No Mercy (26 page)

As Maddie walked past the cemetery on her way to work, she glanced through the tall wrought-iron gates at the office building. Despite the warmth of the sun, she shivered as she thought of Delia Shields.
Murdered
. It was hard to take in. Why? How? When? Rick hadn’t had the answers to all her questions when he’d called to let her know last night. All he’d been able to tell her was that Delia had been killed in her home on Saturday, that she hadn’t been found until Monday morning and that Adam Vasser and Lena Gissing had been arrested in connection with the murder.

‘Should I go and talk to them?’ she’d asked. ‘The police, I mean.’

‘What for?’

‘Because… I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with Greta and Bo.’

‘I wouldn’t get involved,’ he’d said. ‘Not at the moment. Why don’t you wait a while, let the dust settle?’

‘You think?’

‘Yeah. I’d stay out of it for now. See what happens. Well, unless you want to spend hours down the cop shop.’

Maddie had let herself be persuaded. He was probably right, although a small seed of doubt continued to grow inside her. Could it really be a coincidence, all this stuff with Lena Gissing, the threats, the revelations about the blackmail… and now Delia Shields ending up dead? She recalled the anger in the woman’s face when she’d come out of the office to confront her.
That bastard Cato!

Still, it came as a relief to know that the two of them were safely behind bars. If Vasser had killed Delia, it was perfectly possible that he’d killed Greta and Bo too. Perhaps he would finally pay for what he’d done. She had called Solomon to tell him the news and had sensed a certain disappointment in his tone. He had been hoping, she suspected, to deal with Adam Vasser himself. And that was another reason to be glad that Vasser was off the streets. Solomon’s idea of justice could send him to jail for a very long time.

She gazed along the main thoroughfare, her eyes searching for Rick, but there wasn’t any sign of him. The work truck wasn’t around either, which meant he must be over the other side of the cemetery somewhere. She felt a stab of disappointment. It would have been nice to see him again, even if it was only to give him a wave. With one last glance at the office building, she continued on her way.

Maddie had only gone a few yards down the road when her phone started to ring. She dug it out of her pocket and saw that it was Agnes Reach. ‘Agnes, hello. Is everything all right?’

‘Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?’

‘Oh, no reason.’ These days Maddie felt like she had permanent alarm bells going off in her head. ‘It’s nice to hear from you. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. But I just remembered something and thought I’d better tell you before I forgot it again. You know what I’m like. I’ve got a brain like a sieve. It’s one of the penalties of old age, my dear – thoughts come along and they’re there one minute and gone the next.’

‘Don’t worry about it. What was it you wanted to tell me?’

‘It’s about Lucy Rivers,’ Agnes said. ‘I don’t suppose it matters, but I suddenly recalled what that man’s name was. It just jumped into my head while I was making a brew.’

‘Vasser, wasn’t it?’

‘No, no, dear, that’s the thing. I thought it might have been, but it wasn’t – it wasn’t at all. His name was Owen Vickery. It was the “V” that confused me, you see. I knew it began with that. But yes, it was definitely Vickery.’

Maddie frowned, confused by this latest twist. She’d been convinced that Brendan Vasser had been involved in some way with Lucy Rivers. ‘And who was he, this Owen Vickery?’

‘No one special, dear – that’s the tragedy. He used to be the manager at the cemetery. We’re talking way back now, thirty years or so. That’s how Lucy met him. Her mother had recently died and she used to spend a lot of time at the grave. The poor girl was heartbroken and Vickery gave her a shoulder to cry on. One thing led to another and… well, you know the rest.’

‘Right,’ Maddie murmured.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes, sorry, I’m still here. Thanks, Agnes. Thanks for letting me know.’ Maddie said her goodbyes and hung up. She stood staring along the road for a while, wondering what it all meant. ‘Vickery,’ she said, rolling the name across her tongue. So the married man who’d betrayed Lucy Rivers and driven her to suicide hadn’t been Brendan Vasser at all. Now she was completely in the dark as to why Lena Gissing had such a thing about the girl’s grave. What was it? What could it be? The only fact she did know for sure was that Delia had been in on the secret too.

Maddie gave a sigh and continued on her way. She was almost at Marigolds when her phone gave off its little jingle indicating that a text message had come in. Reaching into her pocket again, she took out the mobile and checked the inbox. The message was from Solomon.
Meet me at the LR grave. Urgent. I’ve got news!
She stared at the words, bemused. What was going on, and why hadn’t he just called her? She tried ringing him back, but the phone went directly to voicemail. Whatever it was, he clearly wanted to tell her in person.

