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9–4. 10–12. Sat.
It’s her handwriting. It’s swimming times for the local pool, scrawled down in haste on their last holiday. On their last visit to the lodge.
The note for the Zodiac killings, for Libby’s murder, was written on a notepad taken from their lodge. In the middle of nowhere, on moorland.
Where the killer must have taken Jess. Where Griffin is heading to now.
But why … But who …?
Her mind can barely acknowledge what she knows must be true.
She makes an urgent call, requesting a patrol car. She has to get down there. Before someone she loves dies.
CHAPTER
76
THE COLD IS sudden and shocking. Jess gasps, water running down her face.
“Wake up.”
A man stands in front of her. He has a bucket in his hand, and he places it on the floor next to him. She recognizes him immediately.
She tries to move, but she’s bound to a chair, her feet and hands fastened tightly with plastic cable ties. Her arms are outstretched, and she tugs at them, but the heavy wooden chair holds fast. She struggles and it rocks slightly.
“Careful, I don’t want you to tip over backward,” he says. He reaches over and gently moves a strand of wet hair out of her face. “How are you, Jessica?”
“Let me go,” she snarls. She’s wet through, and the room is cold. Her eyes dart around. It’s a wooden cabin, nice pictures on the walls, throws over a comfy sofa. “Where am I?” she shouts. “Where have you taken me?”
“Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.” He pulls up a chair and sits in front of her. She notices he has a small penknife in his hand.
She pulls again, the ties digging into her skin. She needs to calm down, she tells herself. Think. Think. But then she catches a glimpse of a body, someone lying on the floor, his back to her. A man.
“Who’s that?” she stutters.
He glances back, his half-closed eyes hardly taking notice of the prostrate figure.
“No one you need to be concerned with. He tried to defend them, you know. Those kids. What a fucking hero.” He adds this last sentence bitterly, resentment creeping into his voice.
Breath catches in Jess’s throat. He sees her horrified expression. “Don’t worry,” he says. “They’re fine. Drugged and asleep in the bedroom. I love Tilly and Joshua. They were never my plan. But I needed to get back for you. So we could talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?” Jess asks. She’s trying to distract him. She hopes someone will find her. But how, the little voice in her head says, how? How can anyone possibly know you’re here?
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” he asks.
“Of course, I do. From last week. From—”
He stops her. “No. Not from our encounter in the restroom. From before.”
“Before …?” Jess is puzzled. She looks at his face. “I don’t …”
But then something about him makes her pause. She does know him. She sees kind eyes from years ago. His smile—nervously handing her the last bit of toast. Giving her a toy to play with. Traces of the boy he once was.
“The children’s home,” she whispers. “You were there.”
He gives her a sad smile. “You do remember me! I must admit, when you didn’t recognize me last week, I was upset. Because I remembered you, Jess.” He looks at the penknife, pulling one of the blades out of the handle. Light shines on the silver, dancing on the sharp edge.
“But that was over twenty years ago?” she stutters.
