Trust No One - Keri Beevis Page 0,4

belong to Karen Mortimer, but unsure whose it was, given that the property had stood empty for nearly two years, she decided to let herself into the house. The heating wasn’t working but it would be better than standing outside in the cold.

She put the key in the front door lock, frowning when it didn’t turn. Although she hadn’t been here in a while, she had been certain the lock opened to the right. Instead she twisted it left and heard the lock catch. Her frown deepened as she realised it was now locked. The door had been open already. But how?

Neither Cadwallader brother lived locally, though Olivia supposed they could have been back in town. They had no need to visit the house, which was empty of their mother’s things, and neither of them struck her as the sentimental type. The house was just extra cash they were waiting on.

Tentatively she twisted the key back, easing the door open. Was that a radio she could hear? Music was coming from somewhere at the back of the house, which suggested someone was inside. But who?

‘Hello, Mr Cadwallader, is that you?’

There was no response.

Unease prickled her scalp and the back of her neck. Although there were other houses in the street, they were all set apart with wide gardens that offered privacy. 8 Honington Lane was many things; old-fashioned, dilapidated and unloved, but this was the first time Olivia had ever found it to be creepy.

‘Hello? Mr Cadwallader, it’s Olivia Blake from Dandridge & Son.’

Perhaps she should go back to the car and wait for her client.

A banging noise and the faint sound of music came from the kitchen, the door at the far end of the hallway. It had to be one of the Cadwallader brothers. They had the radio on and hadn’t heard her. Maybe they were finally heeding Roger’s instruction to tidy the place up.

Chiding herself for being stupid, she entered the house, choosing to leave the door ajar, glancing at the steep staircase that led up to darkness and the doors along the main hallway, all part open. As she neared the kitchen, the music got louder, the song recognisable.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

It didn’t sound like it was coming from a radio. The scratchy sound was more reminiscent of a record player.

She thought back to the note she had received and the phone call repeating the same words.

Everyone’s past catches up with them eventually, including yours. Soon.

What if it wasn’t an innocent, unfunny prank by Jeremy? The words held a threat. What if Karen Mortimer wasn’t who she said she was? What if Karen Mortimer didn’t exist? No one wanted this property, yet this woman had insisted that she view it today. And her enquiry had been by email, while the number she had provided had gone to voicemail.

What if it’s a trap?

Olivia hesitated, told herself to get a grip. There was nothing sinister here. She was overreacting.

The smell of petrol hit her first, the strong pungent odour clinging to the air. It was also coming from the kitchen and, as she neared, a muffled sound over the top of the Christmas song, followed by the scraping of a chair on the floor, had her ears pricking.

Her brain was screaming GO. Something was off, but her feet carried her forward.

She wasn’t prepared for the sight that met her.

The kitchen was dated with worn yellow metal units and an ugly pale blue worktop. Ragged checked curtains hung at the windows and door, and clashing blue and pink floor tiles completed the look. A portable record player was on the scuffed fold-down table playing the Christmas song.

One of the blue chairs had been placed in the middle of the room, and that was where her focus was drawn, to the man bound to the chair, lengths of chain wrapped around his body, holding him in place despite his struggles. His hair was wet, plastered to his forehead, his clothes were too, and his face was twisted in anguish as he screamed into the gag tied across his mouth. Both the legs of the chair and the jeaned legs of the man tied to it, were licked by orange flames that were rising fast.

For a moment Olivia couldn’t move. The distressing scream that tore from the man as he managed to spit the gag out, spurred her into action. She rushed forward to help him, but jumped back as the flames leapt out at her.

The heat