A key turned and the door swung open. Light flooded into the basement. Standing in the doorway was Martyn Taylor. He was grinning widely.
'Have you folks been having fun down here?'
Sam blinked several times, his eyesight adjusting to the sudden light.
'Martyn, I thought I told you to keep out of it,' he laughed, giving Lucy a hug. Confusion was written all over her face. 'It's okay, Lucy. He's here to help us. I'm just glad he never does what he's told.'
'Martyn Taylor?' asked Seymour uncertainly. 'Martyn Taylor...off the Withdean estate?'
'The one and only,' beamed Taylor proudly. 'Sorry, Sam, but there was no way I was going to miss all the action.'
'You followed me in here?' asked Sam.
'That's right, my friend,' said Taylor, stepping into the room. 'Although, I thought you were a goner when Starkey pulled that gun on you.'
'I take it you heard everything that was said?' asked Sam.
Taylor nodded.
'I listened from in the kitchen. But I think you've got it all wrong, Sam. Starkey didn't kill Carl Renshaw-'
'What?' exclaimed Sam, Lucy and Seymour in unison.
Taylor didn't get the chance to elaborate.
'Come to the bottom of the stairs! All of you!'
The four of them inched over to the doorway and looked up the stairs. Dave Starkey was standing at the top, leaning unsteadily against the wall. Blood streamed from a wound on the top of his head. His face was an unhealthy shade of grey. Most importantly for those standing below, he had the gun in his hand once again.
Sam looked at Martyn Taylor and raised his eyebrows.
'I walloped him over the head,' protested Taylor, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. 'I thought he was out cold.'
'Well, he isn't any more,' replied Sam in the same hushed tone. 'And now we're really in it.'
They watched Starkey attempt to venture down the steps, but he was too groggy for the task. He gingerly stepped back up onto the top step and rested against the wall again.
'Okay, I want you all to move up one or two steps,' he instructed, wiping away a thin line of blood trickling into his eye. 'I want to see exactly who's down there.'
Taylor went to step forward but Sam tugged him back.
'Did he see you?' Sam whispered urgently to Taylor, keeping hold of his arm. 'Does he know it was you that hit him?'
'No!' replied Taylor. 'I hit him from behind.'
'So, if he doesn't know you're here, why don't you stay back in the basement? You could-'
'Let go of me, Sam!' hissed Taylor, trying to shake himself free of Sam's grip. 'I'm not hiding from anybody, especially not that piece of-'
'Okay, okay,' said Sam, noting the steely look of determination in Martyn Taylor's eyes. 'Suit yourself.'
He let go of Taylor's arm. Lucy gave Sam a troubled look. He knew what she was thinking. Taylor was a loose cannon, more likely to antagonise the situation than calm it down.
'We're coming up!' shouted Taylor, starting up the stairs. Sam shrugged at Lucy and followed him. Lucy stayed close behind Sam, her fingertips resting lightly on his waist. Seymour brought up the rear.
They had climbed no more than half a dozen steps when Starkey shouted again.
'Right, that's far enough.'
Sam watched Starkey squint down at them, struggling with his vision as blood continued to flow into his eyes. Wiping his brow once more, Starkey re-focused. This time, he got a clearer picture.
'Martyn Taylor!' he gasped. 'What are you doing here?'
Taylor moved up another step, his eyes never leaving Starkey.
'I should have hit you harder,' growled Taylor. 'I'm coming to finish you off, Starkey. I'm going to finish what you started all those years ago when you helped send me down.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' retorted Starkey, uncertainty in his voice. The gun in his hand began to twitch again, just as it had when it had been pointed at Sam.
'Yes, you do!' Taylor shouted, continuing to climb the stairs. 'We both know what you did.'
'I had to do it!' moaned Starkey, breathing hard now. 'You were getting out of hand. There was too much violence, and when you started bumping people off I-'
'Still the same Dave Starkey, eh!' sneered Taylor. 'You were always too soft for that way of life! You and Renshaw. No wonder you both bottled out.'
