Deadly Terror (Detective Zoe Finch Book 4)

by Rachel McLean

  “I’ll wait outside.”

  “No. You wait here.” She held out a hand. “Give me card.”

  Kyle kept credit cards in a leather wallet in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Company cards, Titi had told her. Kyle was entitled to them as an employee.

  She, it seemed, wasn’t.

  “I’ll pay after you’ve found what you want,” he said.

  “I buy underwear. I do not want you seeing.” She cocked her head. “Spoil surprise.”

  He smirked. “Go on then. But I’m going to stand at the entrance to the lingerie department. Can’t have you running off.”

  “Why would I run off?” She pocketed the card he handed over and gave him a dismissive look.

  He followed her further into the store, to the sign saying ‘lingerie’. She had no idea what this word meant.

  “Can I help you?” An assistant, a large woman with a bust that Sofia imagined would need the assistance of one of the sturdier items sold here, approached them. She glanced from Sofia to Kyle, her gaze snagging on the tattoo that embellished his neck. “A present for your girlfriend?”

  Kyle shook his head and backed away.

  “No,” said Sofia. “He is not boyfriend. I wish to try things on.”

  “Of course. Come with me, we’ll get you measured up.”

  Sofia followed the woman through an archway into a dimly lit room. To one side was a row of changing rooms. At the far end was a door. Sofia stared at it, her heart racing.

  The woman steered her into a cubicle.

  “Right. Just take off your top and keep your bra on. I’ll be back in a tick.”

  Sofia stood in the tight space, clutching her arms around her body. She shivered.

  The woman returned and looked her up and down. “I’m sorry, don’t you understand? I can’t measure you with your blouse on.”

  Sofia shook her head. “I need to get away.”

  “Sorry?”

  She jerked her head towards the way she’d come in. “That man out there. He is my boyfriend. He hurt me.”

  The woman’s mouth fell open. She stared at Sofia.

  “I need to get away,” Sofia said. She pointed towards the door at the far end of the changing rooms. “Can I go that way?”

  “That leads to the stock room,” the woman said. “And… yes. There’s a loading bay. It’s a bit of a maze, but you’ll end up at the ground floor of the car park.”

  Sofia nodded, her heart rate picking up. “Please, quickly.”

  The woman swallowed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Sure.”

  “OK.”

  The woman pulled aside the curtain to the changing room and led Sofia to the door, glancing back towards where Kyle would be waiting. She was grinding her teeth. She opened the door and paused to let Sofia through, then followed behind her and closed the door.

  They were in a dark room flanked by shelves stacked with boxes of bras and packs of knickers. The woman pointed past the shelves on their left. “Go through there and there’s another door. Go down the stairs and then out the fire door. You’ll find yourself in the car park.”

  “You show me way?”

  “Sorry, I can’t leave the shop floor. I’m the only one on this afternoon. What do you want me to say to your boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know. Tell him I am sick. That I need to lie down.”

  “There isn’t anywhere to lie down in the changing rooms.”

  “He does not know that.”

  “OK.” The woman’s brow furrowed as she thought about lying to Kyle.

  “He will not hurt you.” Sofia put a hand on the woman’s arm.

  “I think I’ll get one of the security guards up here, just in case.”

  “Good. Yes.” Sofia gave her a smile. “Thank you.”

  “Good luck. Look after yourself.”

  “Thank you.”

  The woman gave Sofia a push in the small of her back. She needed to get moving. She took a deep breath and hurried past the shelves.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Zoe had been wanting to do this all day. She’d pushed aside thoughts of her boss while she’d been working on the CCTV and interviewing witnesses. She’d tried not to imagine the comments Lesley would have made at the post-mortem. And in the briefing, she’d wished Lesley had been there to challenge Randle. He was being domineering and erratic again, and she didn’t like it. It reminded her of the Bryn Jackson murder.

  But he couldn’t be involved in this one. This was a straightforward terror attack.

  Lesley was in a ward with five other women. The curtains around her bed were drawn back and a man and teenage girl sat in chairs beside her. Zoe stopped at the door to the ward and watched. She hadn’t known what condition her boss would be in, whether she’d even be conscious, but it looked like she was sitting up and talking. Relieved, Zoe waited, drinking in the sight and not wanting to interrupt Lesley with her family.

  Lesley spotted her and waved her in. “Zoe, good to see you. Get in here.”

  Zoe smiled and approached the bed. She had a chocolate bar she’d picked up in the hospital shop: not much but more to Lesley’s taste that grapes or flowers. She handed it over.

  “It’s a bit inadequate, I know.”

  “It’s bloody marvellous.” Lesley tore off the wrapper and bit into the chocolate. Her face dissolved into ecstasy. “You wouldn’t believe the crap they give us in here,” she mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.

  The man sitting next to Lesley turned and gave Zoe a nod. “Hello.” He was thin and grey, wearing a brown suit that was a size too large. Not what Zoe would have expected. She had no idea what she’d been expecting.

  “Hello. I’m Zoe, I work for Lesley.”

  “She’s my best bloody DI, is what she is,” Lesley said. She brushed chocolate crumbs off her hands and sank into the pillows.

