‘We checked CCTV footage of the park,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Tentsmuir Forest. It’s busy, even at this time of year. Dog-walkers, hikers, fitness fanatics, and the like. We have a Ford Focus that matches the one parked outside Cauldwood Cottage entering at ten to eight. But by then, you’d already killed Amy and the kids, and I’m guessing you had Amy’s body parts wrapped in towels in the boot.
‘I’d also guess that Amy told Janice that she’d filed a complaint against you for rape under her maiden name – Charlotte Renwick. Or maybe their other sister, Siobhan, told Janice. Either way, you’d reached breaking point. The game was up. When Janice phoned you yesterday, that sealed her fate, too. So you and Purvis killed her – just as you’d killed Nichola Kelly, all those years ago.’
Gilchrist listened for some response that might confirm his theory. But Magner’s breathy silence gave nothing away, only that he was finding the going tough.
The tunnel dipped for a short stretch, taking them deeper. The sound of dripping water was closer too, the floor damp enough for their boots to slap the odd splash. Without any ventilation system – nothing to pump air in one end and suck it out the other – just the effort of walking had sweat running down his face, tickling his neck. His lungs laboured to pull in sufficient air to breathe.
But he knew he had to keep talking.
‘Most suicides put the tube from the exhaust through the rear window. It’s easier to open the door to sit in the front seat if you do it that way. And stuffing the scarf in from the outside was a bit sloppy, I have to tell you. Didn’t I tell you that it’s always the smallest things?’ The memory of Jessie’s words that morning sent hope surging through him.
He was not done and dusted yet. Just keep talking.
‘And I’m guessing it was maybe mid-afternoon when you killed Amy. Which gave you plenty of time to hack her up, shower yourself clean, and make it to Tentsmuir Forest that evening. But what did you give the kids when they got home from school? A soft drink from their favourite uncle? Spiked with enough drugs to have them unconscious within minutes, ready to be smothered?’
Nothing.
‘They were children, you murdering bastard. What harm could they do to you?’
Still no response – not even a grunt or an angry prod in the back to remind him to shut up.
‘And what did you give Brian? A celebratory spiked Grey Goose?’ Gilchrist stopped to catch his breath. ‘What did you have to celebrate? A new business deal? Another million quid in your bloated bank account? I don’t think so. I’m guessing Amy told Brian about her rape complaint. Or maybe Janice did. And Brian was going to-’
An electric shock fired through Gilchrist.
‘You’re doing a lot of guessing,’ Magner said, his tone giving the impression that the cramped walk through an ever-tightening tunnel was like a stroll in the park. But he was fooling no one. He prodded his rifle at Gilchrist’s left arm again.
Gilchrist let out another cry of pain.
‘Maybe that’ll teach you to shut it.’
Gilchrist fought back tears as the pain in his left arm subsided. But the sound of Magner’s heavy breathing assured him that Magner was faring no better, and that his facial injuries and physical bulk were working against him in the confined space.
‘Keep going,’ Magner grunted. ‘Nearly there.’
Gilchrist did as he was told, and clasped his left arm with his right hand, trying to stifle the pain. His fingers throbbed with a pulse that ticked to the beat of his heart. But that was the least of his worries. They were nearing the end of the tunnel, and more than likely the end of his life. The air seemed too thick to breathe, the cramp in his legs too strong for him to continue. But he pressed on.
Another fifteen steps brought them to another bend where the tunnel turned through forty-five degrees. When Gilchrist squeezed round the corner, he faced what he thought was a dead end, until he realised it was a door.
He stopped.
The door was metal, not as corroded as the others, but lacking a handle. He pushed it and heard the metallic rattle of the deadbolt against the latch-plate.
Locked.
It puzzled Gilchrist why this door was locked and the others not, until he worked out that this must lead to the open, and Purvis could not risk someone stumbling across the tunnel entrance, then walking all the way underground to the cottage trapdoor, or even to the Meating Room.
‘Use this.’ Magner passed a heavy key over Gilchrist’s shoulder.
He took it, slotted it into the keyhole, and turned.
The lock eased open with a heavy click. Using the key as a handle, Gilchrist pulled the door open, having to back into Magner as he did so.
Which gave him his chance.
He leaned forward to push through the door opening, but struck out with his leg in a back-heel kick. He felt the satisfying thud as his foot hit something hard, then he scurried through the opening, key in hand. As he closed the door he glanced at Magner, his broken face contorted into a grotesque mask of surprise and anger and pain, his rifle swinging Gilchrist’s way.
The first bullet struck the edge of the door and ricocheted past Gilchrist’s face with a sizzling whine. The second hit the door full on with a dull crack, almost at the same time as Gilchrist slammed it hard into its frame.
He slotted the key into the keyhole and turned.
Three more bullets thudded into the metal with frightening force.
Gilchrist scurried along yet another tunnel, worried that Magner might find some way to shoot him through the keyhole. He also worried that blood was once again dripping from his fingertips – his wounds reopened by the sudden exertion. By the time he had gone ten steps, the silence behind told him Magner was already making his way back to the cottage, from where he could use his mobile to warn Purvis.
How long would that take?
Fifteen minutes? Ten? Less?
Gilchrist gritted his teeth, and pressed on.
CHAPTER 40
Jessie reached the cottage’s rear lawn and stopped in the shadows.
If Magner was inside the cottage he could not see her. She was sure of that. She managed to convince herself she had nothing to fear – she was supposedly trapped in the Meating Room, after all. Even so, as she crept forward, her gaze darted from the windows to the door, to the driveway, to the Ford Focus, and back to the windows again.
Nothing stirred.
Without her mobile, she could not call for support. Andy had said up to an hour before the ARVs arrived, but she had expected police presence to be already here, to have blocked off the roads by now.
The smell of smoke hung in the air. Somewhere off in the distance, she caught the fading sound of a departing car. Everyone could have been settling in for an early bed on a Sunday night. She crept forward, Beretta gripped firmly, nerves stretched as tight as piano wire – Magner could be anywhere, she thought, although if he had any sense he would be well on his way to the Far East by now.
She reached the back door and tried the handle.
To her surprise, it was unlocked.
She pushed the door open and pressed her body to the cottage wall in case Magner tried to blast his way to freedom from inside. After five seconds of silence, she risked a look, then rushed through the doorway to crouch on the floor.
Nothing.
She moved through the small dining area and into the living room.