Local Gone Missing(92)

But the scuffling got louder. Then there was a bang somewhere below me. I ran down the stairs, trying to follow the last echoes of the sound. Down and down. Until I was there. My torch flashed onto the floor. And Charlie looked up at me.

I felt as if I stood there for hours, but when I looked at my watch, it was minutes. I was trying to make sense of what I was looking at. Charlie was on the ground. There was some sort of material in his mouth and he was stuck to a chair with what looked like layers of plastic. There was a giant roll of cling film on the floor beside him. I couldn’t move. He was trying to shuffle toward me, humping his body across the floor.

“Stop!” I commanded him. And he did.

I bent to take his gag out—a disgusting rag of a tea towel—and tried to right him but he was too heavy. I needed scissors to cut him free but there was nothing in the room.

“Thank God it’s you,” he croaked. “I need a drink.” And I brought him water in my hand from the sink. He looked so helpless.

“Who did this to you?” I said.

“Never mind that,” he moaned.

He was too busy slurping to ask why I was there. But he will.

“What on earth did you do to make them tie you up?”

“A horrible misunderstanding over money. Can’t you get this stuff off me? I can’t feel my legs.”

“No, it’s wound too tight.” I tried slashing at it with my keys but it was hopeless.

“Go and get a knife from the caravan.”

“And wake Pauline? What would I tell her?”

“I don’t care. I need to get out of here.”

There was a beat and he asked the question I’d been waiting for.

“Why are you here?”

“It’s a bit of a long story.”

His face clouded and he was staring at me intently. It was putting me off, so I said it quickly.

“You owe my husband four thousand pounds and we’ll lose our home if you don’t pay him.”

“I haven’t got it,” he said. “Why do you think I’m in this state?”

“And I know who you really are,” I said.

He looked at me from the floor and groaned. “Who?”

“Charles Williams. You staged a burglary at your own house, didn’t you? And ruined all those lives.”

He closed his eyes and muttered, “Please, could you give me another drink? I don’t feel well.”

I fetched a handful, the water dripping between my fingers. As I leaned toward him, he caught my cheek and some of my hair in his teeth and bit hard. Like a dog. I screamed and pulled back.

“I know who you really are, girlie.” And he kept on staring at me. “You were there, weren’t you? You were there that night. When my daughter was being suffocated. You were the girl on the doorstep.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was holding my cheek. It felt wet. He’d drawn blood.

“Yes, you do,” he said, and his eyes flicked to my necklace. “That’s hers. I saw you wearing it on Friday night.”

My hand went straight to the chain. “It was a present,” I said, backing away.

“No, you stole it from Birdie. She always wore it—”

“No,” I said, but my voice faltered.

“You’re not very good at this, are you? Look, girlie, get me out of here and I won’t tell the police about what you did.”

I just stood there. It was surreal that he’d taken charge of the situation, lying there on the floor, tied to a chair. I felt like I was in a dream. But I pushed my nails into my hands to wake myself up.

“Shut up!” I shouted at him. “I didn’t do anything. I was eight years old. I just stood in the room while Stuart did it.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

I bent down so I was on the same level as his face but far enough away from his teeth.

“I don’t care,” I said quietly. “Phil knew. And Stuart knows. We all know you set the whole thing up.

“What are you talking about?” Charlie hissed at me. “Your brother set it up. He employed a junkie who stole to feed his habit.”

“He was made to do it. You forced Phil to fix it. Told him you’d make sure he’d go to jail for supplying drugs. And I’d be left on my own. You told him you’d turn the alarms off.”

Charlie’s eyes were bulging and he spat as he shouted, “Phil? Fucking lies! I had nothing to do with it! Anyway, he’s not around to tell anyone anything, is he?”

“How do you know that?”

“Can’t remember who told me,” he said but couldn’t meet my eye. “They said he was a piss head who drank his last drink. Look, I gave him a job, paid him a good wage. I was looking after him.”

“Of course you did,” I said. “Good old Charlie Perry, always doing someone a favor. People think you are a real sweetheart, don’t they? But you’re a coldhearted, greedy fake. You destroyed all our lives—mine, Phil’s, Stuart’s, and your daughter’s.”

“No one’s going to believe you, you little bitch,” he hissed. “But they’ll believe me. They trust me.”

I laughed in his face. And then realized he was right. I had no proof. Phil was dead. No one would believe Stuart. Charlie was going to brand me a monster. Of course he was. He’d seen the necklace. Do something, echoed round my head.