proper on the outside, and I think he liked that.’
‘And on the inside?’
Katie laughed, blushing slightly. ‘I used to hear them in the night. She wasn't always so reserved.’
‘So Sarah liked him,’ I said.
‘Oh, it was more than that,’ she replied, grinning now. ‘He was handsome, six foot and muscular.’ She traced the top of her cup with her finger. ‘She was falling in love.’
‘Was he?’
Katie sat back and thought for a few moments, more solemn now. ‘I really don't know,’ she said. ‘You know what men like him are like.’
‘You mean he was seeing other women?’
‘Don't men like Luke always see other women?’
Would it make her grab a knife and stab him, I thought to myself, as Katie twirled her fringe with her finger, watching me as I jotted down her quote?
‘So what do you think happened?’ I asked.
Katie watched me, almost studied me. ‘Why do you think my opinion matters?’
‘Because you knew both of them. The police didn't, and they've got an opinion.’
‘Have they?’
She was teasing me, trying to make me uncomfortable.
‘My guess is that the police think she killed him,’ I said.
She shrugged, her eyes never leaving mine. ‘They're the experts,’ she said.
That surprised me. It seemed like Katie agreed with the police hints, that Sarah was Luke's killer.
Katie glanced at her watch and put her cup down. ‘Have you got many more questions?’ she queried. ‘I've got to go somewhere.’
‘Lectures?’
She nodded.
‘Can we talk again?’ I asked.
Katie waved my business card at me. ‘I've got your number. I'll call you.’
I went to stand, but she leaned forward and grabbed my hand. Her fingers were warm and soft, her grip gentle, almost a caress.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Just for being nice. It seems like people avoid me now.’
I nodded and smiled, felt my cheeks flush. ‘That's okay,’ I said, and dropped her hand. I turned to go. I thought she was going to show me out, but she stayed in her seat, tapping my business card against her cheek.
‘Another time then,’ I said. I felt awkward but I didn't know why.
When Katie didn't answer, I let myself out. I looked back at the house and wondered at how much I had learned in there. And then I felt my cheeks. They were hot, and my fingers trembled slightly.
Sarah Goode scrambled backwards as the sound of the heartbeats stopped and the door at the end of the room slid open. It was heavy, and it scraped noisily against the soil in its runner as it was pushed open.
She saw the hood first, and she screamed out loud. It was black cloth, pulled over his head, ragged around the neck and tied by thin rope, scarecrow-like. It was a man, she knew that from his height and broad shoulders, but he seemed different. She had seen the hood before, when she had been taken out of the box to stretch her muscles, to ease out the cramp, to have the chance to breathe properly, and it had terrified her. It was faceless, emotionless, but that person had seemed different. Younger, slimmer.
He stepped into the room slowly, deliberately, his heavy boots shuffling on the floor. His arms didn't move as he walked towards her, his back ramrod straight so that he almost seemed to glide. The hood billowed out slowly as he breathed.
‘Hello Sarah,’ he said, his voice muffled.
Sarah felt the stone wall against her back as she reached the end of the room. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, her breaths coming fast.
He stopped and stood still for a moment, watching her. ‘Why do you need to know?’
‘Because you kept me in a box for a week,’ said Sarah, her voice cracking. She could feel him watching her and so she looked at the floor, tried to suck in some deep breaths to regain her composure. ‘I just feel like I've got a right to know,’ she said, her voice stronger this time, but she flinched when he moved closer to her.
Sarah gasped as she heard him laugh, just a deep chuckle under the hood.
‘You don't have any rights,’ he said quietly.
Sarah moaned and put her head in her hands. ‘What are you going to do to me?’ she pleaded.
‘I haven't decided.’
Sarah could feel the panic rising through her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them, didn't want to look weak in front of him. But it was hard. She knew what he was capable of, ever since her nightmare had begun a week earlier.
It had started with a knock on the door, close to midnight. She had almost ignored it – it was cold and dark outside and Luke felt good next to her, sleeping naked – but the second knock had been more insistent, louder, and so she had slipped on Luke's shirt and some old jeans and gone to answer the door.
All she had seen was the mask, like a shadow, and then his hands shot forward and grabbed her, an arm around her neck and a hand over her mouth, rough and callused, smelling of cigarettes and oil. She had tried to bite him and lashed out with her feet, but his arm went tighter around her neck as he dragged her out of the house.
She had heard Luke shout out, asking who was there, but a rag had been pushed into her mouth, petrol and grease, and the pavement tore the skin of her heels as she was dragged to a car, the street quiet, no one around.
The boot had been open, ready for her, but it had been cramped and filled with dirty tools and a spare wheel. She was pushed in there anyway, head first, her arms pulled behind her back, her wrists tied together quickly, before he slammed the lid down.
The memories flooded back as Sarah looked at him, in the same impenetrable black hood.
‘Why me?’ she wailed.
He tilted his head as he looked at her. ‘I'm here to look after you, Sarah. Is there anything you need?’
Sarah looked at him, incredulous. She glanced behind him, at the way out of the room, to the stairs that seemed to lead upwards.
‘I want to go home,’ she replied, meekly now.
‘Anything
