A new emotion mixed with the hope, one she’d become used to in the last twelve hours. Fear. This could be where the men hunting her lived. They had to live somewhere, and it was likely to be close by. Had the girl, the one who’d caused them so much trouble, escaped from here? If she had, it would explain why they’d been so keen to silence Ash and the others, to prevent them from reporting what they’d seen to the police and leading them back here.

  She took a deep breath, trying to work out what to do. The problem was she had no idea where she was. She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her mobile, hoping for a reception, but it wouldn’t even turn on. The water had ruined it.

  Standing in the road shivering, Ash felt utterly drained of energy. It could be miles to the next house, and she wasn’t at all sure how much longer she could keep going. She was sick. She was being hunted down. She needed help.

  The front door to the cottage opened. Ash instinctively jumped out of sight behind a tree.

  A well-built older lady with her silver hair in a bun stepped outside. She had a basket in her hands and was wearing a navy dress and an old-fashioned white pinafore. Even from a distance, Ash could see she had a kindly, round face.

  But Ash had had her world torn apart these past few hours and the experience had made her very careful. The old lady hadn’t seen her so Ash waited and watched as she walked round the side of the cottage and passed out of sight, singing softly to herself as she went.

  Keeping inside the treeline, Ash crept towards the cottage, stopping when she saw the old lady bent over, feeding half a dozen chickens in a coop. She was cooing at them in a lilting Scottish accent as she threw the feed, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The sight of her made Ash’s eyes fill with tears.

  Slowly, awkwardly, she stepped out from the trees. ‘Excuse me …’

  The old lady jumped, then turned her way, putting a hand to her mouth, her bright blue eyes widening. ‘Gosh, my love. You scared me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Ash took another unsteady step forward, trying to stop herself from breaking down. ‘I’ve been hurt.’ The tears were streaming down her face now.

  The old lady opened her two beefy arms and Ash fell into them, sobbing into her shoulder, breathing in comforting smells of lavender and baking.

  ‘There there, my love,’ the old lady whispered into her ear, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘You’re going to catch a death of cold out here. Let’s get you inside, into the warm.’

  The old lady put down her basket, ignoring the frantic clucking of the chickens, and led Ash into the cottage through a side door. Ash found herself in a surprisingly spacious, if tired-looking, kitchen.

  ‘You sit down there, young lady,’ she said, pointing at a wooden table with stools in one corner, ‘and I’ll get you a blanket.’

  Ash leaned back against the stone wall, wrapping her arms round herself in an effort to stay warm. The kitchen was cluttered with pots and pans, cooking utensils and dog-eared recipe books, and there was a faint damp smell that was mixed with the smell of fresh bread. A tray containing a newly baked loaf sat on the ancient cooker. On the opposite wall, an equally old picture of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland grinned at her. Ash even managed a small grin in return. For the first time since this nightmare had begun, she found herself able to relax.

  ‘What happened to you, my love?’ asked the old lady, returning with a thick spotted blanket.

  Ash saw no reason not to tell her the truth. Wrapping herself in the blanket, she gave her a brief description of the previous night’s events, starting from when they’d run into the girl. She kept the drama down to a minimum but told her that her husband and two friends had been killed.

  The old lady looked shocked, which was no great surprise, and put a hand to her mouth. ‘And this all happened round here, you say? Here in these woods?’

  Ash nodded numbly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve lived here all my life, my love, and I’ve never heard of anything like this. I don’t understand where this naked girl could have come from. There’s nothing here but national park and the shooting estate over near Wood End, but that’s owned by one of those banker types in London you never see. It all seems very strange. Men chasing this girl, then chasing you and your friends, trying to kill you. Whatever happened to the girl?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The old lady was right. The whole thing was strange, like something out of a cheap horror film. For a moment, Ash wondered if she actually was going mad. But then she pulled herself together. It had happened. All of it. Just as she remembered.

  ‘I’m not lying, Mrs …’

  ‘Dora. Call me Dora.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not saying you are, my love. I can see you’ve had a terrible time of it.’

