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the front door, which was still bolted from the inside.
    But in the end none of this mattered. What mattered was that I got out. As he raised the machete I turned and bolted back the way I’d come, scrambling to unlock the back door before it was too late.
    As I threw it open, I stole a rapid glance over my shoulder and saw him walking steadily towards me, not even bothering to increase his pace.
    And then as I ran outside on to the patio, a shadow appeared in the corner of my eye and I was grabbed from behind in a tight chokehold and, before I could even properly compute the fact that there were two masked killers, not one, I blacked out.

12
    I awoke in a room with bookshelves lining the walls and a long teak desk at one end. This was Charlie’s upstairs study. I remembered it vaguely from the time I’d come with him for the weekend all those years ago, although the room had been much more cluttered then.
    Sitting on the desk facing me, arranged in a neat row and draped over a white beach towel, were the severed heads of Louise, Charlie, Crispin, Luke and Marla. All had their eyes open as they stared vacantly into space, and for some reason they didn’t look real to me, or maybe it was because I’d seen so much horror these past thirty-six hours that I’d become inured to it. Instead, I focused on the video camera that was pointing at me from a central position between Crispin’s and Luke’s heads, trying hard not to wonder why it was there, before turning my gaze to an empty chair standing in front of the window. A length of rope with a noose attached hung down above it from a purpose-built metal joist in the ceiling.
    It took me a few moments to realize that I was secured to a chair myself, with my wrists bound behind my back and two further loops of rope securing my arms to my side. I tested the bonds. They were pretty tight but I had a tiny bit of wriggle room, although that wasn’t going to help me much unless I could free my hands.
    Before I had a chance to dwell too much on what was being planned for me, the door to the room opened and the man in black walked in, still wearing his ski mask. He appeared to be unarmed, which gave me at least a tiny bit of relief.
    He stood in front of me and, as I got a better look at the eyes behind the mask, I realized that, even though I hadn’t seen him in over twenty years, I knew exactly who it was.
    Danny Corridge pulled off the ski mask with a flourish and gave me a sadistic smile. ‘Remember me, Karen?’ he asked, bringing his face close. ‘The man whose life you wrecked?’
    â€˜I’m so sorry,’ I said quietly, because in the end what else could I say?
    His laugh was loud and empty. ‘Yeah, I fucking bet you are.’
    â€˜I am. I never wanted it to be like this.’
    â€˜Shut the fuck up or I’ll cut your eyes out.’
    I stopped speaking as cold fingers of dread crawled slowly up my spine.
    â€˜You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?’ continued Corridge, his face so close to mine that I could smell the acid in his breath. ‘We’re going to hang you. But it ain’t going to be a nice quick snap of the neck. Oh no. Not for you. For you, it’s going to be nice and slow. The knot’s positioned so it’ll throttle you slowly, and while you’re choking out your last pathetic breaths we’re going to film the whole thing.’
    I wondered who the ‘we’ he kept referring to was, and the question was at least partly answered for me when a second man walked into the room.
    So there had been two killers. It seemed almost too much to believe.
    And then he too removed his mask and my shock deepened as Charlie’s caretaker, Pat, was revealed.
    â€˜Thank God for that,’ he said, chucking the mask on the floor. ‘I was getting bloody hot wearing that the whole time.’ He gave me a playful half-smile, no longer the taciturn man