Ted said. ‘It was a big thing for you last night, when you were in the pub.’
‘I don’t care anymore,’ Charlie said. ‘Amelia is dead. All it would cost me is my career, and right now, that doesn’t bother me.’
Ted didn’t hesitate. He pulled out the television and plugged in the wires from the camera, taking a few moments to work out how to get the camera onto the right setting. As the screen flickered into life, Ted sat next to Charlie, sitting forward, his fists clenched.
Charlie had only watched a few seconds of the footage when he had found the camera. It seemed more real now that it was on the big screen. Billy Privett was sitting on a high-backed chair, fidgeting, looking nervous. He glanced towards someone off-camera, Charlie presumed it was Amelia, and then Billy cleared his throat.
‘My name is Billy Privett, and I’m going to tell you what happened on the night Alice Kenyon died.’
As those words came out of the television Ted’s hand went to his eye. Charlie caught the shimmer of a tear, glistening in the light from the screen.
Chapter Forty-Three
John heard the van before he saw it. He was still standing in the doorway, looking down the field and towards the road, the shotgun cradled in his arm. The night had slipped into darkness and so all he could see were the outlines of the hill opposite against the light from the moon.
He looked back into the living room, where Dawn was tied up below the window, a strip of cloth binding her hands, Gemma in front of her, glaring at her. There was blood from a cut on her lip. Gemma had lost patience with Dawn once already.
Gemma caught him looking and so she gave him an impish wave. It was all a game to her. He waved back without thinking. It felt like events were spinning out of his control, and he didn’t know how to deal with things anymore. What they were doing was wrong, he knew that, but every time he got a smile from Gemma, he felt that skip of new love.
He stepped outside to wait for Henry’s arrival, to warn them about the traps. As John stood in the glare of the headlights, the van rolled and bounced along the farm track, the engine straining, until it came to a stop in a cloud of dust.
Arni jumped out of the driver’s seat, Henry following.
John pointed towards the window. ‘I’ve done my best,’ he said. ‘Barbed wire on the inside. We’ve got petrol bombs, and those,’ and he gestured with the shotgun towards the dark shadow of an animal trap. ‘Watch your step.’
Henry grinned as he got closer, the whites of his eyes catching whatever shreds of light there were. ‘You’ve done well,’ he said, and then laughed. ‘We’ve gone one better though.’
‘What do you mean?’
Then John heard the shouts. Shrieks and then cries of fear, mixed in with anger. Lucy appeared from the back of the van, pulling on someone. It was a woman, young and skinny and dark.
‘Look what we caught,’ Lucy said, laughing. ‘Our new pet.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘This little bitch is our exit strategy,’ Henry said. ‘When they get closer, she will keep them away.’ He strode towards Lucy and grabbed the young woman by the hair. She yelped. As Henry pulled her towards the house, Lucy jumped up and down in excitement, clapping her hands.
‘Who is she?’ John asked.
‘Donia, she’s called,’ Lucy said, animatedly. ‘And she’s going to have some fun.’
As they got into the house, Donia trying to pull away, Henry stopped and looked at Dawn. He turned to John. ‘What’s going on?’
‘She tried to leave. I caught her. She was heading for the road.’
‘And you brought her back?’
John nodded.
Henry started to laugh. ‘You are complete, John. Welcome to the flock.’ He whirled the young woman around by her hair, so that she screwed up her face and cried out in pain, and pushed her towards Lucy. ‘Tie her up in there,’ and he gestured towards the old man’s room. ‘We’ll deal with her later.’
Henry walked towards Dawn and stared down at her for a few seconds. She shrank back, frightened. He smiled, knelt down in front of her, then reached out and ran some of her hair through his fingers. ‘You’ve let me down,’ he said, in a whisper.
She started to sob again. ‘I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.’
‘I knew someone would betray me,’ Henry said, his voice a low hiss. ‘What were your plans? Turn me over to the police? Or just bring them here, so that they could arrest me, perhaps bring a film crew, and so they can have their little show trial? And then what? Lock me away for the rest of my life? Is that what you wanted for me?’
Dawn hung her head. ‘Please, Henry, I’m sorry. Don’t do it.’
Henry snarled and stood up quickly. He lashed out with his foot, kicking her hard in her ribs. She gasped and cried out, but she couldn’t hold herself where she was in pain, because her hands were still tied together.
‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ she shouted, her voice desperate. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
Lucy appeared behind Henry, and she put her arms round him, her chin resting on his shoulder. ‘I made sacrifices,’ Lucy said, her voice cold and even. ‘Why couldn’t you?’
Henry lashed out, backhanding Dawn. Lucy’s grip slackened and the slap made a loud crack. He turned to the rest of the group. ‘You know what to do.’
No one objected; it seemed that there was no regret for what was about to happen. Four people went outside, three of the young women and Jennifer, who seemed excitable, bustling the others along. They disappeared around the side of the house, and John was just about to shout a warning about the traps when he heard the clatter of tools and they ran onto the field holding spades and pick-axes. They went to some grass by the largest standing stone and started to dig. Henry grabbed Dawn by her hair and pulled her close to him.
‘You were special once,’ he said. ‘Why you?’
‘I want to tell the truth,’ she said, her voice hoarse. ‘No more lies.’
Henry slapped her again, and this time a thin drool of blood ran onto her clothes from her lip. He stood there for a few seconds, his chest heaving, his fists clenching and unclenching. Lucy stepped forward and whispered into Henry’s ear, ‘She needs you one last time.’
Dawn heard it and started pleading. ‘No, no, no, no.’
Henry cricked his neck, teasing out some tension, and then pulled on the cloth that bound her wrists. As she was pulled to her feet, John saw that Henry’s eyes were unfocused, wide and wild.
He pulled her towards the stairs. Lucy was laughing, singing, ‘Henry’s gonna party.’ Dawn tried to pull back, wailing, but Henry just pulled harder.
John knew what Henry’s
