Olivia had spent her childhood in The Riverside Inn, her bedroom overlooking the tranquil River Green in the suburb of Thorpe St Andrew and it was one of her favourite spots in the city. The old pub restaurant had been adapted over the years, but still retained much of its charm, and pulled in a decent crowd, especially over the weekends.
Downstairs was business, while upstairs was personal, with her mum and brother managing the business and living on the top floor of the old building, and over the years, Olivia had helped in the restaurant. These days she only did the odd waitressing shift when needed, to help the family out.
Dropping her overnight bag on the floor of her old bedroom, she looked out of the window at the stunning riverfront view. People paid a premium for this location and she knew her mother had worked hard to keep the business afloat through difficult times, not willing to sacrifice the place she had built up with their father from scratch.
‘Get yourself settled. I’ll go put the kettle on and make some lunch.’
‘Thanks. I’m not hungry though.’
‘You have to eat, Livvy. It’s nearly three o clock. What have you had today? Any breakfast?’
‘I had a banana first thing.’
‘I will make some cheese on toast. You like that.’
Although she guessed seeing someone dying would curb anyone’s appetite, Olivia’s stomach rumbled at the suggestion. Maybe she should eat a little something. ‘Okay, thanks, Mum.’
‘You want me to bring them upstairs or do you want to come down to the restaurant?’
‘I’ll come down. I’ll be there in a bit.’
Her room hadn’t changed since she had moved out almost a decade ago. The oak furniture was the same and the walls were still papered in a delicate pale blue flower pattern on a cream background. The double bed was made up with her old duvet, her childhood teddy bear sat on the pillow, and she suspected the sheets were freshly laundered. She had always loved this room, how its position caught the sunlight late afternoon, making it a bright and cheerful place. Here in the silence, watching a couple of dog walkers meandering along the riverbank, it was hard to believe everything that had happened just a few short hours ago.
Roger had told her to take the rest of the week off, probably because of the dressing down her mother had given him over the phone. Olivia suspected he was also fearful of attracting negative press, raising the whole issue again of lone female estate agents conducting viewings.
She would stay the night to appease her mum and, truth be told, perhaps she was better here and not alone with her thoughts. Molly was returning tomorrow and she could go home, take some time to recover. Noah would be back in a couple of days too. She had messaged him after leaving the hospital, though downplayed what had happened, just telling him about the accident and that she would spend the night at her mum’s. How could she possibly explain what had happened in the house on Honington Lane in a message or over the phone? She would wait until she saw him in person.
DC Upton had told her they would want to speak with her again and Olivia knew she needed to mentally prepare herself for that. She guessed they hoped she would remember more details once the shock had worn off. She closed her tired eyes for a moment, immediately seeing the face of the man she had watched burn to death. The bruises she had from the accident would take a while to heal, but would the trauma of what she had witnessed take longer? And gnawing at the edges of that trauma was guilt. She had stood by and watched him burn.
That guilt weighed heavily, despite being told there was nothing she could have done to save the man. He was already on fire, doused in petrol and the flames spreading quickly, and it would have been impossible to free him from the chains, but still she hadn’t even tried. Instead she had frozen in fear, watched the scene unfold, then fled like a coward.
And she knew why. Absently running her hand over the scars, she recalled the pain of flesh burned by fire.
Shaking the painful memories, she went downstairs, found her mother in the kitchen, the waft of melting cheese making her belly rumble again. The room with its sounds and scents was comforting and familiar, and she watched her mother slice vegetables as she sipped tea and nibbled on her sandwich.
The back-hallway door opened, bringing in an arctic blast.
‘Mum, where do you want this?’
Olivia turned at her brother’s voice, though was unable to see anything other than the bottom of a pair of jeans and boots beneath a giant Christmas tree. She watched as her mother supervised the positioning of the tree against the back wall of the kitchen, lifting a hand in greeting as Jamie, who, realising she was there, narrowed his eyes. ‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘Long story, but let’s just say I came off worse than the car.’ Olivia didn’t really want to rehash the morning’s events. She was exhausted from talking about them.
‘You were hit by a car? Jesus, Livvy, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, honestly. You know me. Anything to get out of work.’
‘So what the hell happened?’ Jamie was fussing over her, looking for signs of damage.
‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘You idiot. Were you on your phone?’
‘No!’
Jamie held up his hands at her sharp tone. ‘I was just asking. As long as you’re okay though?’
‘She’ll be fine,’ Elena added. ‘A few cuts and bruises, and she’s had a bit of a shock. She’s going to stay here tonight.’
