that he had already said too much.
There was a moan from a room along the hallway, on the other side of the living room. Everyone ignored it, except for Dawn, who shuffled uncomfortably.
Another moan.
John looked at Gemma, who shook her head, almost invisibly, but John caught the warning. Don’t go in there.
The moans were from the farmer who owned the house. A man in his seventies, he spent his time bedridden, looked after by whoever could face going into his room, provided that Henry agreed.
More moans, except that they were more pleading this time.
Dawn went to the table quickly and grabbed some bread, filled a cup with water, and started walking towards the door.
There was a crash. Plates banged. People jumped. Arni held out his stick, a gnarled cane made from polished oak, a brass gargoyle for a handle.
‘Don’t go in there,’ he shouted at her.
Dawn stopped. People looked at Arni, and then back at Dawn.
‘He’s hungry, and thirsty,’ Dawn said, her voice trembling.
Arni pointed the stick at a chair and shook his head. ‘Sit.’
Dawn looked back towards the doorway and then at the stick. She bowed her head and then sat down. As John looked, he saw that tears were running down Dawn’s cheeks. She pulled at some bread, but didn’t look like she was going to eat again.
Arni put the stick under her chin, the cold metal of the gargoyle against her skin. ‘We need more food. Worry about the old man later. Understand?’
Dawn nodded slowly.
Arni didn’t move the stick.
‘Take John with you.’
John was surprised. He had been with the group for three weeks now, and he hadn’t been allowed out of the compound. It had been that way ever since they had turned up at his house.
His mind went back to that night, when it had seemed like just another talk. They had spoken to him a few times, but on that night they wanted him to go with them and leave everything behind.
They had made him wear a blindfold at first, made from a torn-up hessian sack that scratched at his eyelids and made him itch. Except that he couldn’t scratch it, because his hands were tied behind him, sitting against the side of the van, his head up, trying to work out where everyone was as they prodded him, just for a bit of fun. There had been giggles all the way from the young women, and he had tried to laugh along with them, making out like it was a game, but had been worried that perhaps he had misread them.
It had been stop and start as they made their way out of town, but then the curves and tight bends of the countryside had taken over, throwing him around the van, making everyone laugh louder. The jolts and bumps as they drove along a rutted farm track were the final part of the journey, and then he felt the rush of cool air as the van doors flew open. Gentle hands guided him out of the van, and then he was taken inside, pushed along a short corridor into what he now called home.
The smell of cannabis had hit him straight away, sweet and strong, and he was put into a wooden chair. There were voices around him, whispers, giggles, murmurs of conversation, but all he had been able to see was the inside of the blindfold. The bindings around his wrists were loosened and then tied to the chair, so that he was exposed, vulnerable, unsure as to how many people were there.
‘John?’
It was Gemma, bringing him back to the present.
‘So are you coming with us?’ she said.
He smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, I will.’
John stepped out from behind the table and went towards some hooks on the wall. When he found his jacket, a plain black zip-up, he waited by the door as Gemma and Dawn got up to follow him.
Chapter Nine
Sheldon’s hands gripped the wheel as he drove towards Billy Privett’s house. The tight streets of the town centre turned into winding lanes that headed towards the moors. Drystone walls lined the way ahead, although they were down to untidy piles of rock in places, so that the roads opened straight onto open moorland, bleak and wild, with sheep grazing up to the tarmac, the grey dots of stone farmhouses peppering the views.
He had left Jim Kelly, the reporter, at the station, giving a statement about how Billy Privett’s face was delivered to him, although it was really to keep him out of the way.
Sheldon turned into a narrow lane and felt his tyres slide on some mud thrown up by a tractor. The road bumped and dropped towards a small cluster of houses hidden deep in a valley. Except that one of the houses stood out from the rest.
‘Is that Billy’s house ahead?’ Tracey said.
Sheldon nodded. ‘Yes,’ was all he said. His jaw clenched when he got a good view of it.
The house was a large block of red brick that sprawled over two plots that had once been home to two bungalows. The house was double-fronted, with large pillars between them that supported a tiled porch, reached by the long stretch of the driveway.
Billy Privett had bought the house when his lottery numbers came in, and since then he had put his own mark on it, with games rooms and a bar, although Sheldon didn’t see them as any kind of improvement.
Tracey looked at the house as Sheldon pulled up at the kerb.
‘I was just thinking that he was a lucky bastard, but then I remembered that he is now in the mortuary,’ Tracey said.
Sheldon climbed out of the car. ‘He still had more luck than he deserved,’ he said, and then set off for the gate, Tracey catching up with him. He pressed the intercom. No one answered for a while, and Tracey eyed up the fence, as if seeing whether she could scale it. Sheldon touched her on the arm.
‘Privett has dogs,’ he said. ‘And they’ll be hungry by now.’
Tracey rolled her eyes. ‘I should have guessed that.’
Sheldon jabbed at the button, more impatient this time. He was about to turn back to his car when a voice came through the speaker.
‘Hello?’ It was a woman’s voice, timid and quiet.
‘It’s the police,’ he said. ‘We need to come in.’
There was a pause, and then, ‘Billy isn’t here.’
‘I know. That’s why we need to come in. Could you open the gates please.’
Another pause followed, and then there was a buzz as the gates began to creep open. They exchanged glances and then began the slow walk along the driveway, as the house loomed ahead of them.
‘Who was that, his sister?’ Tracey said.
‘He didn’t have one.’
‘But
