I’m standing outside the address. It’s not the sort of place where I would have expected Annie to live. She’s cool and stylish, and although she’s an executive producer, this seems way too expensive for her. She could have married rich, I guess, or come from a wealthy family, but there’s something about this place that feels off. It doesn’t suit her.
The house sits far back from the narrow tree-lined road that borders the woods. There’s a tall stone perimeter wall, lit up by built-in lights, and etched in gold onto a slate plaque at the entrance is ‘Lance Place’. The wooden gates are already open and between the scatterings of trees I see a red-brick house with black beams and high-pitched roofs, illuminated by wrought-iron lamps. I step forward off the leafy path and onto the immaculate driveway; everything about the property is pristine, every hedge trimmed, every stone and piece of gravel in place.
The house itself is double-fronted and all the windows have black frames. Old-fashioned streetlights arch over the steps leading to the front door. As I approach, something slinks out of sight in the corner of my eye, a light flashes, and the door opens before I can even knock.
But Annie isn’t standing there. It’s Mark.
‘Come in,’ he says, as if expecting me.
‘I don’t understand. Is Annie here?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, she called me and said you needed to speak to someone urgently.’
‘I need to speak to Annie,’ I say.
‘Please, come in, Grace, I’ll explain everything. Annie’s asked me to fill you in. It was way too delicate to discuss in the NTV offices.’
I look back at the lit drive, the dark woods in the distance, then step forward.
The house isn’t any warmer inside. The hallway is marvellous, stone with mediaeval archways and old wood. It smells damp, like a cellar, but Mark gestures towards a door on the right, where there’s the soft, warm glow of a fire.
‘It’s an old building,’ he says. ‘Beautiful though.’
I follow him into a large reception room, with red and gold wallpaper and suede navy sofas. The open fire roars and crackles as Mark strides over to it and throws on another log. He rubs his hands together. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
I shake my head.
‘A little brandy to stave off the cold?’
I shake my head again, but he’s already pouring it, standing over a drinks tray, tipping from a crystal decanter.
‘Is it just you here?’ I say.
He turns holding out the glass. ‘Sadly, yes. I used to be married, but I work too much, and it didn’t last.’
‘Oh.’
‘Anyway, sit down, please.’
I lower myself onto one of the sofas and he sits on the chair by the fire, crossing his legs. He stares into the fire pensively, raises his tumbler to his mouth and almost empties it. His fingers tap the arm of the chair.
‘Thank you so much for coming, Grace. I asked Annie to send those emails, and when I saw your reply, I just knew it was no longer safe for you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know about Annie?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know anything. I just … She knew Katy, you were wrong about that.’
‘She did,’ he states.
‘I think she told Katy something, made some sort of statement, I don’t know.’
‘Why would you think that?’
I look up at him and he’s staring at me intently, waiting for an answer. He springs up and refills his glass, but I hold a hand over my own to let him know I don’t want any more.
‘I spoke to Peter. He seems to think…’ I pause. ‘You said it wasn’t safe for me? Is this to do with NTV? Did something happen there?’
He nods. ‘I think so. Annie and I have been looking into it, but they’re covering their tracks.’
‘Who are?’
‘It’s hard to say who’s exactly involved, but we think Katy did catch wind of something, and the network got rid of any evidence of what that might be.’
‘She was working on something.’
‘It looks like it.’ He takes another sip. ‘Do you know anything, Grace? Anything that could help us?’
‘She had a USB,’ I admit. ‘But it’s gone now.’
‘Did you see what was on it?’
‘No, nothing apart from one file.’
‘Oh?’
‘“AMA’s statement”.’
‘I see.’
‘Did Annie talk to Katy about anything?’
He nods. ‘She did.’
‘What was it?’
‘Annie’s too scared to talk to me about it. But I know it’s to do with the network.’ He pinches the space between his eyes. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’
‘Why can’t she go to the police?’
‘I think she did,’ he says. ‘Years and years ago, but they didn’t listen to her, didn’t take what she had to say seriously.’
There’s a moment’s silence. The wind whistles in the chimney and the wooden door creaks slightly.
‘Can I use your bathroom?’ I ask.
‘Of course, it’s out the way you came and keep heading straight on, the door at the end. It’s a bit of a maze in here, so watch where you go.’
I place my glass on the table in front of the sofa, my legs a little loose from the few sips of brandy. Mark leans forward and stokes the fire with an iron poker. ‘I’ll get you another drink. You’re welcome to stay here tonight if you need to, I know it’s late.’
‘It’s fine, I’ve not had that much.’
I leave him by the fire and follow his directions to the bathroom. All the doors to each room leading off the hallway are closed, apart from the bathroom at the end. It’s bigger than my entire bungalow, decorated in black and white, a splash of red towels. On my way back, I run my hand along the walls, stroking the dark bronze wallpaper. Each surface of wall is covered in dark, patterned wallpaper. My legs feel worse, and I notice a dampness at the corner of my mouth. I wipe it with the back of my sleeve and steady myself on the table in the hallway, moving it slightly. I wonder if Mark heard, but he doesn’t say anything.
I lick my lips and close my eyes, the sticky warmth returning. I’m just tired. Maybe I should take him up on his offer to stay here. I don’t think I can drive home like this, I haven’t slept properly all week, not in all the confusion. Not since the first episode of The Disappearance of Katy Harper.
The coolness of the hallway wakes me slightly. I clutch my keys and think about calling out to Mark that I’m leaving. I’ll go straight to Detective Lane, tell him that Mark and Annie know something. Mark doesn’t seem to have much faith in the police, but Detective Lane will do something. He’ll listen.
‘I’m going,’ I call.
I wait a moment for a reply, but there is only silence.
‘Did you hear me?’ I take a step forward and peer around the door into the reception room, but it is empty.
‘Mark?’ I call.
I could just leave, but I don’t want him to worry. He’ll think I’m doing the wrong thing going to the police. I get the feeling he doesn’t want me to, but he knows something, and so does Annie.
I walk through the reception, calling Mark’s name, but there’s no reply. There’s a closed door on the other side, which I open slowly, staring down another long, narrow hallway wallpapered a deep grey. Monochrome silhouettes dance under a starry skyline on each side, but the images slowly turn more violent until the silhouettes are fighting, spears in hand, silky splashes of red flowing freely down the canvas. Two knights on horseback rush towards each other, lances in hand.
‘Mark?’ I call.
At the end of the hallway is a door. I reach forward to open it, but it’s locked.
‘Hello?’
I turn to leave, but something glints under the dim lights. There’s a black velvet plaque with a gold tile on top just above the door. I take a step forward. Etched into the tile are the words ‘The Golden Key’.
I feel the key burn into my thigh, and slip my hand in my jeans’ pocket. Pulling out the key, I stare down at the lock. I glance over my shoulder, but Mark is nowhere to be seen. I feel a bit silly, but everything is telling me to try it. That of all the clues Katy left, this has to be one. I hadn’t found out what it opened; I always thought that would be Katy’s ultimate secret, a place I could never unlock.
I slot the key into the lock and turn it.