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In one swift movement he loops the yoga belt over Patrick’s head and tightens it around his neck. He pulls as hard as he can. Patrick is a big guy but he’s not taller than Olly. All Olly must do is hang on. It’s not easy. Patrick thrashes around, grabbing at the belt, trying to pull it away from his neck, throwing himself from side to side, but Olly doesn’t give up; he keeps up the pressure until, finally, Patrick collapses onto the floor. Olly, panting, kneels to check his pulse.
Sasha walks in, carrying a tray. ‘Here you are,’ she says. ‘I went to the stables. Oh my God.’
Olly can’t feel any sign of life. ‘He’s gone,’ he says. He notices a pin on Patrick’s lapel and recognises it as one of the guest pins from the Barn. He removes it and slips it into his pocket. It could come in useful.
He looks up at Sasha. She’s frozen in place, staring at Patrick. He glances at the tray she’s carrying. It’s sweet that she brought Patrick a sandwich, some fruit and one of Kitty’s brownies.
‘You bothered to bring him supper,’ he says. ‘You didn’t need to.’
‘What have you done? You—’
His temper rises swiftly, and he cuts her off. ‘I did what needed to be done.’
‘We’re right under the noses of the police! Or haven’t you noticed?’
‘He was a loose cannon! Didn’tyounotice? We can put him in the septic tank with Kitty. It’s not a problem. Give me some credit.’
She throws the tray at him, hard, and he ducks, but the food splatters him and the tray clatters across the medieval tiles.
She storms out. ‘Clean up your fucking mess!’ she shouts and the door slams behind her.
He stands, staring at the back of the door, feeling a twitch in his eye and a queasy and unwelcome mixture of anger and doubt.
70
FRIDAY
Jen
As Jen drives up the lane leading towards the Manor House and Barn, she sees the reporters gathered at the end of the Barn’s drive, one of them operating a drone. She curses. How horrible for Nicole.
She tries to call Hal to ask what she should do about it, but he doesn’t pick up. He must still be sleeping off his migraine.
The squad car has moved from its position in front of the Barn to block the entrance to the drive. Jen pulls in and gives the instruction to the officers in the car to move the press right back to the main road. ‘Keep them away, but drive by the Barn now and then,’ she says. ‘I’ll call for more help.’
‘Get that drone down,’ she tells one man. ‘Or I’ll nick you for trespass.’
She drives on past the Barn and the Manor and parks at the very end of the lane, where a wooden gate blocks vehicles fromgoing any further. She and Finn let themselves through it. Finn found an old map of Lancaut online, which suggests a location for the plague pit, and he has a screenshot of it on his phone. Jen can’t read maps to save her life but he’s promising he can take her there.
Beneath the trees, it feels like night already. Finn switches on a powerful flashlight and leads the way down a steep path.
‘Wait here a moment,’ he says when they’re part of the way down. He studies the map and directs them to step off the path and immediately the going gets tougher as they wade through dense undergrowth. Finn walks ahead and tries to hold back branches for Jen but some whip into her anyway. They arrive in a dense thicket of saplings, difficult to push through. ‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ Jen calls.
‘Yep,’ Finn calls back. He’s getting a bit ahead of her, and she scrambles to catch up. He leads the way across a flatter patch of ground, where mature trees soar above them. The undergrowth is less dense here, and the light between the trees ahead is paler than that behind them and to the sides, suggesting a clearing. Jen’s senses prickle.
On the map, Finn showed her that the plague pit was some distance from the abandoned village. They wouldn’t have wanted the diseased to be buried too close, he said. It makes sense. He stops at the edge of the clearing, a small terrace of land. It’s covered in thick, tufty turf and there’s a deep quietness about it that gives her the chills, even though she doesn’t believe in the supernatural.
‘I think this is it,’ Finn says.
He rakes the torchlight across the turf. ‘There,’ he says. ‘It looks different.’
Jen doesn’t see it at first, but then she does, a patch of ground where the turf is a little wilted, splaying in the wrong directions. The patch is about the size and shape of a burial site.
‘Holy shit,’ she says. They approach the area and Jen gets on her hands and knees. Chunks of turf come up easily. Their regular edges could have been cut by a spade. Beneath, the dirt is loose and uncompacted. ‘It looks as if it’s been dug up very recently,’ she says. ‘I’ll call this in.’
She reaches for her phone, but she has no reception. ‘Use your radio,’ she tells him, but it’s out of range. He moves a short distance away and tries again. Jen stands close to him, hands on her hips, surveying the site, thinking about what this means. The radio is crackling as he tries to use it, but she thinks she hears something in the woods behind her. A rustle, something cracking underfoot. She sees a dark shadow move between the trees and disappear. ‘Hey!’ she shouts and starts to make her way into the woodland, running and stumbling. ‘Police! Stop!’ Finn swings the torch towards the sound and follows, catching up with Jen when she finally stops running and stands, out of breath, realising she has to give up because if it was a person, she can’t hear them any longer and she has no idea what direction they went in.
‘Let’s get back to the road,’ she says. ‘We need to get forensics in to see if there are signs that there was a body buried here.’
