The Death Chamber (50 page)

The sound of the gallows trap being operated again made her heart jump. Was the prowler going down into the vault to attack Jude? If so, why? Oh God, thought Georgina, how did I get myself stuck
in this bloody condemned cell, with a maniac on the loose, and a gallows on the other side of this wall, and . . .

Her thoughts snapped onto a wholly new track. The gallows was on the other side of the wall. And although Calvary had been built in the grim old days when prisoners had to take that infamous
grisly walk to the scaffold, hadn’t most prisons later tried to make the process more humane? Hadn’t they adapted things or rebuilt them so that a panel could slide open or a concealed
door operate and there, just a few steps ahead, was the noose? Thirty seconds from condemned cell to death. Except that might not have happened here, because the two rooms were next door to one
another so it might not have been thought worthwhile. Calvary was old and solid so it might have been a problem to make the alterations. But it might, it just might . . . And if she could at least
get into the execution room . . .

Georgina shone the torch over the wall. Nothing. Just a smooth flat surface, battered by time, cracked with neglect. Where would a panel or a concealed door be? In the centre? No, because the
point was to keep out of the prisoner’s sightline. Nearer the corner, then? Think, Georgina, you’re supposed to be the one who knows about the design of buildings and the layout of
their interiors. Yes, but you don’t get much call to twink up the interior of a prison used for housing murderers!

She set the torch down on the ground so it shone directly onto the wall, and began to run her hands slowly over the surface. It was a fairly disgusting process, because the wall was filthy and
in places the plaster was crumbling away, but it had to be done. Jude was on the other side of the wall, and he was locked in there with some madman. I’m not going to find anything, thought
Georgina, in panic. I really am stuck in here, and once the prowler’s dealt with Jude he’ll come back and deal with me.

With the framing of the thought her hands felt a change in the wall’s surface, and her heart leapt with hope but also with fresh panic, because it might not be anything at all. But please
let it be, please . . .

Under the accumulated layers of dirt and mould, the wall had a seam about a foot in from the end. A doorway? A panel? The seam only went about six feet up. Door height. She worked her way
further along, and found a corresponding seam. The outline of a door. But how did it work? Supposing it had become stuck in place with the years?

She pushed against it, and felt it yield slightly, but no more than that. How about sliding it? Right to left? No, there was not enough room for it to slide along – it was too near the
corner. Left to right then? Perhaps whoever had designed it had been left-handed.

This time there was no mistaking its movement. The whole section of the wall slid several inches to the right, and Georgina gave a little gasp of relief, and threw her entire weight into the
task. Slowly, agonizingly, scraping and protesting after years of disuse, the panel moved along until a rectangle had opened up in the wall.

Georgina snatched up the torch, and stepped through.

The room was empty – unless you counted the unmistakable presence of its past, which Georgina did not. She saw the red light of the camcorder was still showing, which presumably meant it
was running.

The one door of the gallows trap was open as it had been when they came in. Was the prowler hiding down there? What about Jude? When she advanced to the edge of the open vault and shone the
torch down, there was no sign of anyone. Georgina frowned and knelt down on the edge, trying to think. They had both been in here – she had certainly left Jude here and she had seen the
unknown man dart along the passage and come in and lock the door. She got up to check the door. Yes, firmly locked. No key anywhere, which might mean all kinds of things.

This did not make sense. Either she had fallen into one of those old crime books where the centrepiece was a locked room, or . . .

There was another way out.

The vault. It had to be in the vault – there was nowhere else it could be. Without pausing to work this out any further, Georgina swung her legs over the edge of the open vault and,
tucking the torch in the belt of her jeans, lowered herself cautiously down. Jude had said the drop was deeper than he thought, but he had managed it all right, and so . . .

But although she was prepared for the drop, she landed awkwardly, and a vicious pain tore through one ankle. She gasped, and half fell, her whole foot throbbing appallingly. She did not think it
was broken, but it had certainly been a bad wrench. Could she put her weight on it sufficiently to get out of this place? She would have to.