She glanced towards the entrance to the garden centre and then down at her watch. Talk about bad timing; she’d been passing the cemetery gates five minutes ago and now she’d have to double back, which would mean her being late for work. She dithered for a moment, wondering what to do. What could be so urgent that Solomon had to see her straight away? And why did he want to meet at the grave? It must be to do with Greta and Bo. It had to be. Maddie didn’t hesitate for long. She turned and quickly headed back towards the cemetery.

As she walked, she made a call to the manager at Marigolds claiming that Zac had been taken ill and she had to go and pick him up from summer school. It was the best excuse she could think of off the top of her head. She held the phone slightly away from her ear so that he could hear the sound of the traffic and know that she wasn’t sitting at home. ‘I shouldn’t be more than half an hour. I just have to make sure he’s okay and then drop him off at his grandparents’ house. I’ll make the time up, I promise.’

The manager hadn’t sounded pleased, but there was nothing she could do about that. Hopefully, he wouldn’t sack her for it. That would be the last thing she needed, to lose this job too. She stepped up the pace, breaking into a jog. The sooner she met up with Solomon, the sooner she could get back to work.

There was no one else on the main thoroughfare as Maddie half walked, half ran to the group of willow trees. She kept her eyes peeled for Rick, but he was still nowhere to be seen. Quickly she veered left, turning on to the narrower path that led to the older part of the cemetery. She hurried through the long grass and the weeds, sweeping aside the buddleia as she went. Her breathing was coming faster now, a product of her exertion and her expectation.

As the path wound round, she felt an extra frisson of excitement, sure that the summons heralded a major breakthrough. Whatever Solomon had found out, it had to be important. He was so big that she kept expecting to see him at any second, his huge figure looming on the horizon, but as she approached the grave, she saw that he wasn’t there.

She looked all around as if he might suddenly appear from behind a tree or one of the tall stone angels with their hands clasped in prayer. ‘Sol!’ she called out as loudly as she dared in the quiet of her surroundings.

There was no reply.

Maddie got out her phone and tried his number again, but only got the same voicemail response. Where was he? And then it occurred to her that she had got here faster than he’d expected and he was probably still on his way. He couldn’t have known how close she was to the cemetery when he’d sent the text. She considered walking back to the thoroughfare, but decided that it was better to stay where she was. She had no idea which of the two entrances he would use, and if he went off the main path, they could easily miss each other.

Frustrated, but resigned to a wait, she turned her attention to Lucy’s grave. The Lady of Shallot roses were still in reasonable condition, the cup-shaped heads a soft orange-gold. She rearranged them slightly just for something to do. She thought about Lucy and the man who had betrayed her. She thought about Rick. There was always a risk to falling in love. Did she dare take a chance? Weighed against all the good stuff – the joy and the sharing – was the gaping hole left in your life when it was all over.

Five minutes later, when Solomon had still not shown up, she began to pace impatiently around the grave. When this didn’t help, she went to the start of the almost invisible path and peered between the bushes at the small ivy-clad building that housed the remains of the long-dead Belvederes. She’d seen the mausoleum many times before, but today there was something different about it. Or was the light just playing tricks on her?

Frowning, she walked a little closer, leaving behind the sunshine and passing into the gloom cast by the overhanging trees. As she approached, she was aware of the sound of her own breathing, of her heartbeat beginning to accelerate. Her eyes were focused on the door and she could see a deep shadow running along the right-hand side. It was slightly open. She was sure it was. Maybe Eli Glass was doing one of his routine checks. Wasn’t that what Rick had said? That Eli sometimes checked the mausoleums for damage.

‘Hello?’

Her voice sounded small and tentative. She looked all around before advancing, overly aware of the stillness around her and the soft tread of her feet against the damp earth. Here, where the sun barely penetrated, the weekend rain still lay in pools. She skirted round the puddles, her ears alert to any sound that might indicate the presence of another.

Nothing.

‘Hello?’ she said again, stopping right outside the door. Now she could see it clearly, could see for sure that it was slightly ajar. Was there someone inside? Someone, that was, apart from the dead. She thought of the coffins, of what they contained, and gave an involuntary shudder. Maybe Eli had forgotten to lock up when he left.

For a while she just stood there, uncertain of what to do next. She was torn between curiosity and restraint. Half of her wanted to peek inside, but the other half told her not to. What she
should
do was go back to the grave and wait for Solomon. But already her hand, as if it had independently made a decision, was moving forward. Her fingertips pressed gently against the old heavy metal and slowly the door began to swing back.