Sam stopped climbing the stairs. He spread his arms out to keep Lucy and Seymour behind him as he watched Taylor continue to head for Starkey. Sam saw no hesitation in Taylor's steps. No fear in the face of a loaded gun. Sam realised this was the point of no return for Martyn Taylor. His chance to finally unleash the rage simmering inside him for years. For him, it was now a personal duel. Everybody else in the house had been forgotten. Taylor had tunnel vision, and Dave Starkey was going to have to stop him.
Sam started back down the steps.
Something did stop Martyn Taylor in his tracks, but it wasn't Dave Starkey or his gun.
It was Molly Renshaw.
'What happened to your head?' she asked, appearing at the top of the stairs, looking more agitated than concerned. When Starkey failed to acknowledge her, she followed his gaze down the stairs.
'Oh my god!' she whispered in shock. 'Is that Martyn Taylor down there? What's he doing-'
Then she put her hands to her face in horror. She had noticed those behind Taylor.
'You've been keeping Bill down there, as well?' she gasped, giving Starkey a disbelieving look. She shook her head at him, unable to register the scene before her. Starkey ignored her. His eyes were fixed on Martyn Taylor, now standing motionless halfway up the stairs.
'That's it!' screamed Molly suddenly, making everybody jump. 'I've had enough of this! I never wanted to be part of it in the first place! Girls, go and wait out by the car.'
The tiny faces of her two daughters materialised behind her. Katie and Jenny clung tight to their mother, bewilderment strewn across their faces.
'Go on, girls,' urged Molly, gently ushering them away from the stairs, towards the front door. 'There's nothing for you to see here.'
Sam watched the twins take one final look down the stairs. When they saw Lucy, both girls gave her a weak smile. Sam watched Lucy nod back at them, trying to reassure them she was going to be okay. That everything was going to be fine in the end. Then the girls allowed their mother to escort them out of the house.
But Molly Renshaw wasn't finished yet. She re-appeared moments later and, safe in the knowledge her girls were out of earshot, let rip at Dave Starkey.
'Do you see what this is doing to them?' she yelled, almost in Starkey's face. 'What it's doing to me? All because of this stupid plan you cooked up between-'
'Molly, it's best you get out of here,' said Starkey, not even bothering to face her. He looked dazed. He looked shattered. Yet, his eyes never left Martyn Taylor.
His quiet words were like a red rag to Molly Renshaw.
'What are you going to do now?' she screamed at him. 'Burn the house down the same as you did the factory?'
'Molly,' sighed Starkey. 'Please, just go.'
For one moment, Sam thought Molly was going to give Starkey a slap. Instead, she settled for a withering look before storming angrily out of the house. There followed a surreal few seconds where nobody on the stairs said a word or moved a muscle. Instead, they all listened to the sound of Molly's Range Rover starting up and roaring away from the house.
Then, as though the interruption had never occurred, normality resumed.
Martyn Taylor continued his slow ascent up the stairs.
Dave Starkey placed both hands on his gun in an effort to steady the weapon.
And Sam kept backtracking down towards the basement, forcing Lucy and Seymour to do the same behind him.
'Look at you, Starkey!' jeered Taylor. 'Letting a woman talk down to you like that! Like I said, you haven't-'
'Keep back!' yelled Starkey, taking a small step backwards. 'I don't want to use this.'
Without taking his eyes off the scene above him, Sam backed down another step. He heard Seymour step back into the basement, then Lucy. He needed to get them all out of the firing line.
Starkey was a nervous wreck holding a gun.
Taylor was in an unrelenting, murderous mood.
Something had to give.
There had been another reason for Sam's hasty retreat. Dave Starkey wasn't the only one carrying a weapon in the confined area.
Martyn Taylor also had one on him.
Sam had noticed it just before Molly arrived on the stairs. The glint of a gun handle in Taylor's jacket pocket. It explained Taylor's slow, purposeful climb up the stairs, taking advantage of Starkey's reluctance to shoot, getting himself into firing range.