If the atmosphere in the room above had been bad, this was a hundred times worse. It was like being at the bottom of a thick silty sea, but it was important to remember it was only a structure
made of bricks, cement and timber, and that there were no such things as ghosts.

She shone the torch around, and almost at once the light fell on a door, partly ajar, with what looked like a brick-lined tunnel beyond it. Had Jude gone through that tunnel? He must have done.
Georgina considered calling out, but she had no idea where the prowler might be; it might be better not to let him know she had found a way out of the execution suite. Moving as quietly as
possible, she opened the door to its fullest extent and stepped through.

The torch cut through the blackness of the tunnel, showing up brick walls, encrusted with dirt, and draped with cobwebs. The floor felt dry and crunchy and, as Georgina moved awkwardly through
the darkness, cobwebs floated their grey fingers against her face.

The tunnel was hot and the air felt thick and stale, and as she went awkwardly along, trying not to put too much weight onto her injured foot, Georgina kept hearing sinister little rustling
sounds. It was horridly easy to think these were footsteps – that someone was creeping along behind her, stopping when she stopped, dodging out of sight when she shone the torch back down the
tunnel. It was nerves, nothing more, although she thought she was entitled to succumb to nerves in this situation. She went on, cursing her sprained ankle, trying not to imagine that hands were
about to reach out of the darkness and grab her, but imagining it anyway. Strangler’s hands – the ghost hands of all the murderers who had been brought along here. Had Neville Fremlin
strangled any of his victims? It was no time to be thinking about Neville Fremlin, though. But supposing she suddenly saw that face Jude had described – a bulging-eyed throttled face, the
neck swollen from the hangman’s noose. Supposing it suddenly swam out of the darkness in front of her— Stop it, Georgina! Just get out of this bloody place, phone Chad and find
Jude.

The tunnel was curving around to the left, and then to the right. Georgina stopped once, to strap her scarf around her ankle. She had to bind it over her shoe because her foot was so badly
swollen if she took her shoe off she might not get it back on, but once done, it made walking a bit easier.

She was just hoping the tunnel did not lead to a locked door or a dead end, and that she would not come upon Jude’s unconscious body, when there was a new sound. Georgina stopped, and
shone the torch back down the tunnel. Had it come from behind her – sounds were peculiar down here – or had it just been her foot dislodging a bit of rubble? She listened intently, but
nothing seemed to move.

She had taken four more steps when the sound came again, and fear swept over her, because this time there was no doubt. Someone was in the tunnel behind her.

The only thing to do was keep going forwards as well as she could, and hope she reached the outside before the owner of the footsteps made his next move. Clearly he had unlocked the execution
suite doors – including the door to the execution chamber itself – and clearly the first lot of sounds had been him lowering himself into the vault.

She moved as fast as she could, hoping against hope that when she reached the end of the tunnel there would be a way out. Her pursuer did not seem to be trying to catch her up – Georgina
suddenly wondered if he was aware she had heard him. Or was he aware and was he simply enjoying playing a macabre cat and mouse game with her?

The tunnel ended abruptly – the torchlight picked out the outline of a door. Georgina did not give herself time to wonder if it would be locked, or what she would do if it was; she grabbed
the handle and pushed. It was not locked. It swung open with a protesting groan of ancient hinges, and beyond it was a stone-floored room with a deep old sink in one corner, and several
old-fashioned cupboards on the walls. Directly in line with the tunnel was a door that looked as if it led outside. There was a hefty bolt at the top and also at the bottom. Did that mean it would
be unlocked – that all she had to do was draw the bolts? But would there be time to do all that before the owner of the footsteps emerged from the tunnel? She shone the torch quickly round
the room. Jutting out from one wall was a long, waist-high structure – not quite a table, but too wide for a workbench. There were grooves down the sides, and pipes protruded from the
underside. Dissecting table, thought Georgina, staring at it. I’m in the mortuary, of course – they’d have to have a mortuary close to the gallows. But it’ll have to be the
door or nothing, because there’s nowhere in here I can hide.