  Zoe resisted a smile.

  “This is my useless husband, Terry. Terry, give the girl a hug at least.”

  Terry stood and gave Zoe an awkward hug. She returned it, equally awkward. The girl was smiling up at her.

  “I’m Sharon,” she said. “I’ve heard all about you.”

  “Hi, Sharon.” Zoe held out her hand, thinking I’ve heard nothing about you. She knew that Lesley had a family, although exactly how she knew that she couldn’t say. But until today, she’d never have been able to name them or say how many of them there were.

  “Grab a chair, Zoe,” said Lesley. She balled up the chocolate wrapper and chucked it onto the chest of drawers beside the bed. When it bounced off and fell to the floor, she scoffed. “Nurses’ll have my guts for that. Terry, pick it up, will you?”

  Terry bent to grab the wrapper and put it in his pocket.

  Zoe found a chair which didn’t seem to belong to any of the other beds and brought it closer. As she sat down, she reached into her inside pocket. “I brought this, too.”

  Lesley grabbed the envelope. “A get well soon card. How original.”

  Zoe shifted in her seat. “We thought…”

  “Yeah, yeah. Thanks. Ignore me.”

  “How are you feeling?” Zoe asked.

  “I’m right as rain now,” Lesley said. She reached up behind her neck, where a thick bandage separated her skin from the pillow. “There was a piece of glass stuck in my brain stem, apparently. Sounds like the sort of thing that’d finish you off, but luckily I got here in time.”

  A shiver ran down Zoe’s back. “I was told you collapsed in the ops room.”

  “I’m trying to pretend that never happened.”

  “You were injured, ma’am.”

  Lesley waved her hand again. “Don’t ma’am me here. I’m Lesley. At least till these doctors say I can go back to work.”

  Zoe nodded. Next to her, Lesley’s husband cleared his throat.

  Lesley gave him a pointed look. “Terry says I can’t overexert myself. He’s like my guardian angel, aren’t you love?”

  Terry open
ed his mouth to speak.

  “Anyway,” Lesley continued. “How’s it going without me? They found the sod who did this?”

  “I’ve been given the responsibility of identifying the bomber,” Zoe said. “I went to her post-mortem this morning.”

  “Hmm. How was it?”

  Zoe glanced at Sharon. “Nasty. Unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

  “Right. And are you any closer to identifying her?”

  Zoe shook her head. “She’s a nobody. We’ve got CCTV of her going into the station, talking to a witness, and then… well, you know what she did next.” She was aware of Lesley’s daughter next to her, her head bent in Zoe’s direction. This would be fascinating for a teenager. “We’ve put out an appeal, used CCTV stills to find out if anyone recognises her. So far, nothing.”

  “You’ll get there. You’ve only had twenty-four hours. I bet David’s like a pig in shit, heading up something like this.”

  “He’s got Detective Superintendent Silton working with him. But yes, it is interesting having him running an investigation again.”

  Lesley barked out a laugh. “Interesting! I like it. May you live through interesting times, Zoe. Or may you not, as the case may be.”

  Terry lifted his watch. “I really think…”

  “OK, OK.” Lesley reached out and grabbed Zoe’s hand. “Come back, will you? Bring your DCs. I like them, I think you’ve got a good team.”

  Zoe noted that she said nothing about Ian.

  “I will, ma’am. And I’ll keep you updated on the case.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sofia ran out of the car park. She was on a street, cars passing in front of her. She had no idea where she was.

  She ran across the road and paused to look in both directions. To her right was a turn-off. She had to keep moving, to get away from where Kyle might find her.

  She ran to the corner and turned left, arms and legs pumping.

  At the end of the street was a blank brick building, staring back at her. Dead end.

  She ran back the way she’d come then turned left again, heading away from the car park. There was a phone box up ahead.

  She yanked the door open and slammed herself into the box, her shoulder hitting the back wall. She winced and rubbed it.

  She picked up the phone. Could she make a call with Titi’s credit card?

  Who would she call anyway?

  She pushed the phone against her ear. Her limbs trembled and her chest felt tight. She started hitting buttons. Nothing happened.

  There was a sign on the wall behind the phone: dial 999 in case of emergency. She did so.

  “Emergency services, which service do you require?”

  “I need to find missing woman. Children.”

  “Are you reporting missing persons?”

  “Yes. No. Yes.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll just connect you now.”

  The line went quiet. She turned to look back the way she’d run. She hoped Kyle wouldn’t hurt the shop assistant. That the security guards would contain him.

  “Hello, where are you calling from?”

  “I don’t know. Solihull. Phone box.”

  “Can you tell me the number of the phone you’re calling from? You’ll see it on the phone.”

  Sofa read out the number from a sticker on the phone.

  “OK. What is the nature of your emergency?”

  A car came to a stop beside the phone box. A man jumped out. Not Kyle. But a man she’d seen before.

  She shrank back into the phone box, hoping he hadn’t seen her.

  “Hello? Are you still there?”

  “I report missing persons.”

  “More than one missing person?”