  ‘I need to call the police. My phone’s broken. Do you have a phone here?’

  ‘Course I do,’ said Dora with a laugh. ‘We might live out in the sticks, but we’re not in the nineteenth century.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Ash, wrapping herself even tighter in the blanket.

  Dora put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘I know you didn’t, my love. Now you wait here while I call the police. Then I’ll come back and make you something to eat.’

  Ash nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  Dora left the room for a second time and Ash got to her feet, the effort making her wince. She could tell the old lady didn’t believe her story, but she wasn’t surprised. It was not an easy one to believe. Three murders, possibly four, as well as at least two killers, all in the same quiet forest in the middle of nowhere. Ash wouldn’t have believed it either. She’d think the person telling the story was high on some particularly intense drugs. But in the end it didn’t matter as long as she called the police. Then they could deal with it.

  She could hear Dora’s voice in the next room talking on the phone and she walked slowly over to the door. As Ash stepped into the living room, Dora put the phone down and turned round. ‘They’re on their way, my love, but they won’t be here for a good twenty minutes. We’re a long way from the station here.’ She wiped her hands on her pinafore. ‘Let me make you some hot breakfast.’

  The thought of food made Ash feel sick. ‘It’s all right, Dora,’ she said with a weak smile, ‘I’m really not hungry.’

  ‘But you must eat something.’

  ‘Please, can I just have a cup of tea?’

  Dora tried not to look disappointed. ‘As you wish, my love. I’ll get the kettle on.’

  ‘Do you have a toilet I could use?’

  ‘We certainly do, my love. It’s even an inside one.’ She winked and grinned playfully at Ash as she pointed to a door beside the staircase.

  ‘I really appreciate this,’ Ash told her. She thought about asking for a shower too but decided against it since she’d only have to get back into her wet clothes afterwards.

  ‘It’s the least I can do,’ said Dora, shuffling past her into the kitchen.

  Something was wrong. Ash had no idea what it was but it was worrying her. Was Dora hiding something? Or was Ash just imagining it? Had the events of the previous night made her so paranoid that she was now suspicious of everything, including even a friendly old lady?

  A friendly old lady who lived out in the woods near to where a mass murder had been committed, but who seemed unconcerned by what had happened.

  Ash locked the toilet door behind her and took a deep breath, telling herself to calm down. A mirror in dire need of a clean hung on the bare wall just above the sink. Ash wanted to weep when she saw herself in it. She looked exactly like she felt. Her face was puffy and bruised beneath smears of encrusted dirt, and there were scratches all across her cheeks and forehead. One eye was swollen and black, and her thick auburn hair, usually one of her best features, looked like it belonged on a scarecrow. But it was the haunted expression in her eyes that affected her the most. For a good ten seconds she stared at her reflection, finding it difficult to accept it.

  Yet when she’d suddenly stepped out of nowhere in Dora’s garden, rather than run a mile the old lady had been kind enough to take her in. Ash was suddenly ashamed for suspecting Dora of meaning her harm.

  That was until she turned and saw something on the floor, poking out from just behind the toilet, and her hand went to her mouth to stifle the gasp.

  11

  ASH BENT DOWN, carefully picked up the heavily bloodstained ball of tissue, and touched it. The blood was dry, but from its colour she could tell it wasn’t very old.

  She slipped the tissue back behind the toilet, and her hand brushed against something else. It felt like a picture frame. She pulled it out and stared at the faded photograph behind the glass.

  It had been taken outside the front of the cottage. Dora was standing in the centre, wearing a bright floral dress and a big smile. She looked a good ten years younger. Flanking her were two unsmiling teenage boys with pale faces and red hair, one three or four years older than the other. It was obvious from their red hair and freckled faces that they were brothers.

  It was also obvious that the younger of the two was the man she’d killed the previous night.

  Ash swallowed, squinting at the photo. It might have been taken a long time back, and Ash might have been sick and exhausted, but she was absolutely sure it was him. It wasn’t the kind of face she was ever going to forget.

