Captive

by Jay Nadal

  As she strutted down the road, she knew all eyes were on her. Men took a second glance, women cast disapproving scowls, cars slowed, lorries and vans crawled, their male occupants shouting lewd comments. Even the man sitting on the park bench in The Level noticed her. A dishevelled tramp, his arm extended, holding a white polystyrene cup who begged for any spare change. He’d kept the pound coin she’d given him. A sign he was sure that she’d noticed and wanted him.

  His eyes narrowed as he moved on to the next few images held in a folder marked ‘Gym’. He’d trailed Rebecca many times as he followed her from her home to the Gym on London Road. He’d taken out a one-day pass on several occasions to get closer. He loved watching her trim figure flex and stretch on the equipment. He’d wait until she’d moved off on to another piece of equipment before sitting in the same place, feeling the warmth she’d left on the seat.

  It had taken every ounce of self-control to avoid getting aroused. Her tight, three-quarter length leggings accentuated her firm legs and round, curvaceous backside. Her tight, sleeveless top clung to her sweaty chest. Heaven he recalled saying to himself at the time as he’d picked her discarded sweaty blue paper tissues from the waste bin. It was something of hers that he could keep, it was her sweat and her moisture.

  And here she was now, asleep behind him. He could hardly believe that she’d been attracted to him. That she’d accepted his offer of a lift.

  “She’s not as good as you, Sally. Then again, who is? But I’m glad you approve,” he said.

  Sally would always be his number one regardless of who else he discovered. She’d been the only one to really understand him and his needs. She’d really got under his skin and figured him out. In his mind, they had created a connection that no one else had managed to outdo. She’d said from day one that she’d always be by his side, and to this day, she’d been true to her word.

  Through thick and thin, Sally had listened, reasoned and supported him. Turned him into a better man. When others doubted, Sally didn’t. When others abandoned him, Sally was there. When it felt like there was no hope for him and that he was a lost cause, Sally’s unfaltering loyalty took him through those dark, troubled times. He’d hurt many people. His actions had been impulsive, irrational and often uncontrollable, but Sally had been the calming influence that he craved. Whenever he was with her, nothing else mattered.

  In the beginning, he’d questioned Sally’s motive many times. Why me? Why spend hours every week with me, when she can have any man she wants? She was beautiful, caring, understanding and attractive. She’d sit across from him as they chatted over a cup of tea. Her legs would be elegantly crossed, her sheer fine, flesh-coloured tights shimmering each time she moved. She had the grace of a swan, her body fluid in movement as her gaze would fix on him. Her warm, inviting smile reassured him. He felt safe with her.

  Over the coming weeks and months, they’d formed a bond, a relationship that felt strangely exciting. She’d reassured him many times of her interest in him, and how she found him fascinating, almost intriguing.

  Surely that meant she wanted him as much as he wanted her? He’d never really understood the notion of love. Everyone talked about it, and until he’d met Sally, he underrated all the fuss.

  Sally had changed that. He knew she loved him. Why else would she say that she always looked forward to seeing him again…as much as he looked forward to seeing her? He knew at that point, that he could never live life without her. She may have disagreed when he suggested marriage, and the chance to move away and start a new life, but she’d finally relented. She’d given herself to him, as she fell for his charms and fell into his arms.

  Here they were now as they embarked on their journey together. Sally had insisted on him finding others to start a life with, people that they could both enjoy. He could recall the moment Sally had said, “Nothing would make me happier than seeing you settled with another woman, and I look forward to meeting and getting to know her.”

  He had done just that.

  Sadly, they had never wanted to hang around for long. He’d found many that he was attracted to, but they always seemed to be missing qualities that rivalled Sally’s.

  Of course, he wasn’t stupid. They thought he was. They thought he was a menace, dangerous even. So he’d eliminated them when they became too much of a handful. After all, he couldn’t risk them taking his intentions the wrong way and getting the police involved.

  He turned towards Sally saying, “I have to admit, this one seems to sleep a lot, my darling. I’ve tried to speak to her on several occasions, to get to know her, but she’s kept her eyes closed and ignored me. What am I doing wrong? I’ve even nudged and poked her a few times, but she’s been a stubborn bitch. I don’t like it when people ignore me, do I Sally?” He nodded in agreement with Sally. “Yes you’re right, a typical student who likes to party too much, and sleep it off.”

  He rose from his chair and stretched his aching muscles, his body stiff and tight. He’d lost count of the number of hours and days that he’d crouched on many streets around Brighton pretending to be homeless. He could never be like them. Filthy pond scum who spent the few pounds they’d begged on cans of extra strong beer or their next hit. They’d hang around in New Road by the Pavilion Gardens; sprawled out over the wooden benches, off their faces, as residents and tourists alike turned a blind eye as they hurried past the intimidating site.

  He’d viciously scrubbed himself clean after every trip, his body red and raw in places from the nail brush he’d used and the disinfectant wipes.

