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waiting for me a few yards away so he could take me down like an animal with his crossbow? But I couldn’t stay here. Eventually he’d come back and discover me. He had all the time in the world. I had none. I couldn’t be more than a hundred yards from the house. If I could get there, I was safe. At least that was what I was telling myself. The little voice that was always there was telling me to run. Now. As fast as I could. And hope for the best.
    I didn’t want to look behind me – Jesus, I didn’t – and I had to force myself to slowly turn my head, knowing that whatever was behind me could well be the last thing I ever saw, and it was an incredible relief just to see the empty line of pines.
    I made a decision. Taking one last look in the direction the crossbowman – whoever he was – had gone, I peeled myself off the tree and crept as quietly as possible past a fan of mature ferns, using them as cover, until I got to the next tree, then did the same again. The lines of pines had now given way to a sprinkling of oak trees as the woods thinned, and I could see the vague outline of the house through the undergrowth, no more than thirty yards away.
    I looked back. Still no sign of my pursuer. For the first time, I felt a thin ray of hope. I took a step backwards, then another, manoeuvring round the tree trunk to make myself as invisible as possible.
    And touched something. Something that felt very human.
    The shock made me jump forward and I swung round fast, looking straight into Charlie’s cold, staring eyes.
    He was skewered to the tree by two crossbow bolts. One had been fired through his chest – the entry point very similar to where the knife blade had been thrust into Louise the previous night. The other was jutting out of his throat. There was a lot of blood. Thin rivulets of it ran from both corners of his mouth in long lines, mixing with the thick drying stain that covered his throat and chest, and I immediately recalled what Crispin had said about Louise hardly bleeding at all because the knife thrust into the heart had killed her instantly. This was very different. The killer must have shot him in the throat first, – probably at point-blank range, and let him choke on his own blood before finally finishing him off.
    I couldn’t help it. Instinctively, I cried out, the sound far too loud in the natural quiet of the woods.
    Then, as I tore my gaze away from Charlie’s corpse, I saw him standing twenty yards away, the crossbow to his shoulder as he pointed it right at me in a marksman’s stance. The man who’d murdered my two friends.
    For a second I didn’t move. I don’t know if, in that moment in time, I’d resigned myself to my fate, but it was almost as if I was waiting for him to fire.
    But he didn’t. And that hesitation on his part was enough for me.
    I dived round the far side of the oak and temporarily out of sight just as a bolt flew through the air, reverberating as it hit a nearby tree. I was on my feet in an instant, tearing through a tangle of brambles, ignoring the pain as the thorns slashed at my face and body, staying low and trying not to keep to a straight line.
    I ate up the ground, the house taking shape now. I snatched a look over my shoulder. Saw him running too, the crossbow reloaded, a couple of trees back but keeping me in sight. I turned forward again, almost hit a tree, dodged it at the last second, stumbling on something but somehow managing to keep my balance.
    And then I was out of the wood and running across the front lawn. At the last second, I remembered that the front door would be locked and I darted down the path round to the back of the house, flinging open the side gate which clattered shut behind me, praying that the door there would still be open.
    Panting, I reached it and yanked the handle.
    It was locked.
    There was no longer any point in trying to be quiet so I hammered on the door, pushing