Now, peering up from the basement doorway, Sam watched Taylor slyly slide his hand into the same pocket. In that moment, Sam knew for certain Dave Starkey was no murderer. He just didn't have it in him. Whereas, Martyn Taylor most certainly did. He was the hardened criminal here. The one with cold blood running through his veins. It dawned on Sam that Taylor must have brought the gun to their confrontation outside The Duck. Sam had no doubt he would have used it then as well, if needed. Now, Taylor was going to get the chance.
Sam wanted no further part in it. He wasn't interested in watching two men gun each other down. Let them shoot each other, he reasoned. His priority now was to protect the innocent. With a heavy heart, Sam went back into the basement, waved Lucy and Seymour to the back of the room, out of range of any stray bullets, and waited for the inevitable shooting to start.
As the seconds passed, nothing happened. No gunfire. No struggle. Not even a spoken word. Mystified, Sam silently instructed Lucy and Seymour to stay where they were and went to investigate. He took a look up the stairs.
What he saw made his jaw drop.
Starkey and Taylor were standing stock still, facing each other, both brandishing their weapons.
There was a third figure.
Sam thought he was seeing things. Looking at a ghost.
Carl Renshaw was standing at the top of the stairs.
Sam was speechless. Martyn Taylor, however, had plenty to say.
'I knew it!' he cried. 'I knew you two were up to something! There's no way he would have killed you. You two were always bosom buddies, sneaking about together.'
Sam couldn't understand Taylor's attitude. He sounded almost jubilant. It didn't take long for Sam to discover why.
'Oh, yes!' exclaimed Taylor gleefully. 'Now I get to sort you both out at the same time.'
Sam had heard enough.
'Martyn, just forget about your stupid squabble for a while, will you?'
'No way, Sam,' answered Taylor, without turning around. 'I've waited too-'
Carl cleared his throat. Sam looked at him. The man who had indirectly brought them all here was finally going to speak.
'Please, both of you. Put your guns down and let's talk.'
They all looked at Carl. Begrudgingly, Starkey and Taylor lowered their weapons. They didn't put them away, but Sam still let out a grateful sigh. It was a start.
'I'm sorry, Sam,' muttered Carl, looking at Sam with some embarrassment. 'I never meant to drag you into any of this.'
Sam studied him while trying to digest the words of a dead man. Carl had lost some weight, but apart from that he looked in pretty good health.
'What's this, then?' Sam asked him. 'Have you risen from the dead?'
Taylor snorted dismissively.
'What does it look like, Sam? They've-'
'I can figure out what they've done, thanks, Martyn,' snapped Sam. 'I just want to hear it for myself.' He was thinking of the last few days. The accusations that had been thrown at him. The cloud of suspicion he had been living under. The ordeal that Lucy had suffered. The whole bloody episode.
Carl shifted nervously on the spot.
'I had no choice, Sam. Business was bad. I couldn't raise the money-'
'So, you faked your own death!' retorted Sam. 'Leaving me to take the blame for it!'
'That was never meant to happen!' wailed Carl. 'I didn't know you'd try and rescue me from the fire! I thought you'd just stay in the car and ring the fire brigade.'
'Why did you really hire me, Carl?' asked Sam. 'If it wasn't to set me up.'
'He's telling the truth,' chipped in Starkey. 'You weren't brought in as a fall guy. Even I didn't know it at the time, but he just wanted someone to watch his back because-'
He stopped and pointed at Taylor.
'Because this nasty fucker here wouldn't let him do a few deals to raise some extra income. He threatened to hurt his family if-'
'Oh, yeah,' said Sam, turning his attention from Starkey back to Carl. 'The drugs.'
Carl raised his eyebrows at Sam, then shrugged his shoulders.
'It was my only option,' he explained feebly. 'How else was I supposed to get more money in? It was only ever going to be a short-term thing.'
'I can't believe you dragged Molly and the kids into it!' exclaimed Sam, remembering Molly's suspicion of Carl at the time. How right she had been.
'I had to tell her in the end!' protested Carl. 'What was I supposed to do? I tried to keep it all from her, but when I got that final phone call telling me my house was being watched and my kids were going to be hurt, I had no choice.'