  He knelt by the box, the lid folded back to display his latest acquisition. “You can’t keep ignoring me forever, Rebecca. You’ll have to open your eyes sooner or later,” he said as he shook her shoulder. Her naked form still appealed to him even if her personality sucked. He tutted at Rebecca’s lack of response. “She’s no fun. Do you know that she reeks of booze? It’s a rather unattractive quality. I’d like her to be awake so she enjoys what I’m going to do to her.”

  He roughly grabbed one of her breasts, hoping that the change in approach would startle the unconscious woman, but his attempts were fruitless. He slapped her breast in frustration. He could at least sanitise her whilst she slept to save time. He hated untidiness and a lack of personal hygiene. In his opinion, Rebecca failed in both of those areas.

  He pulled out the first of many bleach wipes.

  22

  The report of a missing person rarely evoked a large police response so soon after it had been reported. Certain risk assessments would be carried out to identify if the person was really at risk. Questions would be asked about whether they had a history of going missing, any emotional or mental health issues and current domestic circumstances and so on. Those first evaluations and enquiries would then allow the police to decide the level of risk and the relevant police response.

  More than two hundred and fifty thousand people go missing in the UK every year. Sussex has more than ten thousand go missing each year, and the police have neither the time nor the resources to fully investigate all the cases. The exceptions are those who are deemed vulnerable or children. In such cases, the police response is large and fast.

  This particular disappearance did require an immediate action, simply because it involved another student from Sussex University. The disappearance of two students in under a week raised a degree of alarm with both the university and the police officers investigating the cases.

  Scott and Abby pulled up in Edinburgh Road. A local unit was already on scene, and Scott could see two uniformed officers doing door-to-door enquiries.

  Abby exchanged a glance of concern as she stepped through the doorway. Wooden splinters still scattered the floor, but upon entering the lounge none of the usual evidence suggested a burglary gone wrong.

  A tall lanky man sat in one of the armchairs and rolled his mobile phone in his hand. Describing him as a man stretched the truth. He looked more like an overgrown youth, with long spindly arms and
legs, a white T-shirt that hung off his thin frame, and faded, ripped jeans. His face still bore the last remnants of bad teenage acne, dark red angry spots that peppered his pale complexion.

  Mike was the first CID officer on the scene and had just completed taking notes when Abby and Scott entered.

  “This is Andy Barton, Guv,” Mike said, flicking a thumb in the direction of the lad. “He’s the one who reported her missing. There’s another female and male student that share this property. Rebecca Thorne, Becky to her friends, went out partying last night in town. She never returned. No one’s heard from her, Guv.”

  Scott glanced around the room. It was very reminiscent of the student digs that he used to live in, littered with a mixture of odd sofas, coffee tables and ornaments that looked as if they’d come from separate lounges and been thrown into this one room.

  “Presumably they’ve tried her phone?”

  “Yes, Guv. It goes straight to voicemail.”

  Scott turned towards Andy Barton. He was clearly concerned about Rebecca’s disappearance, hence the reason for the phone call. But there were no worry lines, nervous behaviour or extreme emotions displayed, which Scott took as being a very common trait in students. Even whilst he was at university, students would forever be bunking down on each other’s floors at short notice after a heavy night out. Some would find themselves waking up the following morning beside a stranger with an embarrassing, remorseful headache, and vague recollections of their misdemeanours from the night before.

  “Has Rebecca done anything like this before?” Scott asked.

  Andy Barton shrugged and shook his head. “Not since I’ve known her. We all moved into this house in September last year, and I’ve not known her once to stay out all night without telling us.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “And…with all that stuff going on up at campus, and then Hailey…”

  Scott could hear the awkwardness in the boy’s voice. He had done the right thing in reporting his flatmate missing. Scott nodded in the direction of the front door. “What happened to the front door?”

  “We were broken into, but the strange thing is nothing was taken.”

  “And how do we know she is not in a lecture?”

  “Because our other flatmate, Jackie Manners, is in the same class as her. She’s in the class now and Rebecca hasn’t turned up.”

  Mike continued to fill Scott in with his brief notes from the interview. “She went to the Coalition nightclub last night in the King’s Road Arches. She’s been often and has always returned from a night out there. That’s why Andy thinks it’s a bit out of character for her.”

  “Abby, can you get Raj to head over to confirm she was there, and check CCTV both from outside and inside the club. Hopefully one of the cameras might have caught her.”

  Abby left the room to make her call.

  “Okay, Andy. Thanks for your help so far. Can you make sure you stay here in case we need to talk to you again?”

  Andy shrugged as he sauntered out of the room, his long thin arms swaying like long branches of a tree caught in the wind.

  Scott had received an email update from Meadows. He pointed out that the vice-chancellor of the university was concerned, and had issued an email warning reminding students to remain vigilant and be extra cautious with their safety. He’d gone on to point out that the campus had taken adequate security measures and was deemed safe, but, the same couldn’t be said for their safety in town. Scott had hoped to make contact with the vice-chancellor himself about this disappearance, but once again Meadows had circumvented Scott and the team.

  An earlier message to Helen had confirmed no recent sightings of Freddie Coltrane despite an extensive search of the lecture theatres and the East Slope area.

  “What was she studying, Mike?” Scott asked as Abby rejoined them.

  “Geography,” Mike replied as he handed Scott a recent photograph of Rebecca Thorne.

