Brown nodded.
‘Donald Brown, I am charging you under section 11 of the Theft Act 1968 that you knowingly stole a dead body, removing it from a place open to the public. Anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you. But if you wish to remain silent…’
Ridpath crossed his fingers. He didn’t have a clue which section of which law Don Brown had broken, but theft was a nice catch-all charge for the moment.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
They had just finished questioning the old woman when Charlie Whitworth’s phone rang.
‘Boss, Chrissy here. We’ve traced the BMW using ANPR. It was last seen just off the A6 on Middlewood Road, not far from you.’
‘How long ago, Chrissy?’
There was a pause before the answer came. ‘At 11.30 a.m. But nothing has come up since then indicating recent movement.’
Charlie Whitworth took the phone away from his ear for a moment. ‘Dave, get the chopper to check out Middlewood Road, look for a white BMW.
‘One more thing, boss. Norman’s finished looking at the CCTV footage from the area around the canal. The same white BMW comes up at midnight on the evening before the body was found.’
‘Bingo. We got her.’
Dave was off the phone. ‘Boss, the chopper says there’s a white car parked outside a workshop, close to the old brickworks.’
‘Address?’
‘Number 343 Middlewood Road. It looks disused, in the middle of a clearing in the woods.’
‘Who owns it?’
Dave got on the phone to Chrissy. ‘It’s registered to a man named Lawrence Frinton. He doesn’t come up when she enters his name in the system, boss. Seems to be clean as a whistle.’
Charlie Whitworth was already on his feet. ‘Well done. Get a team to check him out. We’re going to the workshop.’
Dave Hardy and Harry Makepeace were just a step behind their boss as he turned and pointed at the old woman.
‘Harry, get on to the local nick and get somebody over to sit with her. Make sure they seal off the area around the house and have a forensics team in here.’
‘Yes, boss.’
They ran across to the waiting police car.
Alan was already at the wheel, entering the address into the satnav. ‘Ten minutes, boss.’
‘What are you waiting for? Get a bloody move on.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
‘Thirty-six millilitres.’ Lesley stared at the bottle of formalin. ‘Far more than I expected.’
‘I told you she was a strong woman.’
She put her fingers on the pulse below the ear. ‘Still alive too. The pulse is weak but still there.’
Sarah’s head was lolling forward, resting on her chest, her blonde hair matted with sweat, her shirt stained with vomit. Her arms were hanging loosely in the manacles, not being tugged or pulled at any more. Blood still dripped gently down her arm onto the carpet.
Lesley wiped her fingers on her lab coat. She had seen worse in some of the psychiatric wards she had worked on: patients pulling out their own fingernails with their teeth. Others smashing their heads repeatedly against a brick wall. Still more calmly chewing on their own lips.
But those wounds had all been self-inflicted. She had never experimented on a living subject before. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine.
She had done it now.
Before she started, she had expected to be frightened, nervous, but when it came to the point when it had to be done, she hadn’t hesitated at all. Instead, a wonderful calm had taken over her body, a scientific calm. It was just another experiment that, was all.
She checked where the manacles were fastened to the wall. The ring had held, but only just. Lesley could see flakes of dust where the woman had worked at the concrete holding the ring in place. She was strong, there was no doubt. Lesley would have to find a different, more secure way to fasten the manacles to the wall for the next one.
Would there be a next one?
She hoped so, but the decision had to be taken by him. She was simply there to do his bidding.
The detective mumbled something through her cracked lips.
‘She’s still alive – 37 millilitres now.’
‘I estimate she’ll go over 40 before the body and the organs shut down. You can dispose of her tonight as we agreed, Lesley. Follow my instructions to the letter.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Lesley took one last close look at her experiment before returning to the camera. He wanted a close-up on the face when the moment of death happened, to see exactly what occurred.
Would there be a momentary flicker of recognition in her eyes as she died? Or would her heart simply stop beating? Would he be able to pinpoint the exact moment of death? Or would it be gradual, a transition from a living, breathing human being to an empty sack of skin and bones. And what about the soul? Would he be able to see when the soul left the body?
Lesley believed that people had souls. Her mother had told her they did, and she was always right.
The experiment would be over soon and they would find out. The detective didn’t have long to live. She had completed her time in this world. Her allotted number of days were done and dusted.
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
It wouldn’t be long now.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The cars accelerated through the open gate and along the potholed driveway, sliding to a stop in front of the workshop door.
Charlie jumped out of the car and hesitated. Should he charge straight in or wait? Above him the helicopter circled, its camera staring straight down at the police cars below.
Off to the left, the white BMW was parked in full view, as if the kidnappers were confident the police would never find them.
‘The chopper says no sign of movement, Charlie,’ said Dave. ‘Plus the ETA of the armed response squad is three minutes.’
