Page 111 of The Angel Maker

Forty-four

As she was driving up the dirt path that led away from the road, the full weight of what she was doing hit Katie hard. She fought down an urge to stop and reverse out of here. To go home. But if she did that, what would happen to Chris? And so she forced herself to continue. A few minutes later, the trees fell away, revealing a windswept field ahead of her, an old mansion house squatting in the center. There was something dark and hooded about the way the windows seemed to watch her as she drove closer. The building itself appeared even blacker than the dark-gray clouds that filled the sky above.

Not totally black though.

Most of the property was shrouded in darkness, but as she parked up behind the car that was already there, she noticed a soft glow coming from high above. She stared up through the windshield and saw a broken-down section of blackened stone around what had once been a window. The light was coming from in there.

What was this place?

She wondered if it belonged to the man she was here to meet. It was a building that felt well-suited to someone both obsessed with the murderabilia of Jack Lock and rich enough to pay for it. But although the property seemed vast, there was also something dilapidated and abandoned about it.

She looked down again.

There was nobody visible in the car in front of her, and the enormous wooden doors of the house were open. Whoever she was meeting was already inside. Perhaps they were even three stories above, where the glow was coming from.

Waiting for her.

But so was Chris.

She looked at the ground by the door and noticed there was a long, thin stretch of tape trampled into the wet ground there. And when she realized what she was seeing, she blinked.

The remains of a police cordon.

She stared at that for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, and then picked up the book from the passenger seat. Even through the plastic, her fingertips tingled from the feel of the thing.

“Okay,” Katie said quietly. “You know what you have to do.”

She got out of the car, pulling her jacket around her against the wind. It was much colder here than it had been back on the road. Despite the vast house, it seemed like a wild and untamed place. Isolated and exposed. She left the car door open behind her and walked slowly across the gravel toward the open door.

And then she stepped over the old police cordon and went inside.

It was dark over the threshold, but enough of the gloomy light was spreading in from outside to give an impression of the huge, open space ahead of her. She registered the black-and-white-tiled floor. The dark doorways leading off to either side.

And then a steady tapping noise began echoing around.

She waited. A few seconds later, she saw a figure was making its way down one of the two staircases ahead. A man. He was moving slowly, taking his time. When he reached the bottom, she registered how old he was and wondered if the care he was taking was due to his age. But as he began to approach her across that chessboard floor, the impression disappeared.Be careful, she told herself. Because there was a confidence to him—asense of strength and power—that set an alarm ringing inside her. However old he was, he was clearly dangerous.

He stopped in the middle of the floor and smiled politely.

“You must be the sister,” he said.

She looked around again. The doorways on either side of the entrance hall remained dark. The old man had come down alone and there was no sign of her brother.

“Where’s Chris?” she said.

The old man smiled again.

“He’s safe for now. And he will be even safer in a few minutes when we’ve conducted our business. But after his behavior last night, neither of you can blame me for taking precautions. He didn’t bring the book to that exchange, and so, for this one, I have not brought him. But he’s safe right now. I am a man of my word.”

He had stopped at the edge of where the light from outside could comfortably reach, and beyond that impression of old age, it was hard for her to make out any of his features. But from what she could see of his smile, she didn’t trust it. And while his tone of voice was superficially pleasant and friendly, she didn’t trust that either.

“I want to see him,” she said.

“And I want to see the book.”

She held it up. And while she couldn’t see the old man’s eyes properly, she could tell his attention had locked onto the book. She even felt the force of his gaze and had to fight to stop her hand from shaking slightly.

She lowered the book.

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