‘HE’S BROADCASTING FROM A RECENTLY created Facebook page,’ says Klara.
Archer can see the title on the page: Father, Son and Ghost.
‘The #FatherSonAndGhost hashtag is trending everywhere,’ says Quinn, as he looks at his phone.
Archer swallows as she takes in the scene. ‘Where is it?’
‘Just tracking it now,’ says Klara.
Jamie and the two other men are wobbling with bloody bare feet on the sharp edges of the glass vitrines. Their hands are secured behind their backs and around each neck is a tightly fixed noose looped to the rafters above. Faulkner’s eyes roll back in his head and he throws up. The vomit spills onto his chest, some of it drips and sinks slowly into the formaldehyde below. The young man is shivering and crying. He turns his head slowly to Faulkner and Jamie and with a distressed expression appears to cry out loud.
It all happens so quickly.
He loses his balance; his feet slip and he drops like a pebble into the liquid. He kicks and struggles as he sinks deeper into the formaldehyde, his toes inches from the bottom. He scrunches up his face, obviously trying to hold his breath, but the noose tightens and his face darkens. In seconds his eyes open, bulging, and his mouth opens as panic for breath sets in. He shakes hopelessly in an effort to break free but within moments he is still and he begins to float in the hazy yellow solution.
‘Jesus Christ,’ says Quinn.
‘It’s coming from Ealing!’ says Klara.
‘Are you sure?’ asks Archer.
‘According to this broadcast, yes. He wants us to find them.’
Within minutes Archer and Quinn are racing across London. Archer continues to watch the broadcast on her phone. Lewis Faulkner is wobbling again, but Jamie is holding steady.
‘Stay calm,’ she whispers.
She stares in horror at the young man in the vitrine. His mouth is open, his lungs and stomach full of formaldehyde. His eyes are wide, in an expression of disbelief. There is no sound from the broadcast. Archer tries to turn up the volume, but it remains mute.
Klara calls Quinn, who passes his phone to Grace.
‘I have entered the location on Google Maps and opened an aerial shot,’ says Klara. ‘It looks like an old gothic building . . . just a moment.’ Archer hears Klara typing furiously. ‘Yes, it’s called . . . Twyford Abbey. Just off the North Circular.’
‘Thanks!’ says Archer disconnecting the call. ‘Harry, can you go any faster?’
‘I’m doing my best,’ he replies.
Faulkner’s right foot slips and splashes on the surface of the chemical liquid.
‘No!’ cries Archer.
As the car races through the traffic Archer watches in despair as Faulkner’s trembling increases. His face turns red and contorts with terror. He begins to sob as he stares down at the liquid below. His mouth opens. She cannot hear but can sees that he is calling for help. His eyes widen and panic fills his expression. She feels a shudder sweep through her own body as Faulkner’s knees buckle and his body plunges into the liquid below. His eyes snap open at the shock and he screams a silent scream as he kicks his legs to stay afloat. But his hands are bound, he is weak. After a few more seconds, Faulkner sinks lower into the vitrine as the rope slowly squeezes the life from him.
‘Faulkner’s gone,’ says Archer.
‘What the fuck! He was our number one suspect.’
‘Shit!’
At the North Circular, Archer sees the crumbling grey façade of an old gothic-style house peeking out from the stark bare trees beyond. She points toward it. ‘There it is.’
Klara calls and Archer puts her on speaker. ‘Where are you?’
‘Almost there!’ replies Archer.
‘Backup is en route. Oh and by the way, we have identification on the third man. He’s a student reported missing by his flatmate. The victim’s name is Thomas Butler.’
Quinn turns onto Twyford Abbey Road and passes rows of semi-detached brick houses.
‘Where the flying fuck are we?’
‘Look for a gate buried in amongst bushes,’ shouts Klara. ‘It’s an old manor house so the gate should be big.’
Archer sees it and points ahead. ‘There. Look.’
Quinn speeds up what looks like a secluded road and skids to a halt at the tall, rusted double gate. Signs in vivid reds, blues and yellows hang from the iron rails.
BEWARE OF THE DOGS
KEEP OUT
PRIVATE PROPERTY
DANGEROUS
Archer jumps out and hauls the gates with all her strength, opening them wide before running back to the car. In the distance she can hear sirens approaching. They arrive outside the derelict gothic mansion and run up to the entrance, but the door is locked.
A voice calls from inside. She looks at her phone and sees Jamie calling out.
Quinn tries to force the door open but it won’t budge.
Lying on the ground is a rusty old golf club. Archer grabs it and hits the door with it, causing little more than chips of wood to fly from the surface.
‘Help. Please help me!’ calls Jamie.
‘Jamie. It’s Grace Archer. Is he there with you now?’
‘No!’ His voice is faint and weak.
‘Please hang on!’ calls Archer.
Quinn kicks the door as Archer batters it with the club. Two uniforms arrive with a battering ram and smash open the door with one hit. They crash through and Archer rushes inside to the three cabinets. Two have claimed their victims and the third waits to swallow Jamie. A makeshift studio with cameras and lights film the scene. There is no sign of anyone else. No indication the killer is here.
Archer drops the golf club. ‘Stay calm, Jamie. Don’t give up.’
She sees a stepladder lying on the floor behind the cabinets. Quinn has already spotted it. He grabs it and sets it up behind Jamie.
‘I need a knife,’ he calls. One of the officers gives him a small utility blade.
Quinn climbs up and begins to cut through the rope but Jamie is pale and weak and seems to be losing consciousness from the fumes of formaldehyde.
‘Stay awake, Jamie!’ cries Archer. To her relief Quinn cuts through the rope but he is unable to hold onto Jamie and he starts to slip into the vitrine.
‘No!’ cries Archer. Quinn struggles to grab him, but it’s too late.
Jamie’s eyes open and he peers at her through the yellow glow of the liquid.
With her heart in her mouth, Archer grabs the golf club and runs at the vitrine, swinging with all her strength. The glass cabinet shudders at the blow. She swings again and again and again, crying out in frustration until the toughened glass shatters and collapses. Jamie tumbles out, choking and coughing as he falls at her feet in a river of chemical fluid and shattered glass.
She crouches down beside him, easing him off the tiny shards that have cut into his skin. In the distance she hears the sound of a siren. She has never felt such relief.