  She put the photo back where she’d found it and stood up, no longer able to think about going to the toilet. She had to get out of there. The man she’d killed was Dora’s son and she’d bet her life that the second man hunting them, the one who’d shot at her in the woods, was the other son. Did they live here? It would explain the bloody tissue. It might also explain the fact that the photo was shoved behind the toilet rather than hanging on the wall where it could be seen. The other son would have known that Ash had seen his brother’s face, so would want any evidence of his identity hidden just in case she, Ash, showed up.

  Which almost certainly meant that Dora was a part of this too.

  But why would an elderly woman be involved in murder, not to mention the possible kidnapping and rape of young foreign women? That’s what Ash simply couldn’t understand.

  It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she got out of there, and fast.

  After flushing the toilet, she slowly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She could hear Dora singing to herself in soft, lilting tones in the kitchen. It set Ash’s teeth on edge, because the sound seemed so wrong coming from a woman who’d given birth to the two psychopaths who’d hunted her and her friends down. She looked over at the phone in the corner of the living room, wondering who it was Dora had been phoning. She was sure now that it hadn’t been the police.

  Heart hammering in her chest, Ash crept over and picked up the phone, glancing over her shoulder to check that Dora was still busy before pressing the redial button.

  The call went straight to a recorded message for a mobile phone.

  Not the police.

  Ash took a deep breath, put down the phone, and started towards the front door. As soon as she was outside she’d make a break for it, head back into the forest, try to find another house somewhere. There had to be someone round here who wasn’t involved in whatever the hell was going on.

  She tried to turn the handle but it didn’t move. The door was locked and there was no sign of a key.

  ‘What’s wrong, my love? Where are you going? I’ve got your tea here.’

  Ash turned round far too quickly, like a naughty schoolkid who’s been caught doing something wrong. She tried to look as casual as possible. ‘I was just going outside for some fresh air. I don’t feel too good.’

  ‘Sorry, I always keep that door double-locked.’

  No, you don’t. I saw you walk out of it ten minutes ago.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down and have a nice cup of tea?’ Dora smiled and held up the steaming mug. ‘The police’ll be here soon.’

  ‘If I could just go outside.’

  ‘Of course you can, my love. No one’s stopping you. Go out through the kitchen door. Take your tea with you.’ She stepped aside, still smiling.

  Ash could feel the adrenalin coursing through her, yet the situation seemed so utterly unreal that she was actually worried about appearing rude. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I just need a few gulps of fresh air.’

  ‘Course you do, my love. You’ve had a hard time of it.’

  Dora held out the mug and Ash took it, instinctively putting it to her lips.

  The old lady watched her carefully. She had incredibly bright blue eyes. There was a warmth in them that seemed to drag Ash right in. ‘Drink, my love,’ she said quietly.

  Ash felt dizzy and exhausted. She so wanted to sip the tea, to feel its warmth running through her. To sit down and forget all the terrible things that had happened.

  Something glinted in Dora’s eyes, something cold and triumphant, and the spell was broken.

  ‘I’ll have it in a minute.’ Ash smiled and turned to put the mug down, every nerve and muscle in her body ready for flight.

  With remarkable speed, Dora’s hand flew out, knocking the boiling hot tea all over Ash’s face and upper body.

  Ash screamed in shock and pain and leaped backwards. Dora grabbed her wrist and yanked her back, then placed her in a fierce headlock that immediately choked off Ash’s air supply.

  The old lady’s grip was incredibly strong. Ash’s vision began to blur as she fought to break free, trying but failing to dig her elbow into Dora’s ribs. What little strength she had left was fading fast. Her whole body soon felt like it was on fire.

  ‘You little whore,’ hissed Dora in her ear. ‘You murdered my son. You’re going to pay for that. We’re going to have you begging for your life.’

