‘Why didn’t Sir Julius take action?’
‘He called Denstone in straight after New Year. They met here in Rydal, but the conversation didn’t go to plan. Denstone played the sympathy card. He said the cancer had come back.’
‘We know what he really meant, don’t we?’
‘We sure do, but Sir Julius fell for it, hook, line and sinker. In his words, he felt he was treading on eggshells. Denstone reckoned he had a wonderful new idea for the Festival. Holding a De Quincey event at a folly near Ambleside.’
‘A folly?’
‘Yeah, he’d dreamt up a son et lumiere production. Said it would give the Festival an added wow factor. Load of bollocks, if you ask me. Even Sir Julius wasn’t convinced it was practical, but he let Denstone go ahead with a feasibility study. The place was disused and locked up, to keep out trespassers, so he made arrangements for Denstone to be given the key.’
‘The folly, Greg,’ she said, trying to control her impatience. ‘What is it called?’
‘Didn’t I say? Some place known as the Serpent Tower.’
Hannah flung on a pair of heavy boots and jumped into her car. She headed down the lane that led to the fell. The last time she’d come this way was on New Year’s Eve. A lifetime ago. She couldn’t drive far, and had to get out and walk once she reached the end of the lane, but every second saved was precious. She couldn’t be certain that Cassie Weston and Arlo Denstone had taken Marc to the Serpent Tower, but it was a decent bet. What they had in mind for him, she dared not guess.
The shape of a car loomed out of the mist. At the sight of it, Hannah felt her guts churn. She pulled up and gave it a once-over. A purple Nissan Micra hatchback. Empty, but there was some stained matting at the back, as if something had been transported in it.
Something, or someone.
She swore under her breath. Her guess had been right, but it wasn’t cause for celebration. God knows what Marc might be going through if they had him. This wasn’t a good time to let her imagination rip. Must keep a cool head.
Fingers trembling, she dialled Greg’s number and told him what she’d seen.
‘You reckon Denstone and Weston are up in the Serpent Tower?’
‘Yes. And they may have Marc.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘I wish. She works for him. I think…she may have lured him away on a pretext.’
If he thought she was holding back on him, he was too shrewd to say so.
‘Don’t charge in there on your own,’ he said. ‘You need backup.’
‘No, in this fog, it will take too long.’
‘I said, leave it.’ His voice rose. No doubt he thought she was a loose cannon. Apt to panic if her man were put in jeopardy. And was he that far out? ‘Don’t worry. I’ve left Rydal, and I’m only a mile away. Stay put, ma’am, and I’ll be with you before you know it.’
‘I told you to call me Hannah,’ she said, and ended the call.
Fog snatched at her throat and sinuses as she hurried up the slope. The atmosphere was cold and moist, the dark bushes and trees seemed malevolent as they reared up in front of her out of the grey nothingness, as if intent on blocking her climb.
She couldn’t wait for the cavalry to come. What if the killers were torturing Marc? She pictured them shoving Stuart Wagg down the well in his back garden, and dragging the metal sheet across the opening as he screamed for mercy. Impossible to live with herself if she hung around while they murdered the man she loved.
Or used to love.
It made things worse that Marc had walked out on her and run to Cassie. If she let him down now, people would suspect she’d extracted a form of revenge by letting him suffer. She’d even suspect it herself.
No, she had to move. Do everything in her power to save him.
She could scarcely keep her bearings, but she pushed herself on. The Serpent Pool couldn’t be far away. The place where it all began, where the lovers lured Bethany Friend to her death.
Suddenly, she was there. The fog confused her, and she came within a couple of strides of the water’s edge before stopping short. The pool was as lifeless and sombre as a grave.
On a good day, the Tower was fifteen minutes away, less if you moved fast. Today, it would take longer. For a moment, she hesitated.
In her jacket pocket, her mobile rang.
Greg said, ‘I’m at the end of Lowbarrow Lane. Where are you?’
‘At the Serpent Pool, below the Tower. I couldn’t wait.’
‘Don’t go any further. Please, not on your-’
She switched off the phone. Her choice was made, though the truth was that she had no choice. She moved swiftly through the trees, locating the muddy path that led to the ledge on which the Serpent Tower squatted. She looked up and caught sight of the folly rising above her, an ill-defined shape barely visible in the greyness.
But Greg Wharf wasn’t finished yet. Through the foggy blanket, she heard the police siren wail.
Oh God, what was he doing? No chance of taking Denstone and Weston by surprise after that fucking cacophony.
She held her breath. For a moment, nothing.
And then she heard a woman scream.
‘No!’
For a few moments, nothing happened. Finally, she heard a noise. Footsteps pounding, a racket deadened by the fog. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of yellow in the gloom. A hi-vis jacket, but who was wearing it?
‘The police are coming!’ the woman screamed. ‘It’s time!’
Cassie, it must be, although Hannah could not make out her figure on the narrow plateau up above.
‘Two more minutes. Please, I’m begging you. It won’t take long, the dog is waking.’
Arlo’s voice was unmistakeable, but Hannah couldn’t guess what he was ranting about.
‘I can’t live without you, my darkest fear is-’
‘Cassie, this isn’t what we planned,’ the man cried. ‘Don’t jump yet.’
‘Please-’
‘Remember what we agreed. Murder is a thing of beauty…’
They were off their heads. Hannah ground her teeth. That fucking De Quincey, he should never have been born.
Hannah craned her neck and shouted. ‘Cassie, don’t do it! Let Marc go!’
‘Too late,’ the woman screamed.
A moment of silence was followed by a crash. Something had smashed into the stony ground, twenty yards away from her.
And then another cry of wild pain tore the silence. Followed by a wild, unintelligible roar, a flash of yellow tumbling from the ledge above the Serpent Pool, and seconds later, another sickening noise.
Hannah was sure it was the sound of death.
She hauled herself up the fell, driven by desperation. Every few seconds it seemed that she missed her footing, and collided with jagged rock, collecting one more gash on hand or cheek. But she was beyond pain. Only one thought in her mind. To find Marc, if he was still to be found.
As she climbed, she mumbled incoherently to herself. Praying to a God in whom she wasn’t sure she believed. The fog around her was nothing compared to the fog in her brain. One day she’d clear her head, but for now, all she knew was that she had to reach the Serpent Tower.
At last it rose in front of her. A narrow structure, like a Victorian chimney. Dark stonework, the only decoration those serpents entwined above the entrance in a macabre embrace. What had possessed that long-dead landowner to build such a dismal monument?
She peered at the door. The key was still in the lock. Denstone had meant to shut Marc in, she supposed, but Greg’s siren had spooked him.
She threw the door open.
First she saw the dog, then Marc.
Hanging naked from the wall. A pitiful, degraded spectacle. She covered her mouth, fearing to throw up as he had done.