had walked away already, up the steps, and then a door closed with a thud, and a chain rattled.
She was locked up. Under the village church. In a vault or something.
Probably where all the prominent citizens had been buried in times past.
In a tomb that was. A grave for the rich and wealthy.
Ironic. Jake might have had a good laugh about it.
Alkmene tried to push the despicable gag out of her mouth with her tongue, but it didn’t work. Neither could she get her hands loose. There didn’t seem to be an edge or sharp rim in the vicinity that could aid her in this purpose. Everything she had always imagined you could do when bound and gagged and left to die was not working.
Maybe Jake had been right that she knew too little about being undercover.
Maybe so little she would actually die on her first investigation.
No. That was pathetic. Her father had taught her you didn’t sit down and cry at the first trouble that came into your path. She just had to try harder.
Or be smarter.
She wriggled herself onto her stomach and tried to crawl like a worm or caterpillar. Those little creatures had no arms or legs and they moved about freely, even dug through earth or crawled up trees.
But they had to have special powers to do so, because this was not working either.
She was only getting a terrible muscle cramp.
Snakes then. How did snakes move?
She tried to picture the images of them from her father’s books.
Then she heard a sound overhead. Something thudding. She wanted to scream, but the gag would not let her. She had to make a sound, somehow.
She lifted her feet and dropped them on the floor.
Ouch. That didn’t sound loud enough to reach the world overhead. She needed metal to bash against, but there was none there. No pipes to clink sending out some sort of Morse code. Just nothing.
It was terrible to realize, but people would just bustle about the church all day: putting fresh flowers in place, lighting candles, offering prayers, talking to the deacon or the vicar, and they would have no idea of the tragedy playing out down here.
She could die of famine here with all those people happily singing glory to God overhead.
She tried to swallow down the despair that flooded her. She just had to think. She could come up with something.
And maybe people did come down here, every now and then.
For…
For what?!
Alkmene closed her eyes. She thought of her father in India, looking out over the river and listening to the cries of the monkeys and feeling so secure in the knowledge his daughter was safely in London, far away from poisonous beasts and the possibility of rabies from a bite. Safe in their home with the servants, safe among their well-bred friends. Safe because he had made her so.
He’d have no idea what kind of trouble she had gotten herself into. All because she had overheard the fatal words ‘marry me’.
She sighed, but even that was not as relieving as when you were not gagged.
Then a door opened. A voice said, ‘Down here.’
She lifted her head and moaned, groaned, made any sound possible at all. She kicked with her foot against something, hoping despite knowing better that it would make a clanging sound.
Somebody knelt down beside her and touched her face. A voice said, ‘Alkmene, are you all right?’ Hands came on her wrists, untying her bonds. She shook her head, willing him to take off the gag first.
Carefully he pulled it out. She moved her dry tongue. Her throat refused to let audible words out.
Jake untied her ankles and rubbed them with his large hands. She sat on her bottom on the cold stone floor, while other people stood over her, saying things like: terrible and no idea that somebody could be locked in like that.
She looked into Jake’s eyes and saw the relief there and the kindness. Almost like he was happy he had found her.
But of course the first thing he said was: ‘I can’t believe you were stupid enough to go investigating on your own. What did you want here?’
‘I caught the…’ Her mind suddenly raced, and she jumped to her feet. She swayed but pushed past the people cluttering her path and ran up the steps. If they wasted any more time, he’d be gone!
Jake came after her, shouting, ‘What now? Talk to me, Alkmene. You could at least tell me something, you know.’
She ran through the church’s aisle, her side already stinging with exertion. But she could not stop now. She burst into the sunshine, blinking against the harsh light after the darkness in that cellar.
There. There he was.
A man in a suit, a nice face, a smile, ready to get into his car that was parked in front of the post office.
‘Mr Walker,’ she called out.
He froze. He spun to her, disbelief in his handsome features. He was good-looking all right, but a little weak around the mouth. Exactly like she had pictured him the night he had talked to Evelyn Steinbeck behind the screen. A man who wanted things in life the easy way.
But life didn’t work that way.
She halted in front of him.
Jake came up after her, saying, ‘What is this? It would have been nice if you had at least congratulated me on having found you.’
Walker snapped, ‘I am in a rush, if you will excuse me.’
But Alkmene slipped her hand into his pocket and produced the page he had torn irreverently from the list of names in that church. ‘Here is the proof we need that he is the killer of Silas Norwhich,’ she called, holding it up. ‘He came to remove any proof Mary Sullivan had lived here. He wanted to make sure nobody could prove any more there had ever been a claim in which he was involved.’
Jake took the paper from her hand, studied it and whistled.
Walker said coldly, ‘I have no idea what this mad woman is talking about.’
Then a voice said in a screech, ‘You liar!’
Wally Thomson came forward, his face contorted with rage. ‘You came here to find out all about her. I thought you cared for her too, like I had, and wanted the best for her. But you only wanted to erase her. I saw that too late. You want to drive her into the bog for real. You should die for that, die!’
He jumped at Walker, who cried, ‘Get that rabid dog away from me. He is insane.’
‘He