The bolts screeched when she drew them back, but the door opened at once, and cold night air came straight onto her face. It felt marvellous. Georgina saw she had come out in the courtyard of
the burial ground – the courtyard she had found a few days earlier. Surely that meant she had only to go through the latched door and be outside? But what about Jude? There was still no sign
of him. She reached for the phone, glancing back into the shadowy interior of the mortuary as she did so. Was the prowler still in the tunnel? Was he watching her? Georgina stepped out into the
courtyard, and slammed the door of the mortuary – it would not stop the prowler because he would simply open it, but it might gain her a few extra minutes. She was just scrolling down to find
Chad Ingram’s number, when she heard her name called from somewhere to her right. Jude’s voice? She pressed the Call button for Chad, having no idea if the high walls would still be
cutting off the signal, and then looked about her. Nothing moved, and for a moment she thought her ears must have been playing tricks, because there was nowhere in the courtyard to hide anyone. So
where was Jude? Georgina drew breath to call out, then paused because of alerting the prowler. It was then she saw the small inner courtyard leading off this one.

Her ankle had reached the stage of being so swollen she could no longer feel it, and when she tried to walk, it gave way and she fell sprawling to the ground. But now she could see the little
row of ramshackle outbuildings within the inner courtyard. Was Jude in there?

Georgina managed to get to her feet, and by dint of hopping and slithering, got herself across to the outbuildings. There was a thick plank of timber wedged across one of the buildings acting
like a massive wooden bolt.

‘Jude?’

‘Georgina? My God, I’ve never been so glad to hear you! Was it you who slammed that door just now? I hoped it was, so I yelled, and— Oh, never mind that – can you get me
out of this place? I don’t know what it is, but it’s the most noxious place I’ve ever encountered.’

‘There’s a sort of bolt across the door,’ said Georgina, taking hold of it. ‘It’s a bit stiff – in fact somebody’s wedged it really tight. Are you all
right?’

‘Of course I’m not all right, I’m stuck in this bloody hell-hole, and when I get hold of the sick bastard who put me in here—’

‘I’ve got the wedge out,’ said Georgina. ‘Here goes the bolt.’

She set the strip of wood down and had just taken the edge of the door to pull it open, when running footsteps came pounding across the courtyard behind her, and before she could do anything
– before she could even turn to see who it was – she was pushed hard into the dreadful blackness, and the door was slammed.

She was dimly aware of Jude lunging for the door, but there was already the sound of the wooden wedge being put back in place, and the door held firm. Jude swore, and then grabbed her –
Georgina had no idea if he found her by judgement or luck – but his arms came round her, and she clung to him, gasping with pain and shock.

‘Are you all right? Georgina, are you all right?’

‘Yes,’ said Georgina, who had got her breath back by this time. ‘I was locked in the execution suite, but I found the panel from the condemned cell – only I sprained my
ankle jumping into the vault to find you.’ She thought he would release her, but he did not.

‘And came along that tunnel?’ he said.

‘Yes, only whoever locked the doors followed me, and he’s just pushed me in here. I’ve tried to get a call out to Chad, but I don’t know if the signal was strong enough,
and it was only a few minutes ago anyway.’ She was fishing the torch out of her pocket as she said this, and switching it on. ‘We’re in some kind of store,’ she said,
puzzled. ‘It isn’t very big – it’s like an old-fashioned coalhouse. There are big chunks of rock everywhere.’

‘Rock? What kind of rock? Stones?’

‘I don’t know what they are. Quite pale lumps of some crumbly substance – a bit chalky-looking. But nobody would store rocks, would they?’

‘It could be lime,’ said Jude slowly. ‘Blocks of dry lime. In fact I can’t think of anything else it could be.’

‘Quicklime,’ said Georgina, in horror, ‘for the burials. Is that what you mean?’

‘It’ll be just ordinary lime,’ he said, at once. ‘I think you have to pour water on it to make it fizz up into quicklime. So we’re perfectly safe, and in any case
it’ll be so old it can’t possibly have kept its properties.’

He stopped, because they had both heard someone moving outside. Jude banged hard on the door and Georgina shouted, but there was no response. There was a loud crack that might have been
anything, and then running footsteps.