A bit of a shock? Trust her mother to come out with the understatement of the year.
Fortunately, Elena didn’t elaborate and for that Olivia was grateful. She needed a break from talking about what had happened. She would leave her mother to tell Jamie.
‘Mum conned you into getting the tree, did she?’ she joked, changing the subject.
‘Jamie offered,’ Elena slipped her arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze. ‘He’s a good boy to his old mum.’
Not exactly old, Olivia thought. Her mum was only sixty-one and looked good for her age. Although her stylish dark hair now came from a bottle, she was fresh-faced and trim. Jamie took after their mother’s Italian side more than Olivia, whose light brown hair and grey-blue eyes were inherited from her father.
‘Let’s get this tree into place.’ Elena instructed, raising her hand at Olivia when she started to get up. ‘No, not you, Olivia. Your brother and I have got this. Finish your lunch and you can come help us decorate if you feel up to it.’
The afternoon passed more pleasantly than the morning and it was good to spend time with family. Despite having no appetite, Olivia managed to eat the plate of dinner her mother put in front of her then excused herself, going up to her old bedroom. Everything ached from the accident and the stress of the day had taken its toll. She longed for sleep to pull her under, but the moment she closed her eyes the nightmare images resurfaced: the man on the chair, the flames rising higher, his tortured screams.
She tossed and turned for an hour or so, trying to shake the images and think of more pleasant things, and it was gone midnight when she finally gave up on sleep. Crawling from the crumpled bedsheets, she went to the window and spent a few minutes looking down at the peaceful dark river with boats dotted along the bank. The River Green Christmas lights were up, twinkling white lights between the lamp posts, and everything looked calm.
Eventually deciding that the fresh cool air might do her some good, she pulled her coat on over her pyjamas and padded downstairs. The restaurant was closed, the lights all out and the shutters down. In the kitchen she slipped her feet into her mother’s wellies and found the key to the back door. She was about to unlock it when she spotted an envelope on the floor, poking through from under the door. She picked it up, her heartbeat quickening when she recognised her name on the front.
She glanced around the quiet kitchen, fearful of being caught opening the envelope, which was stupid, because the place was empty and her mother and Jamie were in bed. Still she went over and closed the door to the restaurant, wanting privacy, and flicked on the overhead light, before carefully easing open the envelope with shaking fingers.
There was no note inside, instead a photograph. Olivia pulled it out of the envelope, her mouth dry and terror clawing at her throat as she recognised the picture of the man tied to the chair, the contorted look of anguish on his face as the flames ate his skin. Scribbled across the picture in marker pen were the words, This is your fault.
She dropped the photo, realised she was going to be sick, and rushed to the sink, where she heaved up her mother’s lasagne.
The note was connected, which meant she was right about being lured to the house. But why? And who was responsible? Whoever was targeting her wasn’t playing a joke. This was serious. A man had been cruelly murdered.
She puked again, the choking sounding too loud in the quiet kitchen. She had to tell the police, but if she did, would they think she was involved in this?
Backhanding spittle from her mouth, she grasped the counter and took a few moments to steady her nerves. Drawing deep breaths, she talked herself through a plan. She would get the photo, go back to bed, sleep (though realistically that wasn’t going to happen), then calmly and rationally talk to her mother and Jamie in the morning, explain about the note, and contact DC Upton. She had his card and he had told her to call him if she remembered anything. He was definitely going to want to know about this.
A crash came from outside and she jumped, letting out a yelp. Leaning towards the window she strained her eyes to try and spot the culprit, her heart almost stopping when the security light came on. Is someone outside? That photo was hand-delivered.
Heart hammering in her chest, she slowly backed up, crashing into the centre island. With the light on, anyone outside could see right into the kitchen and watch her every move.
Another sound came, this time the crunch of gravel. She held her breath, waiting for another noise, but heard nothing.
Jesus, Liv. Calm the hell down. It was probably just an animal, maybe a cat or a fox, foraging in the bins. It wouldn’t be the first time. The photo had scared the shit out of her. No wonder she was jumpy and overreacting.
She gave it a few more seconds, willed her heartbeat to return to normal then, hearing no further sounds, forced her jelly legs to carry her back over to the sink, knowing she needed to clear the mess up so her mum didn’t come down to it in the morning. With the water running she didn’t hear footsteps growing louder as they neared the house. As she finished disinfecting the sink, she turned off the tap and replaced the bleach in the cupboard below.
A loud rap on the window had her looking up. The figure standing on the other side of the glass made her scream.
