Deadly Terror (Detective Zoe Finch Book 4)

by Rachel McLean

  She lifted her shoulder, turning to one side and slamming her arm into his chest. He exhaled, winded, and let go of her face.

  She jerked out from under him and shoved him onto the bed. She ran to the door and slammed into it.

  She turned to him, her back against the wood. She’d heard the lock turn. No one was coming to save her.

  She brought her fists up and he laughed. She sneered at him.

  He rubbed his arm and stood up. “There’s no point in resisting,” he said. “They’ll only subdue you if you do.” He advanced on her. “I suggest you let me get it over with.”

  She slipped past him towards the window. She tugged on it and it opened a few centimetres.

  “Sorry, darlin’,” the man said. “You’re not getting out that way.”

  She jumped onto the bed and reached up to grab his hair. She yanked it down, bringing his head down with it. She leaned over and bit the back of his neck. He shrieked.

  He pulled away from her and lashed out to slap her on the cheek. She stared back at him, chest rising and falling.

  “I told you to stop it,” he said. He lunged at her. She grabbed his nose, sticking her fingers up his nostrils and pulling his head down. She brought her knee up and slammed it into his crotch.

  “Fuck!” he groaned. “You little bitch.”

  She backed away from him, pushing the bed and jumping down to stand behind it. He slammed into it, sending its weight into her legs. She yelped.

  He bent over, his hands cradling his balls. She allowed herself a smile.

  “You’re not getting away with it that easily.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Five minutes.”

  “Nearly done,” the man hissed. He glared at Andreea. She stared back at him. Her body was full of fire, her muscles taut.

  He threw himself across the bed, grabbing both her arms. She pulled back but she was pinned against the wall. He knelt on the bed, the combined weight of him and it pushing her into the peeling wallpaper. She spat. He wiped his face, smiled, then leaned in and licked her cheek.

  She screeched. She pulled with her arms, trying to free herself. He shifted his weight to push the bed forward. She pushed down a scream, feeling like her legs might be cut in half.

  He pushed one arm up above her head, and then the other. He snapped his belt out of his trousers and tied her wrists together, then held them to the wall with one hand. He looked into her eyes as he did this, his pupils dilated. She blinked back at him.

  She writhed under his weight, but it only made the bed frame dig into her all the more. She couldn’t move.

  He grabbed her jeans and ripped open the fly. He plunged his hand inside, grabbing at her flesh. She screamed into his face.

  “Shush,” he whispered as his fingernails dug into her flesh. “You’re fun, aren’t you?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sofia drew her legs up to her chest as she heard the front door slam. It was after 10pm and she’d been watching TV for the last three hours, waiting for Titi to come home.

  Mrs Brooking had heated up her dinner and then left for the evening. She’d said nothing about Sofia’s escape in John Lewis, although Sofia was sure she knew all about it. Instead, she’d served Sofia’s meal – chicken in a butter and white wine sauce – in silence, her mouth tight and her movements quick.

  Sofia took a deep breath. She pushed herself off the sofa and walked around it. She wanted to face Titi when he came in, to defend herself.

  She waited for him to appear in the doorway. She had no idea if he would be angry at her. Last night he’d been so… loving. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge her the need to find her sister?

  After five minutes there was still no sign of him. She went into the hallway. His jacket was slung on the floor. She stared at it, her chest tight. She could hear noises from the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening, of a bottle being opened.

  She walked into the kitchen, determined to keep her head high. He sat at the island, swigging from a bottle of lager. He stared at her. He said nothing.

  “Hi,” she muttered.

  He stood up. “Hi?”

  She shrugged. “You have a good day?”

  He put his bottle down on the marble worktop. He clenched his fist and rapped the countertop, almost knocking the bottle over.

  She leaned back, just a little. Her mouth was dry.

  “You want to know if I had a good day,” he said.

  She forced a smile. “I hope you had good day.”

  “You hope I had good day. When are you going to speak properly, woman?”

  “Sorry.”

  He took a step towards her. She blinked back at him. Don’t flinch, she told herself. Don’t run away. She’d done nothing wrong.

  He grabbed her wrist. She stiffened as he lifted her arm up between them.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered. “Please. Do not be cross with me.”

  “No,” he said. “I have not had a good day. Things have not worked out the way they were supposed to. And to make it worse,” he continued, “you lied to Kyle. You had that woman bring security guards.”

  “Was not my idea. Hers. Just hers.”

  He tightened his grip on her wrist. She gasped.

  “Just hers. And was it just her idea for you to creep out of a stockroom and run away through a car park?”

  “I wanted to find children. Mrs Brooking says they were never here. They were. You know they were.”

  He dropped her wrist. She rubbed it.

  “I never saw any children,” he said.

  “But you were here. They were in bed. Last night. When you—”

  She thought through the previous evening. He’d never gone into the children’s rooms. He’d seen Gabriella, in the kitchen, but for the rest, he’d never laid eyes on them.