Sam thought of the mysterious phone call Carl had received. The one that had caused such a change in his behaviour. No wonder Molly's attitude had turned distant from then on. The poor woman had been trying to come to terms with all the revelations. Left with no choice but to go along with such a desperate plan.
'So, you told Molly everything and the three of you came up with this idea?'
Carl looked down at his feet.
'Molly didn't want any part of it,' he muttered. 'But I told her nobody was going to get hurt. She would get all the insurance money and we were going to start somewhere afresh. Move abroad. Get as far away as possible.'
Sam felt his cheeks blush a touch. He had been so sure it was Molly and Starkey planning a future together.
'What about the dead body found in the factory?' he asked.
'You can blame him partly for that,' said Starkey, nodding in Taylor's direction. 'We dug up someone he bumped off years ago.'
Taylor threw back his head and laughed maliciously. It was the first noise to come out of his mouth for a while. Sam preferred him quiet.
'Well, you messed up big time,' said Sam. 'Dropping the ring so far away from the body. The police would have picked up on it eventually.'
'Yeah, well, we're not professional arsonists, are we?' said Carl, looking across at Starkey. 'We forgot about the ring and had to go back. The fire was too strong to drop it right by the body.'
'It wasn't the only mistake you made, was it, Dave?' said Sam, staring at Starkey. 'The photo?'
Starkey winced at the reminder.
'It was a good job he did drop it, Sam,' said Carl. 'Or you might not be alive today.'
'What do you mean?' asked Sam, recalling the vague memory of being dragged away from the fire.
Carl looked at him long and hard.
'We went back to look for it and saw you in the doorway. Dave ran off. I was going to do the same until I saw you knocked off your feet by that blast.'
Sam gaped at Carl.
'It was you?' he croaked. 'You're the one who pulled me away?'
Carl nodded solemnly.
'I couldn't leave you there,' he explained. 'Like I said, you shouldn't have been anywhere near the fire.'
Sam said nothing for a moment. He was gob-smacked by the irony of it. Pulled to safety by the man he had been trying to rescue.
'Where have you been hiding all this time?' he asked, finally finding his tongue.
'Up there,' answered Carl, raising his eyes to the ceiling. 'On the top floor.'
'What about you?' asked Sam, turning his attention to Starkey. 'What's in it for you?'
Starkey didn't answer. Blood was still seeping from his head wound. His eyes remained locked on Taylor, but they looked glazed over. As though he wasn't fully there anymore.
'He was going to get a generous cut of the insurance money,' Carl answered for him. 'Enough to retire on.'
Sam was overcome with disgust. The three men in front of him made him sick.
'You had it all planned out, didn't you?' he said to Carl. 'And sod anybody who got caught up in it.'
'I said I'm sorry, Sam,' bleated Carl. 'It was never-'
'Save it!' yelled Sam. 'You're pathetic. All of you. Have you got any idea of the mess you left behind?'
Carl stared back at him, stony-faced.
'Well, I'll tell you,' hissed Sam furiously. 'I've been interrogated by the police. Your dopey mate here raided my home and kidnapped my friend. I've been lied to, followed-'
As Sam raged, he noticed a slight movement out the corner of his eye. Martyn Taylor was on the move again, inching his way up the stairs once more. Neither man above him had noticed. Despite looking directly at Taylor, Starkey was too concussed to register the subtle movements, while Carl was preoccupied with bowing his head in shame.
All of sudden, Martyn Taylor was almost at the top of the stairs.
Before Sam could shout a warning, Taylor made his final, decisive move and threw out his free hand, hitting the light switch on the wall. As the stairway was plunged into darkness, Sam dived back into the basement. A split second later, the world was filled with the sound of gunfire.
Lucy screamed. Seymour gasped in fright. Carl shouted out from up above them.
And the shots rang out.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Bullets whined and ricocheted off walls.
Sam heard someone fall.
Groaning.
More groaning.
Then, silence.
A deathly silence.