completely off guard and she went crashing forward between his legs, her teeth snagging agonizingly on him. Tony let himself fall backwards, feeling a tearing in his ankles as they protested against a movement they were never designed to make. As he hit the ground, he doubled forwards and grabbed Angelica's head, banging it hard on the stone floor till her body stopped thrashing.
He dragged himself over her prone figure till his numb fingers could reach the ankle straps. With maddening clumsiness, he struggled to unfasten the sets of buckles that fixed him to the stone slab. After what felt like hours, he was finally free. As he tried to stand, his ankles refused the challenge, turning over and catapulting him to the floor again, sending excruciating daggers of pain up his legs.
Moaning, he dragged himself across the floor towards the steps. He had barely travelled a couple of yards when the body on the floor groaned. Angelica lifted her head, blood and mucus turning her face into a grisly Hallowe'en mask. When she saw him, she roared like a wounded animal and started scrambling to her feet.
The search for a clue to Angelica's killing ground was growing more desperate as their fear and concern for Tony grew. They had emptied out the contents of the filing cabinet on to the floor. Every scrap of paper was scrutinized for any hint of the location of the cellar revealed in the video. Invoices, guarantees, bills and receipts all got the treatment. Carol was wading through a file of official correspondence, hoping to come across some lease or mortgage details, anything that related to another property. Merrick was ploughing through the files relating to Thorpe's sex change. Brandon had already had one false alarm, coming across a stack of solicitor's letters relating to a property in Seaford. It soon became clear, however, that they concerned the sale of Thorpe's late mother's home in the town.
It was Merrick who found the key. He'd finished with the sex-change files and started on a bundle of assorted letters, filed under
"Tax'.
When he came across the letter, he had to read it twice to make sure wishful thinking wasn't making him imagine things.
"Sir," he said cautiously.
"I think this might be what we're looking for."
He handed the letter to Brandon, who read the letterhead of Pennant, Taylor, Bailey and Co. " Solicitors.
"Dear Christopher Thorpe," it said.
"We have received a letter from your aunt, Mrs Doris Makins, in New Zealand, authorizing us to pass on to you the keys for Start Hill Farm, Upper Tontine Moor, by Bradfield, W. Yorkshire. As her agents, we are empowered to allow you access to said property for the purposes of maintenance and security. Please make arrangements with this office to collect the keys at your convenience..."
"Access to an isolated rural property," Carol said, looking over Brandon's shoulder.
"Tony said that's what the killer might have. And now she's got him there." A wave of anger poured through her, displacing the slow burn of fear that had been eating through her from the moment they'd unlocked the macabre secrets of that superficially normal office.
Brandon closed his eyes momentarily then said tightly, "We don't know that, Carol."
"And even if she has got him, he's a clever bloke. If anyone can keep himself out of trouble with his gob, it's Tony Hill," Don chipped in.
"Never mind whistling in the bloody dark," Carol said sharply.
"Where the hell is Start Hill Farm? And how soon can we get there?"
Tony looked around in desperation. The rack of knives was over to his left, impossibly high up. As Angelica got to her knees, he clawed at the stone bench and hauled himself upright. His hand closed on the haft of the knife as she staggered to her feet and threw herself at him, still bellowing like a cow bereft of its calf.
Her weight and the momentum of her charge bent Tony backwards over the bench. Her hands scrabbled for his throat, gripping his windpipe so tightly that white lights started to dance in front of his eyes.
Just when he thought he could hold on no longer, he felt the warm, sticky gush of blood against his stomach and Angelica's grasp became flabby as a wet newspaper.
Before he could take it all in, he heard footsteps crashing down the stone steps. Like a mad vision of paradise, Don Merrick crashed downstairs, rapidly followed by John Brandon, his jaw dropping at the tableau in front of him.
"Fucking hell," Brandon breathed.
Chapter 28
Carol pushed