I can see the objects around me better now that dawn’s pink light is sifting through the window overhead. The owners of the cottage keep their winter fuel here, a wood-box packed with logs in the neatly equipped office. The carpet glistens with moisture, the stench convincing me that the killer has upended several cans of paraffin, in case he needs to act fast. He would only have to drop a match through the window for the room to become an inferno.
The light reveals Naomi Vine’s injuries more clearly, too. The woman has ugly bruises running from her hairline to her jaw, as if the killer has beaten her head against the concrete floor, but at least she’s stopped crying. The keening sound has been replaced by silence. I can still barely raise my arms, even though pins and needles jabbing under my skin prove that my system’s recovering.
‘Tell me about Martin, Naomi.’
Her good eye suddenly blinks open, the other still swollen shut. ‘I could be wrong about his voice. Why would he hurt me like this?’
‘He told me about your relationship, but I think he lied.’
She turns her face away. ‘He was too controlling right from the start, I had to end it, even though I cared for him. I never should have started seeing him again. I thought he’d grown up, but his jealousy was even worse.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He hated me going out, even with girlfriends. I begged him to get counselling but he didn’t listen. I hated walking away, when he’d given up so much.’ Her voice is low and mournful.
‘What happened when you moved to St Agnes?’
‘It was a shock to see him. Martin still had feelings, but I told him we could only be friends. I managed to avoid him until recently.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He saw Alex Rogan leaving my house. Martin was furious; he accused me of having an affair.’
The picture comes into focus suddenly. Jealousy could have driven Martin Tolman to kill the astronomer, then abduct Naomi for throwing his orderly life into turmoil. Her voice sounds distraught when she speaks again.
‘I made him leave, but the row got to me. I’d never seen him so angry. I moved here to work, not to dredge up the past.’ There’s a fresh glint of anxiety in her eye when she studies me again. ‘Is my house okay? I hope it’s not damaged.’
‘Don’t worry about that now.’
Her face crumples as she reads my expression. ‘What happened?’
‘There was a fire, I’m afraid some of your work’s damaged.’ There’s no point in telling her the place is in ruins.
The woman flinches, then her face suddenly calms, as if one more loss is immaterial. Her explanation has added to my concern: Tolman could return soon, to finish what he started. When I glance down, the ropes around her wrists look looser than before, from where she’s been dragging them across the floor.
‘Can you free your hands yet, Naomi?’
‘It hurts like hell. The skin on my wrists is raw.’
I’m about to make another suggestion when a new sound whispers through the air. It’s so faint, I can hardly hear it, but when it comes again Naomi’s gaze meets mine.
‘What’s that?’ she asks. ‘It sounds like a cat mewing.’
The noise is stronger now. The thin wail of an infant, flooding my system with relief.
‘Lottie must be hidden somewhere near.’
Naomi reacts instantly. Pain makes her cry out as she forces her damaged wrists to flex, but she works with renewed energy, and soon the rope drops to the ground. She scrabbles at the fastenings around her ankles, clearly desperate to find the baby, something falling from the pocket of her jeans as she toils. The pain in my temple worsens as feeling returns, my skin twitching as the drug leaves my system. I can flex my muscles, but still lack enough strength to sit up. I feel a pang of envy as she rises onto all fours.
‘Jesus,’ she mutters. ‘I’ve been on the ground so long, my head’s spinning.’
‘Take it easy, Naomi.’
She ignores my suggestion, weaving unsteadily as she crawls over to some cupboards. Paper and envelopes spill out as she searches, until she opens a large drawer. Vine’s expression is startled as she faces me again, with the baby in her arms. The child is wrapped in a stained white blanket, her face pink and furious as she bawls at top volume.
‘She must have been asleep.’ Vine gazes at Lottie, as if she’s witnessing a miracle. ‘What the hell can we do? There’s nothing to feed her.’
‘At least she’s alive.’ My thoughts flick to Eddie and Michelle waiting at home, desperate for news. ‘My phone’s screwed, but the microchip will still be working. They’ll be able to track it here soon.’
Vine pays me no attention. She’s hunched against the wall, focused on comforting the baby. There’s no sign of fear anymore, which increases my concern. The child has lowered Naomi’s defences, making her forget the dangers we’re facing.