Throwing a stone at the front door, she waited. 'Good,' she whispered, creeping across the lawn with the bag. 'I don't want to kill anyone.' Strategically placing six bombs around the cottage walls, she set the timers and made her escape into the woods, only resting when she was a good two miles away. Pulling her radio out, she switched to channel twenty and called Fowler. 'Good!' he responded excitedly to her news. 'So how long before the place goes up?' 'About ten minutes.' 'And how far away are you?' 'A couple of miles, I suppose, why?' Guffawing uncontrollably, Fowler managed to tell Jo the horrifying truth. 'I can't stop laughing!' he spluttered. 'God, you're a stupid bitch! Emily Johnson is in the cottage! She's tied to an armchair awaiting her fate!' Dropping her bag, Jo froze. Her big blue eyes filling with tears, she listened to Fowler's insane laughter emanating from the radio. Her stomach churned and her legs turned to jelly as the laughter droned on, punctuated with graphic descriptions of what was about to happen to Emily's body.