He told one group to cover the back of the workshop and waited for them to get into position. ‘We’re going straight in. Dave and Harry, you’re with me. Alan, you stay here and guide the armed team when they finally get here.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for them, boss?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘We’ve got to move now. Sarah’s in there and the bastards may have heard us arrive. Can’t wait any longer.’
He checked his watch.
‘It’s time. Be careful.’
They ran towards the ramshackle building, keeping their eyes open for movement.
In front of the workshop, a loading bay with a metal shutter was next to a cramped wooden door. Charlie checked the metal shutter; sealed with a large, rusted padlock, it hadn’t been opened in years. He ran to the wooden door and pressed himself up against the outside wall. It was at times like this he wished they were all routinely armed, instead of having to wait for a team to arrive from Sedgeley Park.
What the hell. Time to go in.
He counted down: 1…2…3.
Harry rushed forward and shoulder-charged the door. It exploded under the impact, flying open, the rotten wood around the lock splintering into shards.
Charlie rushed in first, followed by the others, one by one.
Empty.
Totally empty.
The workshop was twenty yards long with brick walls and a high vaulted ceiling. In one corner an ancient press or grinding machine sat forlorn and uncared for, covered in black dust and rust. Along the walls brown shelves held a variety of cans, canisters and grey bottles. The floor was covered in a thin layer of brown dust.
The first one to speak was Dave Hardy. ‘They’re not here, boss.’
‘They must be here, the car’s parked outside. Search the place.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Above her head, Lesley heard the door smashing open.
‘They’re here,’ she said to the monitor.
‘You know what to do. Follow my instructions exactly.’
He had warned her a m
oment like this would arrive one day. The police would track either her or him down. That’s why everything had to be kept in her mother’s house; nothing could be traced back to him.
She listened for a movement above.
Nothing.
Perhaps they wouldn’t find her down here? Perhaps they would go away, leaving her alone? Perhaps they wouldn’t find the entrance?
But he had given her the orders. They must be carried out. First, check the girl: 42, nearly 43 millilitres. She was done for, nothing could save her now. She placed her fingers on the woman’s carotid artery. Still a pulse, weaker than before. She wouldn’t last long.
Second, disconnect the monitor and the camera. Her last connection to him.
Should she say something? Tell him how much she loved him? Let him know how much she cared? But the link was already broken from his end. He would be removing any evidence of her ever having existed on his laptop. He told her he would do it if they were ever faced with the possibility of discovery.
The process had already started. She couldn’t stop it now. Shame, she would have liked to say goodbye. To hear his voice one last time.
Lesley disconnected the monitor and turned off the reel-to-reel recorder. She had enjoyed listening to the tapes with him. There was a terrible beauty in the sound of pain. A beauty transcending all others.
He understood.
And now so did she.
The camera’s motor was still turning over. She walked over to it and turned it off. He had told her to erase the footage of their experiment. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. If she did, the world would never know the beauty of what they had done.
She opened the drawer in the desk. Everything was in its place inside. The preparations had been made according to his instructions on the first day they had visited the workshop together.
It seemed such a long time ago.
She took the hypodermic needle out of the box, removing its plastic sheath. The bottle of morphine was standing next to it.
Above her head, the sound of running feet, followed by stomping on the wooden door leading down into the basement.
They had found her.
She took one last look at Sarah Castle hanging off the manacles against the white brick wall. Their prisoner wasn’t moving now; it was about time she died.
Still.
Lifeless.
Over 46 millilitres of formalin had entered her body. A strong woman, like he had said.
But she was a strong woman too.
She plunged the hypodermic through the seal covering the morphine.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
The armed response team arrived in a crescendo of sirens, klaxons and squealing brakes, before jumping out of their cars, Heckler & Koch automatic rifles pressed to their shoulders.
‘Get some bolt cutters on that lock.’
Dave ran off to the car, coming back immediately to attack the rusted lock. Within seconds it was cut open and the shutters rolled up.
Light flooded into the workshop. Charlie could see more clearly now. Cobwebs trailed across the corners of the broken windows. Dust covered everything. On the floor, the body of a dead, desiccated bird lay untouched and unloved.
It was empty.
‘Check it out,’ Charlie ordered.
The rest of the team rushed in, opening the doors to the back and checking the rear of the workshop.
‘I think there’s something here.’ It was Harry, shouting from the left.
Charlie ran to where he was standing.
Harry kicked the floor. A hollow echo came from inside.
‘Get it open.’
Two coppers knelt down, trying to get their fingers under the lip of the trapdoor and prise it open.
‘Shut from the inside, boss.’
‘We’ve got an axe in the back of the van,’ said one of the armed response team, a sergeant.
‘What are you waiting for? A pat on the back? Get the bloody thing.’
The sergeant ran off, returning 30 seconds later with the axe.
‘Give it to me.’
Charlie swung the axe down into the wood, splintering the trapdoor.
Again and again, it swung down, chopping into the wood. Gradually a hole formed. Charlie could see steps leading down into a basement.