  But they’d been here. She’d put them to bed. She’d checked on them after Titi was asleep. And they’d been gone this morning. He was the only person who could have made that happen.

  “Why did you send them away? Where are they?” She stared into his face. “And where is Andreea?”

  “There was an explosion, at the airport. People are still being evacuated.”

  She shook her head. “I watched the news. Evacuation finished. People missing. From Wizz Air.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I was there. I saw them. Your men, they took them off plane. Children, and women. I helped.”

  He sat down and took a swig from his bottle. “You really need to stop imagining things, woman.”

  She swallowed. “OK. If I am imagining things, then why was I at airport? To meet Andreea. Where is she?”

  “Stop it.” He stood up, the bottle still in his hand. He pushed past her, almost knocking her over.

  “I’m going to bed,” he said. “You can sleep in the spare room.”

  She ran after him. “Please, honeybun. You must help me. I am scared for Andreea. She is alone, in strange country. I need to find her.”

  He let go of the bottle. It smashed on the floor, sending beer everywhere. She yelped as pieces of glass hit her legs.

  He grabbed both her wrists. “Let it go, Sofia. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up and let go of this nonsense. And you’ll never pull a stunt like that again.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Monday

  Nicholas was sitting at the dining table in front of his laptop when Zoe came downstairs. There was no sign of Annette, who’d been quiet the previous evening.

  “Morning, love.” Zoe brushed her hand across the back of his chair. He grunted.

  She made a coffee and came back into the room. He was still at the laptop, peering into it.

  “Everything OK?” she asked.

  “I’m about to press the button,” he said.

  “The button?”

  “The submit button. For my uni application.”

  She sat down next to him. “What order have yo
u put them in?”

  He pulled the laptop away from her. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?’

  “I’m nervous enough as it is. You’re making it worse.”

  “Then why did you bring it downstairs? You could have done this in your bedroom.”

  “I don’t know. I guess… I don’t know.”

  She grabbed the laptop. “Let me look. I’ll check it for you.”

  “No!” He pushed the screen shut.

  She stared at him. “Will it have saved?”

  “Shit.” He shuffled round to the other side of the table and opened the laptop, his eyes wide.

  He relaxed. “It’s still there.”

  “Good. You sure it’s what you want?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about Zaf? You still want to go to the same place?”

  “Zaf might take a year out.”

  “What? Since when?”

  Nicolas looked at her as if she was stupid. “You know since when.”

  “I thought you were helping him deal with it.”

  “Not anymore.” He slumped in his chair.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Zoe moved round to the chair next to him and put her arm around his shoulders, ignoring the shrug designed to push her off. “You’ll be OK. He loves you. I saw the look on his face when he found out you hadn’t been hurt by that man.”

  “The Digbeth Ripper.”

  “You know I don’t like using that name.”

  “It’s better than that man.”

  “If Zaf takes a year out, what d’you think you’ll do?”

  He shrugged her arm off. “I’m not staying here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Maybe a year out would do you good, too. You went through a lot.”

  The cat jumped up onto the table. Nicholas grabbed her. “Come here, Yoda.” He held her against his chest and scratched under her chin.

  “When’s the deadline?” Zoe said. “For UCAS?”

  “End of the month.”

  “That’s eight days away.”

  “I know.”

  “And what happens if you haven’t applied by then?”

  “You know what happens.”

  “Sorry. OK, can you save what you’ve done, come back to it later, or tomorrow? Talk to Zaf, find out what he’s planning. The two of you were so set on being at uni together.”

  “Things change, Mum.”

  I know, she thought. She pictured her mum, snoring in the spare room.

  “I’m happy if you want to stay here. I’m not exactly going to chuck you out.”

  “I want to go. I want to get away from Birmingham.”

  “Oh?”

  He turned to her. “I was three streets away from here, Mum. When he grabbed us. I got knocked unconscious and woke up in someone’s garden. Every time I walk past that street, I think of what he might have done to Zaf.”

  The man who had taken Zaf, the so-called Digbeth Ripper, had singled out gay men and castrated them. Zoe had found Zaf before he was injured, but it had been close. She felt ice trickle down her back.

  “He’s locked up, love. He won’t be getting out for a very long time.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Nicholas put his finger on the trackpad.

  “You don’t have to decide immediately,” she said. “You’ve still got a few days.”

  “I know,” he said. “But I’ve made up my mind.”

  He clicked the trackpad and leaned back. A confirmation message appeared on the screen.

  “It’s done,” he said.

  “You still haven’t told me your preferences.”

  “I’ll tell you later.” He grabbed the laptop and walked up the stairs, his footsteps heavy.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Right,” said Randle. “Where are we with these missing passengers? Anyone turned up yet?”

  DI Dawson cleared his throat. They were in the briefing room again, Randle at the front with Silton. There were more anti-terror officers today, but still no sign of Mo.

  “We’ve got names, sir,” Dawson said. He passed forward a sheet of paper.

  Randle surveyed it and passed it to Silton, who raised an eyebrow.

