Sara cursed, and a fresh wave of tears came. When they’d passed, she lifted the phone once more and dialled 112. The operator asked her which service, and she said police. A man came on the line, his voice rough and weary.

“What’s your emergency?” he asked.

She gave him her name and the address of the house.

“There’s a man locked inside,” she said. “He’s injured. Broken jaw and hand, maybe his knee too. And he hit his head.”

“I’ll need to put you through to the ambulance service. Just hold—”

“No,” Sara said. “There are human remains in the floor. You’ll find them in the kitchen. But there are others, in the extension, and more that haven’t been found. You have to look for them.”

A pause, then, “Listen, where are you now?”

Sara hung up and tossed her phone onto the road. It landed next to Damien’s, glass fragments scattering. She put the car in gear and moved off.

She had one more thing to do.

41: Joy

41: Joy

Joy remained at the centre of the kitchen while Noreen and Mary were told to stand in opposite corners, faces to the walls, backs to the room. The table had been overturned, food and fragments of plates and cups scattered across the floor. One chair remained upright, and Ivan placed it in front of Joy before sitting himself down. He held the belt loose in his hands. Tam was nowhere to be seen, but George stood at the sink, his hair standing on end, his lip bloodied, his shirt tails pulled out. He did not look at Joy.

Ivan watched her for what seemed like eternity, his brow creasing over his small eyes. The room was silent save for Noreen’s breath cutting the air. Joy felt a queasy calm covering her own fear like a blanket. She knew how quickly, how easily, that calm could be stripped away, and she knew she had to hold onto it no matter what happened.

For Mary, she thought. You’ll get through this for Mary.

Ivan cleared his throat and, in a smooth and easy voice, he asked, “So, what’s been going on?”

Joy shook her head. “Nothing,” she said.

Ivan wrapped one end of the belt around his right fist and let the buckle fall to the floor. Joy couldn’t keep herself from wincing at the harsh jangle it made on the stone.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “You’ll only make it worse.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Joy said, feeling a fray at the edges of the calm.

“Don’t lie. What’s been going on?”

“Nothing, I swear to God.”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “Don’t you dare call on the Lord to help you in a lie. For the last time, what’s been going—”