Page 143 of Final Betrayal

‘How could someone have overpowered him? Surely not Megan?’ She paused as Boyd administered to Kirby. ‘Unless Tony Keegan is here. He might have Megan captive.’ She looked down at her two detectives. ‘Is he okay?’

‘I can’t see any blood. Maybe he was drugged.’

Kirby groaned again and opened his eyes. He quickly closed them again as if the light had blinded him. ‘Neck,’ he groaned.

Boyd ran his fingers around Kirby’s neck, turned the detective’s head to one side. But he still couldn’t see a wound.

‘Needle,’ whispered Kirby.

‘He’s been drugged.’ Boyd whipped out his phone and called for medical backup.

Lottie was about to reply when she heard a sound overhead. She patted Boyd on the shoulder to tell him that he was to stay with Kirby, then made her way from the utility room into a darkened kitchen. She had no idea what she was facing, so she decided not to turn on a light. The hair on the back of her neck stood to attention and her heart picked up pace. She was certain that if there was anyone in the room they would surely hear it. But it was empty. The torch beam caught the outline of a table and chairs and wall cupboards, and that was it. Scanning the light over the walls she found they were bare. She made her way to the next door and opened it.

A low moaning, like the keening of a banshee, whispered from above. At the end of the short hallway she came to a staircase. A few coats hung on the banister, the only sign that someone lived here. Hoping it wouldn’t creak, she put her foot on the first step, then made her way slowly upwards. On each step she could see a coin similar to those at the murder scenes. Her heart picked up speed in her chest and she held her breath, trying to subdue the rising surge of panic.

All the doors were open. Dim light seeped out from one. She made her way quickly, the beat of her heart almost deafening her. With no idea of what horror might await her, with no fear for her own safety, she stepped into the room.

Her mouth opened automatically to issue a scream, but all that came out was a choked gurgle. She tried to call out to Boyd, but the words would not form. She was rooted to the spot as if superglue was attached to her boots. Frozen in a time frame of terror.

Megan Price was nowhere to be seen.

But her two daughters lay side by side on the floor.

Their hands were bound in front of them. Legs outstretched. Their heads, one dark and the other dyed blonde, were both a straggling mess of blood. No movement. No breath that she could see. The scene of horror simultaneously iced her brain and her body.

She had no idea how long she stood transfixed, her heart shattering into a million fragments, her eyes pouring forth tears of pain. Her hands trembling, her knees weak as she fell to the floor. Her babies. Her girls. Her life. Entrusted to her to care for. To look after. To love. After Adam had died, her sole responsibility was to their children. To love them and protect them. And she’d fucked it all up.

It must have been only a few moments that she stood like that, and then she screamed.

SIXTY-TWO

Boyd found her on her knees. Screaming inconsolably. He quickly assessed the scene and got to work, checking for vital signs. Backup and ambulances were on the way, and he prayed they wouldn’t be too late.

He turned back to Lottie. ‘They’re alive. Come on. Help me.’

She was frozen. Face white with fear and shock.

He yelled, ‘Lottie! Now. I need help. Ambulance is on the way.’

She awoke as if from a sudden stupor and, hardly daring to breathe, crawled on hands and knees across the coin-littered floor to reach her girls.

‘Katie. Chloe. Dear God.’

She put a trembling hand under her younger daughter’s chin and lifted her head. Chloe’s eyes were closed and her mouth drooped on one side. Lottie put her face close. Skin to skin. She felt the soft breath ease from Chloe’s mouth. At last she could exhale herself. She did the same to Katie. Her daughters were alive.

But where had the blood come from? She ran quivering fingers through the girls’ hair until they connected with the wounds. Both had been bludgeoned. A strip of bloody timber lay in the corner of the room. Then she noticed a cut on Chloe’s throat, just beneath her ear.

Sirens screeched in the near distance as she held her girls close to her breast and shed tears of relief. Though she had no idea how badly injured they were, she was just thankful in that moment that they were alive.

‘Chloe was cut,’ she whispered.

‘She’ll be fine once the paramedics get here,’ Boyd said. ‘And Kirby will be fine too when whatever he was injected with wears off.’

She felt Boyd’s hand on her shoulder, and then the room filled with noise and people, and reluctantly she released her girls into the hands of the experts.

As she cried uncontrollable sobs. She felt as if her body was expunging the fear she’d been keeping under wraps since last night. And she didn’t know if she would ever be able to stop.

SIXTY-THREE

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