  “Yes. One woman. Seven children.”

  “Can you give me their names please?”

  Cold air brushed Sofia’s neck as the door opened behind her. A fat hand grabbed the phone and slammed it into its cradle. Sofia yelped.

  “That was a close one,” the man said. “We thought we’d lost you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Never you mind.”

  “I was making phone call.”

  “I can see that. Come on, you can make all the calls you like at home.”

  “Not when Mrs Brooking watches.”

  “Mrs Brooking has your best interests at heart. Now come on, or the boss’ll have my fucking hide.”

  She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her. She hung her hands by her sides and walked past him to the car. He looked up and down the street as he opened the passenger door for her. She ducked and he put a hand on her head to push her in. She tensed.

  She slumped in the passenger seat. He closed the door, his movements calmer now. She stared ahead as he sat in the drivers’ seat and started the car, refusing to let him see her cry.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The house that Sheila’s team had been watching was a run-down terrace in Ladywood. One of the windows was boarded up and the front garden was full of litter. Mo spotted rats flitting between piles of rubbish and overspilling bin bags. He shivered.

  The streetlamp next to the car was unlit, lending a thick gloom to this part of the street. He wondered if it was a coincidence.

  “OK,” said Sheila. “Uniform will gain access, then I need you to cover the first floor and I’ll take the ground floor.”

  “No problem.” Mo pulled on his stab vest. They were in the back of a black car belonging to the organised crime division. A constable in dark clothes sat in the front.

  Four uniformed officers rounded the corner to the side street where they’d parked their van. They kept to the shadows, stealing their way to the target house.

  Sheila opened her door. “Let’s go.”

  Mo left the car as the uniformed officers arrived at the house’s front door. Two officers had disappeared round the side of the house, forcing open a side gate to cover the back.

  “Police. Open up!”

  There was no response. The officers stood back and let their colleagues with the enforcer come through. It had the door open in one strike.

  The uniformed constables rushed into the building, peeling off and disappearing into darkened rooms. Mo flicked a light switch by the front door but no light came on.

  “Nothing,” one of the officers called from a back room.

  “First floor clear,” came a voice from upstairs.

  Mo walked up the stairs. They creaked under every step, the carpet threadbare. Damp patches stained the walls. Ahead of him, two officers shook their heads.

  “No one here, Sarge.”

  Mo pursed his lips and went into the front bedroom. The curtains were closed, the room in darkness. He yanked the curtains open to see a bed, neatly made, and a bedside table that held a lamp and nothing more. Behind him was a chest of drawers. He pulled the drawers open: empty.

  He scanned the room. There was no other furniture, no wardrobe. He lowered himself to the floor and checked under the bed: clear.

  He went into the other three upstairs bedrooms and did the same. All three had their curtains closed. All three were empty. No people, no belongings.

  He hurried down the stairs. Sheila was in the kitchen, opening cupboards. Packets of food had been left behind, a half empty bottle of milk in the fridge.

  “Rooms down here are all empty,” she said. “They’re all bedrooms, but none of them occupied.”

  “They got out,” he said.

  “They knew we were coming.”

  “But we only came because Macauley Street cleared out first.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe they’d spotted us there, decided to move out of the area. Maybe this new lot are pushing them out.”

  “You got any more on that?”

  “Not since we spoke. It makes me nervous though. When these scum try to take each other out, innocent people get in the way.”

  Mo looked around the room again. “It
’s so thorough, though. There’s not a thing left behind. This didn’t happen in a hurry.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “This wasn’t a reaction to us. This was planned.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Andreea stared out of the window. This room had a thin net curtain and a dingy bed against the side wall. There was nothing else.

  She watched the street. This was a bad area, the houses run down and shabby. The house immediately opposite had all its windows boarded up and she could see a man selling drugs in an alleyway further along. She still hadn’t been told where Sofia was. She hoped she wasn’t here.

  She’d been brought here from the first building, a hotel they’d told her she’d be living in. It had been a thirty-minute drive in a van similar to the one from the airport. She hadn’t recognised the driver, and didn’t have the energy to talk to him.

  This house was smaller, and shabbier. It smelt of sweat and urine, the nastiest house on a nasty-looking street.

  The door opened and a man came in. He was short and heavily built, she remembered him from the airport. He turned to speak to a second man in the doorway behind him.

  “This one’s got spirit,” he said. “A challenge.”

  The man behind him laughed. “I like them feisty.”

  The man from the airport turned to her and put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. She stuck her tongue out at him. He gave her the finger and left the room, locking the door with Andreea and the other man inside.

  The second man was tall and thin. He looked around fifty. He approached Andreea, smiling.

  “So,” he said. “What’s your speciality?”

  “Fighting,” she replied. “Strangle chickens.”

  “Hah!” Flecks of spittle landed on her face as he laughed. “I like you.”

  He shoved her onto the bed and it bowed under her weight. She sprang up, her fists raised in protection.

  “He was right about you, wasn’t he?”

  Andreea spat in the man’s face. His laugh turned to a look of disgust and he grabbed her face with his hand.

  “Feisty I like. Difficult gets me pissed off.”