  The image of Rebecca raised alarm bells in Scott’s head.

  Rebecca had a pale complexion, dark brooding eyes and a voluptuous, large-breasted figure well-hidden behind a tight-cropped T-shirt and skinny jeans. It wasn’t her figure that raised an anxious pinch of concern in Scott’s belly. It was her long flowing tresses and curls of hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her front.

  Abby looked over Scott’s shoulder and sighed. “Another redhead. Coincidence?” Abby asked as she raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that by the look on Scott’s face, it was anything but a coincidence.

  23

  Scott’s mind flipped somersaults as he waited by the coffee machine for his instant cup of cappuccino. Abby’s observation about Rebecca’s hair colour played on his thoughts. It wasn’t uncommon for killers to find victims with similar traits or characteristics. Equally, some victims had little similarity between each other and were killed purely for the thrill and satisfaction.

  Scott’s phone vibrated in his pocket. A quick glance at the screen told him that Meadows wanted a quick word with him in his office. Scott groaned. He had enough on his plate without another lecture from Meadows.

  With a hot plastic cup of something that resembled cappuccino in one hand and his notepad in the other, Scott strode into Meadows’s office.

  His hand shook as he gasped in surprise. The sharp jolt of his body splashed some of his cappuccino over his hand. In part, he was relieved that he hadn’t scalded himself on the hot liquid. Scott’s eyes raced between Meadows, who was leaning back in his chair, and the smartly dressed female sitting in the opposite chair.

  Scott’s mind swirled. He hadn’t seen this face in a few years, and now every muscle in his body tensed in apprehension. A mixture of dread and anger coursed through his veins.

  “Ah, Scott, good of you to join us so quickly. I wasn’t entirely sure you were in the building,” Meadows said, nodding in the direction of the spare seat.

  Scott sat, fidgeting as he struggled to get comfortable. He inhaled a cleansing gulp of air, desperate to control his racing heart, afraid that his shortness of breath would give away the rush of anxiety that turned the insides of his stomach like a tombola wheel.

  Meadows’s eyes danced between Scott and the visitor. A wry smile threatened to break the practised sternness of his face. “Scott, you remember DCI Berry from Essex Police?” Meadows continued offering the female visitor a warm smile.

  Detective Chief Inspector Hermione Berry sat with her slender legs crossed as she slowly sipped a cup of tea. Her shiny, dark brown hair draped over her shoulders and framed her round face and tight jaw line. She looked the consummate professional in her navy two-piece suit and white blouse. She beamed a large, welcoming smile as her dark brown eyes lit up in the way they would when two old friends meet after a long time. “Hello, Scott. It seems like it’s been a long time. Detective Superintendent Meadows has been filling me in on what a valuable asset you’ve been to CID here.”

  Her words offered a degree of sincerity, but Scott knew she was only responding to the things that Meadows had told her.

  Scott could only muster a small nod in DCI Berry’s direction, his words bottlenecked in his throat.

  “Scott, the case that you’re working on at the moment has come to the attention of Essex Police, and in particular DCI Berry. It was the DCI’s personal request to be seconded to our team to work on this case. They worked on a series of similar unsolved cases five years ago in Colchester and the surrounding areas of Essex.”

  His superior’s words seemed to bounce off Scott as he sat there in stunned silence. He could see Meadows’s lips move, but his mind muted out the sound.

  Meadows glanced towards Berry with an enquiring nod to confirm that he had the right details as he updated Scott with more background information to the Essex cases. Berry enthusiastically nodded in agreement.

  “There was a series of similar cases that involved victims who were students from the University of Essex. Jackie Stickley and Alison Gray were both abducted and murdered within w
eeks of each other. The MO matches that of Hailey Bratton. Both victims were redheads, and were mutilated in the same way.”

  During the pause, DCI Berry continued where Meadows had stopped. She cleared her throat before continuing, “Unfortunately, we drew a blank with suspects, and the killer was never identified. It became a cold case after that.” Berry shrugged.

  Scott stiffened and pulled his shoulders back. “Sir, Ma’am, I appreciate the similarities in the cases. But with the case files now being cold, surely it makes sense for us to keep pushing with our live cases, and keep Essex Police in the loop. I’m sure we are more than capable.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Scott, but the decision for Essex and Sussex Police to work together has been agreed by AC Grayling and CC Lennon. They are fully supportive of the collaboration between our two forces.” Meadows paused before directing his following words in Scott’s direction. “We’ve organised a press conference tomorrow where myself and DCI Berry will go public with this case. It will also give the general public the reassurance that they need and might serve to jog a few memories in relation to the cold cases.”

  Scott couldn’t believe his ears. On the one hand, some degree of collaboration would no doubt be beneficial. With the little evidence that they had, the cold case files could shed light and provide them with further insights. In principle he was fine with that, but DCI Berry presented a major problem.

  Meadows leant forward in his chair as if about to divulge some secret that only the three of them would be privy to. “I understand you both know each other and have worked together, so the sharing of knowledge should be much easier. I’m sure you’ll be able to get the DCI up to speed very quickly, Scott.”