He attacked the trapdoor with renewed energy, joined by a constable from the armed response team with another axe, slashing down into the wood, the sharp point of the axe biting deeper with every stroke.
‘Hang on.’ Charlie’s hand stopped the constable in mid-strike. He knelt down, stuck in his hand through the hole and felt for a bolt, sliding it across.
He looked at the sergeant in charge of the armed team. The man raised his Heckler & Koch rifle and nodded his head.
Charlie levered his fingers under the edge of the trapdoor and threw it open.
The sergeant launched himself down the steps, rifle swinging left to right. He was followed by two other officers.
Charlie watched as they turned a sharp bend and went out of sight, only their black shadows betraying their presence.
Finally, a shout of ‘All clear’ from down below.
Charlie rushed down the steps. The basement beneath the workshop was slightly smaller than the room above. The brick walls were freshly painted in a white lime wash.
Charlie pushed his way past the armed officers. A woman with long dark hair lay on the floor in the centre of basement, a hypodermic needle sticking out of her left arm.
Charlie looked past the woman to the white brick wall. Sarah Castle was manacled there, her body slumped to one side, a saline drip leading into the back of her hand.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said quietly.
A soft moan came from her mouth.
‘Get an ambulance, immediately,’ Charlie shouted, rushing over to her unconscious body. ‘She’s still alive.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Before Charlie Whitworth could help Sarah Castle, another shout came from Dave Hardy.
‘Boss, look at this.’
He pointed to a computer on a table to one side. On the black screen, a time was counting down.
2.15.
2.14.
2.13.
‘Shit.’ Charlie looked around him. The armed response team were guarding the entrance; his own officers searching in the back of the basement; Harry Makepeace cradling Sarah Castle’s head.
2.06.
2.05.
2.04.
‘Everybody out, except Harry.’
‘But boss—’ whined Dave Hardy.
‘Out now, all of you. That’s an order.’
The team looked up from their search, uncertain what to do.
Charlie shouted louder. ‘OUT. ALL OF YOU.’
The armed response team ran up the stairs out of the basement, followed by the rest of Charlie’s team. Only Dave Hardy and Harry Makepeace remained behind.
‘Charlie, I think—’
‘Get out now, Dave. Get that ambulance.’
The detective chief inspector looked down at Harry Makepeace who was tugging at the manacles holding Sarah's arms to the wall. ‘She’s not coming free, boss,’ he shouted over his shoulder.
Dave Hardy hesitated for a moment.
‘Get the ambulance ready for when we come out, Dave,’ said Charlie.
The detective sergeant glanced back at Harry Makepeace tugging at the wall.
‘That’s an order, Dave.’
He hesitated for a moment and then ran for the stairs.
1.44.
1.43.
1.42.
‘Take that bloody drip out of her hand,’ ordered Charlie as he moved towards the prone body of Sarah Castle lying unconscious on the floor, her manacled arms stretched up and behind her.
Harry Makepeace ripped the saline drip from her hand without removing the plasters holding it in place.
Charlie Whitworth grabbed hold of the chain and, using all his weight, began to pull it from its socket in th
e wall.
The ring was embedded deep into the brick.
‘Help me, Harry.’
Together, they pulled on the heavy chain, rocking it backwards and forwards, trying to loosen the ring from its attachment to the wall.
‘It’s moving,' Harry shouted.
Charlie glanced back at the computer screen. The numbers were counting down quickly, silently.
1.19.
1.18
1.17.
He pulled harder, wrenching the chain left and right. A few flakes of dry plaster began to drift onto the floor beside Sarah’s head. They both tugged harder, again and again and again.
The ring embedded in the brick moved slightly, releasing even more dust onto Sarah.
1.08.
1.07.
1.06.
‘The key. We need to find the key.’
Charlie dropped the chain and ran back to the desk where the computer was counting down their lives, pulling open the drawers.
Empty.
He looked around the basement, his eyes darting along the white walls, looking for the silvery glint of a key.
Nothing.
The computer clock in front of him ticked on inexorably.
0.59.
0.58.
0.57.
Harry was still trying to wrench the iron ring from the wall. ‘The computer may be nothing, boss. Just switching itself off.’
But Charlie knew better. The whole situation screamed danger to him. He wanted to run up those stairs and out of this bloody basement, but he stood still, rooted to the spot.
Where would she put the key?
0.50.
0.49.
0.48.
The woman lay at his feet, her blue eyes open, the hypodermic needle still sticking out of her arm at a crazy angle, and a strange smile fixed to her face. A Mona Lisa smile. Was she happy to die?
He was wrenched away from the woman’s face by the sound of Harry falling backwards as the ring finally broke away from the wall.
0.41.
0.40.
0.39.
Harry dropped the manacle on the floor and stood up quickly to grab the chain attaching Sarah’s right arm to the wall. He began tugging at it, using all of his 16 stone to pull it away from the wall.
Where the Truth Lies Page 25