"I have a key as well, Mr Bradbury," said the voice echoing around the stone walls. It was the voice of a man, a tone that Tom recognised, but couldn't recollect where he had heard it before.
"All I want is the account number," said the voice again.
Tom remained silent, but his stomach churned. How could he know about the account? How could anyone know about the account? Had he not covered his tracks well enough?
"Tell me what it is and I'll let you go. I might even share some of it with you."
The footsteps started again. Step, drag, step drag, each step becoming slower and slower and all the time getting closer.
"The account number."
Two more steps, two more drags.
"That's all I want, Mr Bradbury."
Tom remained curled up, his grip on the candlestick turned his knuckles white. There was a quick shuffle of feet suggesting the man had stopped his approach.
"You can tell me, I won't harm you."
The church fell back into silence, a long silence devoid of talking and dragging footsteps. Tom remained where he was, he wasn't about to move.
All of a sudden the cold surface of metal bar stroked across Tom's face causing his spine to shudder. The foot long piece of metal was brought back across his cheek. Tom slowly glanced behind him. He saw a pair of feet, clad only in socks, stood next to him.
Tom breathed heavily.
"Mr Bradbury," said the voice above him, "I won't ask again, what is the account number?"
Tom remained silent. His mind was racing thinking of his family, his past, the money, but his last thought, before the swift blow of the metal bar came across the back of his head, was how in the world did he end up in such a mess?
Read extracts from my latest book "The Unforseen Children Of Olive Shipley' here