  “Seven children, members of a school group here on an exchange with a school in Moseley. And six women. Were the women with the school group?”

  “No, sir,” said Dawson. “Each of them was travelling alone. But they were seated near each other.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Maybe one of them found a way off the plane and the others followed,” Zoe said.

  “That plane wasn’t attacked,” Randle said. “They were evacuated in an orderly fashion, they didn’t need to disappear.”

  “We’re sure they’re not accounted for anywhere else?” Silton asked. “They haven’t got muddled up with records from another plane?”

  “Not as far as we can tell,” said Dawson. “The airlines checked all their passengers off the planes, they wanted to be sure no one was lost in the panic.”

  “I think that’s exactly the point,” said Randle. “Lost in the panic. These women and children probably got off the plane, missed the checkpoint somehow and left the airport.”

  “Seven children?” Zoe said. “Where would they have gone?”

  Randle shook his head. “I don’t see how this is related to either of the bombs. These people were on an entirely separate plane. Frank, by all means add this to the mispers file, but don’t bust a gut on it. We’ve got more important things to worry about. Like the man you said had explosives residue on him.”

  “Yes,” said Dawson. “We’ve managed to identify him.”

  “Well done. And?”

  “His name was Nadeem Sharif. He was British, he’d been to Pakistan to visit family.”

  “Does he have family here in Britain?”

  “A wife and two daughters.”

  “Talk to them. Find out what his movements were before he went to Pakistan. Be careful, though: the wife could be a suspect.”

  “You think we should arrest her?”

  “We don’t have grounds for that yet. But I assume Silton’s team will be going into his house, conducting a search for evidence of bomb making.”

  “I suggest we bring his wife in for interviewing,” said Silton. “Treat her as a witness for now.”

  “OK. What about this handbag you found? Any identifying forensics?”

  “We’ve run prints against the database,” said Fran Kowalczyk. “No match.”

  “Probably just some woman who dropped her bag in the chaos,” Randle said.

  “It was very close to the gate that was cut,” Fran replied. “And not far from the plane with the missing people.”

  “We’re thinking they panicked, got off the plane, and managed to break through the gate,” said Dawson.

  “With wire cutters?” Zoe said.

  Dawson shrugged. “You come up with a better explanation.”

  “Someone came from outside. Broke through that gate, took them away.”

  “What?” said Randle. “That’s ridiculous. Tell me where we are with the identity of the New Street bomber.”

  Zoe shrugged. It was a pretty far-fetched theory. “We’ve had a few more calls from the public but none have been the right woman.”

  “You’ve run her against the national DNA database?”

  “That was done at the same time as the post-mortem. Nothing.”

  “Well, keep doing what you are.”

  What Zoe was doing was going around in circles trying to identify a woman who, it seemed, didn’t officially exist. She would go back to the witness again: Sameena. Check her account against the CCTV.

  “There’s also the man who pushed her off the escalator, sir.”

  Randle sighed. “That’s a red herring, DI Finch. Focus on the woman.”

  “We’ve got eyes on suspicious individuals around the city,” said Silton. “None of them have done anything unusual in the last few days. None of them came
into contact with the woman.”

  Randle flicked off his laptop. “Right, then. You all know what you’re doing. Let’s hope we have some more concrete evidence by the end of today, yes?”

  Chapter Forty

  Sofia lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. This house was so quiet, the quietest building she’d ever been in. It was a new building, made of concrete. The carpets were thick and she could never hear when someone was moving around. Even the stairs were made of concrete. She knew Mrs Brooking would be downstairs somewhere. Cleaning, cooking, her normal routine. But wherever she was, she was silent.

  Sofia heaved herself up and went to the door for what felt like the hundredth time. She turned the handle, slowly this time, and pulled.

  Still locked.

  Titi had told her not to escape again. It seemed he wasn’t taking any chances.

  She went back to the bed and perched on its edge. It was warm in here, stuffy compared to the places she’d lived in Romania. She wanted to open a window, let in some air, but all the windows had security locks. To keep burglars out, Mrs Brooking had told her. And now to keep her in.

  She walked to the window and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. She’d heard her boyfriend leave in his BMW this morning. She’d watched him drive off, careful to stand to one side of the window and not let him see her. Now the driveway was empty: Mrs Brooking had parked her blue Fiesta in the garage, like she always did.

  Sofia turned to lean against the wall by the window. Her mind felt blank, her body heavy. Was Andreea being held prisoner somewhere like this, too? Had he driven away to wherever he was keeping her, to make sure she couldn’t escape either?

  And if he didn’t want Sofia and Andreea to be together, why had he agreed to pay for Andreea’s flight? None of it made sense.

  She jumped at a knock on the door. She stepped away from the window.

  “Hello?”

  “I’ve brought you some breakfast, miss.” Mrs Brooking’s voice.

  Sofia went to the door. She tried the handle; it was unlocked. Catching her breath, she pulled it open.

  Mrs Brooking stood in the doorway holding a tray. The tray was broad, blocking Sofia’s exit.