It was then, as the hinge gave an ominous creak, that she sensed rather than heard the movement behind her. She half turned, but already it was too late. There was time only for a fleeting impression, a glimpse of a face, a silvery flash, before the pain cut through her skull. The force of the blow propelled her over the threshold and sent her stumbling into the heart of the mausoleum. In agony, she crumpled to her knees, her desperate cry eclipsed by an even louder, deadlier and more terrifying sound. The door was slammed shut behind her and the key turned in the lock.

Maddie was engulfed by blind panic, by an overwhelming terror, as she crawled on her hands and knees. Her head was throbbing, blood pouring down the back of her neck. Scrabbling about in the pitch black, she wildly stretched out her hands, feeling for the door. Where was it? Oh God. Please, God! The blow had left her dazed and disoriented. When her fingers touched dry brick, she shifted to the left, but no, that wasn’t the right way. She lurched back to the right and eventually found the smooth metal panels.

Her breath came in fast, frantic pants as she hauled herself to her feet, her legs barely taking the weight of her body. With what remained of her strength, she hammered on the door with her fists.

‘Help me! Let me out! Let me out!’

But there was no sound from the other side.

‘Let me out!’

Bile rose into her throat as she continued to thump and yell, the sounds echoing around the small, dark chamber. She could feel the strength ebbing from her and began to shake, an icy fear twisting round her heart. Slowly her cries grew weaker, her hammering less intense, until her knees gave way and she slumped to the ground.

There was nobody there. She was on her own. Her attacker had trapped and abandoned her. Would he come back? No, she thought, her stomach churning. At least not until he was sure that she was… But she couldn’t think like that. She mustn’t give up. Maybe someone else would find her. Eli or Rick? She clutched at this straw as she wrapped her arms tightly round her legs and peered into the thick black darkness.

The pain in the back of her head was getting worse, a violent throbbing ache. Tentatively she raised a hand to touch the perimeter of the wound. The flesh of her scalp felt soft and pulpy. How bad was it? By turning when she had, she had escaped the full force of the blow, but the edge of the spade had still caused some major damage. What if the blood was clotting in her brain? Already she was feeling weak and dizzy, as if the life was slowly leaking out of her.

Spurred on by fear and desperation, she forced herself back on to her feet again. For a moment she thought she was going to throw up. Her guts shifted, the taste of vomit rising into her mouth. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Until finally the nausea had passed. Her hands made a quick search of the door, looking for a handle, but of course there wasn’t one. The people in this chamber had no need of a handle. She tried not to think of the six bodies in their coffins, or what was left of them.

The darkness was like a thick suffocating blanket wrapping itself around her. The only minuscule spot of light came from the keyhole. She crouched down and peered through the tiny gap. All she could see was the green foliage of a rhododendron. Putting her mouth to the hole, she begged again, ‘Help me! Help me! Let me out!’ But her voice was thin and hoarse, not strong enough to carry more than a few yards.

She slumped back down to the ground. All she could do was wait and hope. If she stayed by the door, she would hear the footsteps if someone came down by here. But who would come? This was the old neglected part of the cemetery, rarely visited by anyone but herself.

What were the chances of Eli or Rick passing by? Slim, she thought.

The worst-case scenario began to spin through her mind again. No one would realise she was missing until this evening when she didn’t turn up at Alisha’s. And even then they wouldn’t think to look for her here. Why would they? Nobody had seen her come into the cemetery. She had lied to the manager at Marigolds, told him she was going to pick up Zac. But Solomon would know, she suddenly thought. Her hopes soared for a second. He must be waiting for her, wondering where she was. Wouldn’t he start to look around, maybe call out her name? Except… Her spirits instantly plunged again. Wasn’t it Solomon who had lured her here in the first place? He hadn’t been the one to attack her – she hadn’t recognised the man who had – but he had sent the text.

But why would Solomon want to hurt her? It didn’t make sense, unless… unless what? Maybe she had found out something that he didn’t want her to know. Maybe he was working with Vasser himself. Was that possible? Christ, no. Her head was just playing tricks. Not Solomon. He wouldn’t do this. Unless…

As she pondered on the message, her heart skipped a beat. Jesus, what was the matter with her? Her phone, her bloody phone! It was in her bag, but where was her bag? It must have slipped from her shoulder as she’d fallen forward into the mausoleum. Getting back on to her hands and knees, she began to feel her way across the dusty floor. She prayed that it hadn’t landed outside. ‘Please, God,’ she murmured again.

