Gillian had no idea of her whereabouts. She probably thought Tara was on a long, arduous trek through the Peak District, heading towards Manchester.

Tara jumped when a metallic sound seemed to twitch through the whole car. What was it? Then she relaxed again. Gillian had used the remote to open the doors. Tara grinned. Luckily she had locked the doors from the inside. Gillian would assume that the car had been locked the whole time. She would never expect to find Tara inside.

Come on
, she mouthed.
Get in. Sit at the wheel. Come on
.

She heard the crunch of footsteps on snow. She held her breath, melting into the back seat under the folds of the enormous blanket. She made herself small, invisible.

The driver’s door opened.

Tara held the knife and the wire noose tightly in her hands.

This time she had covered the distance more quickly, in spite of her exhaustion. Fear drove her. She gave a sigh of relief when she finally saw the car. She was not surprised to find it there, because how would Tara have started it? Her steps become slower and more cautious. As she had not seen Tara on the walk back, she had realised that Tara had not tried to fetch the key. She had probably continued on foot.

She looked carefully at the car for a while, from a safe distance. She could see many footprints in the snow. They were probably from when she and Tara had set off that afternoon. Although some could be fresh footprints left by Tara. She had no doubt only realised that she did not have her keys when she was standing by the car. Gillian imagined how she would have rummaged anxiously in her bag, becoming more and more panicky. It must have been a terrible moment for her. To have been so close – and yet completely helpless.

Nothing moved, so after a good while she pointed the key at the car and bleeped the doors. The lights went on for a second and the doors opened. If the car had not been locked, the sound would have been different, as Gillian knew. Good. No one had opened the car since she and Tara had left.

She approached tentatively.

When she reached the driver’s door, she let her eyes sweep around the car’s interior. She thought she would need to use her torch, but by now there was a cloudless night sky and the light of the moon, strengthened by its reflection off the fields of snow, was sufficient to see by.

The car was empty. The blanket lay on the back seat in thick folds.

She opened the door.

Knocking the snow off her boots, she got in. She sank into the driver’s seat, putting the key in the ignition. The first two times she tried, she failed, because her fingers were so numb from the cold. The third time, her trembling prodding finally met with success. She turned the key. The engine started with a splutter and then stalled immediately.

No doubt because of the cold. Tara had said that sometimes, in really cold weather, her car struggled.

Come on, start!

The second attempt also failed. Experience with her own car had taught Gillian that in such situations it was best to wait a minute before trying again. Normally that did the trick. She leant back, her head on the headrest. She tried to calm herself down. She was so nervous that her whole body was shaking. She had almost managed. She had freed herself from the most dangerous situation of her whole life. Now the engine just needed to start and she would finally be safe.

Stop trembling! You’ve won!

She could not shake off the feeling of a lurking danger. Something made her heart pound, sent shivers up her arms and shot adrenalin round her body. It was almost worse than it had been before. She had felt this terrible fear and horror outside the car.

Now don’t get hysterical!

She was just about to lean forward and try to start the engine for a third time when she suddenly realised. Her instinct had understood long ago, but her brain had needed a little longer. The blanket. The old, scratchy woollen blanket should have been in the boot.

Not on the back seat!

She pushed the car door open and tried to reach safety with a quick dive from the car. At the same time, a black shadow suddenly appeared and filled the rear-view mirror. Gillian was a fraction of a second too late. The wire noose had been dropped over her head and was cutting into her neck. A sensation of indescribable pain. The noose was tugged tight so violently that Gillian was pulled back. Panicking, she grabbed at the wire with both hands. It was suffocating her, crushing her larynx. Only a desperate rattle came out of her mouth.