  Ash tried to shout out to her, to ask why, what had she ever done to deserve this? All she wanted to do was go home to her family. But all that came out was a long, drawn-out rasping sound. Blue lights flickered in front of Ash’s eyes. She was passing out. She wasn’t going to make it.

  She had to. There was no choice.

  Ash Murray does not give up.

  With one last burst of energy, she brought her heel down hard on Dora’s toes. The old lady yelped, her grip loosened, and Ash yanked herself out of it. She swung round and punched Dora hard in the face, finding it hard to accept the fact that now she was violently assaulting a senior citizen.

  Dora cried out and tumbled back on to her threadbare sofa, one hand on her jaw, a shocked expression on her face. It looked as if she couldn’t believe Ash would do such a horrible thing as punch an old woman. ‘You slut!’ she screamed, her features screwing up into a mask of fury. ‘I’ll have you for that!’

  But Ash was already out of the room and running through the kitchen, pulling open the door, knowing the woods and freedom were only yards away …

  She stopped dead. He was in the doorway, a huge man dressed all in black, a mask covering his face. Looking just like the man who’d murdered Nick, even down to the knife he carried in one gloved hand.

  ‘Oh God.’

  The fight went out of Ash then. It was replaced by a dark and heavy acceptance that the end had come.

  She tried to run back the way she’d come, but he was on her in a second, wrapping his arms round her in a massive bearhug and lifting her up. The tip of the knife blade sat painfully against her throat as he walked her further into the kitchen, her legs flailing uselessly beneath her.

  ‘Ah, I see you’ve met my other son,’ said Dora. The smile was gone from her face, replaced by a dirty scowl. ‘Now don’t fuck things up this time, Rory. Keep hold of her. She’s a feisty little whore.’

  ‘She’s nae going anywhere, Ma,’ grunted Rory. ‘Not this time.’

  Ash screamed, the effort making her lungs ache. Her throat hurt where it pushed into the blade, cutting the skin.

  Dora, the big jolly lady in dress and pinafore, just laughed and opened up one of the kitchen cupboards. She removed a bottle of dark liquid and a filthy-looking rag. She poured a generous slug of the liquid on to the rag, keeping her face turned away from it. ‘Scream all you like, my love,’ she said, coming closer. ‘Only the animals will hear you out here.’

  ‘Please,’ gasped Ash, making one last effort to save herself. ‘I just want to go home.’

  Dora shook her head, almost sadly. ‘Sorry, my love, but that’s not going to happen.’

  She lifted her hand and pushed the rag into Ash’s face. The whole of Ash’s world seemed to explode.

  12

  ASH MURRAY DREAMED strange dreams. Sometimes she saw her mother’s face in them, smiling down at her. Then her mother’s face would turn into Dora’s, and Dora would be forcing medicine into Ash’s mouth, holding her nose to make her drink it, singing nursery rhymes as she worked, the rhymes taking Ash back to the sunny white days of her childhood …

  Her eyes snapped open and everything seemed terribly bright. She blinked rapidly, turning her head from side to side. Something tight and itchy had been placed round her neck. She looked up and saw the rope tied round a crossbeam a few feet above her head. That was when Ash realised that she was wearing a noose. Her head felt thick and heavy, as if she had a really bad hangover. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t even swallow.

  Looking round, she saw that she was back in the living room in the lodge. Daylight flowed in through the windows, and she could hear birdsong coming from outside. She gasped when she saw Nick’s body lying sprawled at the foot of the staircase, one leg twisted at a weird angle, where it had caught under a step. Thankfully his face was turned away from her. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been in when they’d gone walking – an event that seemed like another life to Ash now – including the black North Face fleece she’d bought him two Christmases ago. His bare legs, usually one of his most attractive features, had gone a strange grey colour.

  She tried to whisper his name but all that came out was a toad-like croak. Tears stung her eyes. She had to hold him one last time, even if it was the last thing she ever did. But as she moved to go towards him, she looked down and saw that she was standing on a chair. If she stepped off it, the rope would tighten and she’d be left hanging in mid-air.

 

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