The sheer density of the darkness was frightening. It was like being totally blind without even the vaguest of outlines. No colour, no contrasts, only a vast impenetrable blackness. As she flailed around, the panic began to rise in her again. Where was it? The space wasn’t that big. If her bag was here, she should be able to find it. Old cobwebs brushed against her face and got into her hair as she searched by the wall. Shuddering, she tried to claw them away, but that only made it worse. The soft threads wound their way between her fingers, a vile sticky web that she couldn’t escape. And then, suddenly, just when she thought it was hopeless, her hand touched on the soft leather of her bag.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ she muttered as she ripped open the zip and plunged her hand inside. Never, in her entire life, had she been so grateful to feel that small oblong of metal. It was her lifeline, her means of escape, her salvation. Now she could make a call and get out of here. Her fingers fumbled for the buttons and eventually the screen lit up, casting a pale blue glow. Yes! She punched in ‘999’ and raised the phone to her ear.

Nothing.

What?

She shifted the phone back in front of her eyes and stared at the corner of the screen. Her heart plummeted. No reception. No bloody connection to the outside world. She gave it an angry shake as if sheer fury and frustration could make it change its mind. But no, either the walls of the old mausoleum were too thick, too solid, to let her gain access to a signal or she was sitting in a signal black spot.

‘Shit!’ she protested, moving the phone to the left and the right. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. Tears of frustration rose to her eyes. ‘Don’t do this to me.’ She shook the phone again, but it made no difference. ‘Come on. Please, please, please!’

The light flicked off, plunging her into darkness. She jabbed at the button to get it back. How long would her battery last? She wasn’t sure. What to do next? She was starting to get cold, her teeth chattering. Bone-wrenching tremors shook every part of her body. She wondered if it was down to the temperature of the building or because she was losing too much blood.

Raising the knuckles of her right hand to her mouth, she sucked on them. They were sore, the skin broken from pounding against the door. What she needed was something hard, something metallic, with which to make a noise. She didn’t want to use the phone; it would probably break and she would lose her only source of light. Maybe if she searched the mausoleum, she could find an implement that would be more suitable. But that would mean scrabbling about around the coffins. She had been trying not to think about those six bodies laid out in their boxes. It creeped her out, made the hairs on her arms stand on end. But not bodies now, she reminded herself, just skeletons. This thought didn’t help much – skulls with empty eye sockets, old bones, flesh rotted away. She swallowed hard, almost expecting to hear the creak of a lid slowly opening.
It’s not the living dead you need to watch out for.
Hadn’t Rick said that? It felt like a long time ago.

Taking it slowly, she managed to get to her feet. Almost immediately she felt dizzy, faint, as if she was about to pass out. Crouching back down on the floor, she put her head between her knees and waited for the feeling to pass. Then she tried again. Carefully she heaved herself into an upright position. Then, using the glow from the phone, she made her way over to the right-hand side of the room.

There were three coffins here, one on top of each other, but each with their own shelf. She wondered if one of them was Harold’s. Harold James Belvedere, who had been wounded at the Somme. Harold, who had only been twenty-two when his life had ended. Had they called him Harry? As her fingers reached out to pat along the length of the middle coffin, she tried to focus on this man she had never known in the hope that it would keep at bay her sense of revulsion at what lay inside the box.

There was a thick layer of dust everywhere. Her hand touched one of the heavy brass handles and she gave it a tug. It was firmly attached. No matter how hard she pulled, she couldn’t wrench it out. She moved along, trying the second handle. That was the same. She wasn’t strong enough to shift it. Beads of sweat were gathering on her forehead, while her heart thumped like a jackhammer in her chest.

Eventually, too exhausted to continue, she gave up. She should have stayed by the door. She had to get back there, to listen out, to wait until someone passed by. But first she had to rest for a moment. Shuffling to the side of the coffin, she leaned back against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her legs felt weak and shaky. Slowly she slid back down to the ground.

‘Move,’ she murmured as sleep tried to possess her. ‘Stay awake. You have to stay awake.’

But her limbs, heavy as lead, refused to respond. She was going down, sinking into mud.

Her last thought before she slipped into unconsciousness was that she was going to die here, entombed, alone. It could be weeks, months, maybe even years before anyone found her body. How often did Eli check these buildings? She had no idea. And Zac – poor Zac would think she had abandoned him. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but it was no use. With a sigh, she gave herself up to the darkness.