Driving Dead

by Stephen G Collier

  ‘Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? Hello!’ There was no response. She lay back on the bed and wondered what was going to happen to her next, determined to make an escape as soon as she could.

  Then she heard a key in the lock of her prison.

  42

  Randall, Stevens, and on the instructions of the DCI, Jordan, stood in front of Freeman at half past midnight. Freeman was in a foul mood and he was about rip them all a new one.

  ‘What in friggin’ God’s name happened tonight? I’ve had Marland and the Chief on the phone to me, ripping me a new arse, as to why I’ve lost one of his officers. I was invited over here to see how you Brits are supposed to have the best police force in the world, but at this time I’m finding that hard to comprehend. The advertising doesn’t do justice to the crap that I’m getting from on high. So, what’s the story, Randall? And it’s a friggin’ Sunday morning now.

  Freeman’s raised voice was heard outside his office and probably down the corridor. He stared angrily at Randall for an answer.

  ‘One minute she was in the club, the next minute she was gone,’ responded Randall.

  ‘What, she just vanished like a puff of smoke? Where has she gone, Randall? Where?’

  ‘We don’t know, sir.’ Randall cringed a little.

  Jake had to smile inwardly, seeing Randall being brought down a peg or two.

  ‘I’ve also had the Daventry Commander on, wanting his officer back and I’ve had to tell her we’ve lost her.’

  ‘We’re doing all we can at this point to secure her whereabouts,’ Stevens said.

  ‘Secure her whereabouts? Jeez, I’m beginning to think that you constabulary boys couldn’t organise a, a… ’

  ‘Piss-up in a brewery?’ volunteered Stevens.

  ‘Yeah, that’ll do. So, where are we now with this shit-storm?’

  ‘We’ve got an all-ports warning out for the car. Both descriptions, her new description and Parker’s. We’re also looking at CCTV footage for last night in the street and surrounding area. CCTV picked up her car leaving St John’s car park a few minutes after we discovered her gone, then again on Victoria Prom and onto the Bedford Road. We pinged her phone and we found it in the pub just down the road from the nightclub, in her handbag.’

  ‘So she’s no way of contacting us, wherever she may be, or whoever she may be with.’

  ‘She’s resourceful – she’ll find a way.’

  ‘I fucking hope she does,’ Freeman snarled. ‘Do you think she’ll have been taken far?’

  ‘Personally, I think she’s still in town somewhere,’ Randall said.

  ‘I agree with that,’ Jake affirmed.

  ‘Hmm, seems to me that a couple of, what do you call them?’ Freeman paused momentarily. ‘Ah, hobby bobbies, did better than you in discovering the vehicle she was abducted in.’

  ‘They were PCSOs, sir,’ Stevens volunteered again.

  ‘I really don’t give a shit who they were, they obviously had their eyes on the ground, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Stevens acknowledged glumly.

  ‘And where were the two officers, who were supposed to be in the pub she was abducted from? Tell me that?’

  ‘It seems that they had stepped outside of the pub for a cigarette.’

  ‘Did both of them have to go at the same time? They’re not women who have to go to the john in pairs, y’know.’

  ‘I’m dealing with them, sir. Both of them realise that they made a mistake.’

  ‘Yeah, made a mistake that could cost an officer her life. I hope you’ve told them that they’re on… what you call a fizzer?’

  ‘In no uncertain terms, sir, yes.’

  ‘You were both in the club?’

  Randall and Stevens nodded.

  ‘Where were you, Jordan?’

  ‘All Saints, static obs.’

  ‘Did you see them?’

  ‘No, you can’t see the club doors from that position. My other officers had a better view from the bottom of the hill.’

  ‘Did they see anything?’

  ‘No, they got called away to a serious RTC about five minutes before it all kicked off.’

  ‘Did you replace them?’

  ‘Couldn’t get a resource there quick enough, before we realised she’d gone.’

  Freeman rubbed his face, before returning them to his hips. ‘Do we have anything to go on?’

  ‘No,’ said Randall.

  ‘Erm… I’m not so sure,’ butted in Jake. They looked towards him. He was unsure of whether he should give them details with which Kirsty had confided in him, but it was clear that Freeman was desperate for some good news.

  ‘Last night, Dr Kingsfield turned up at the club.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Freeman curtly.

  ‘She wanted to tell me a theory about these collisions and the other ongoing line of enquiry, you know about this unknown substance.’

  ‘What has this got to do with Parker’s disappearance?’ queried Randall.

  ‘If you hear me out, sir, I think it’s highly relevant and, above all, I think it’s a good theory. We don’t have anything else, do we?’

  ‘Tell us,’ Freeman said, as he sat down.

  Jake went on to explain Kirsty’s theory to the three of them. At the end, they sat in silence, waiting for a response from Freeman. He leaned forward, rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

  ‘Really, that’s all we’ve got?’

  ‘It’s a start.’

  ‘It’s a fuckin’ fairy tale, that’s what it is. Dr Kingsfield should stick with the dead and let us deal with the living. Now get out, all of you.’

  Outside Freeman’s office, Stevens said, ‘That went well then!’

  Randall growled. ‘You better get your arse into gear then Clive and get me some answers. You, Jake, can do what you traffic boys do, which clearly isn’t detective work!’ and he stormed off along the corridor. Jake made a move to follow him to the exit, Stevens held him back.

  Speaking in a low tone, he said, ‘Look, Jake, I don’t know about you, but I think Kirsty’s theory is a runner. We both know her better than these two imports and she wouldn’t have said anything, if she didn’t feel it was significant.’.

  Jake nodded. ‘I’m off to do what us traffic boys do, Clive.’ Jake gave him a quick wink as he walked off in the direction that Randall had taken.

  ‘I’ve got your back, Jake, just in case.’

  Jake thanked him, as Stevens turned and returned to the incident room.

  43

  Sunday

  Stephanie Parker

  There was no way of knowing how long she’d been unconscious. They’d come and drugged her again. She tried to prevent them from sticking the needles in by struggling as much as she could, and got a slap around the face, several times.

  Parker was frightened now about what was going to happen to her. The drugs they’d given her were, in all probability, going to kill her, if what Jake had told her was anything to go by. Was that their intention? Neither of them who brought her food or water ever spoke to her. Never said a word to her, ever. Just looked at her through the disguise they were wearing around their faces. Scarfs tied around their heads, so she couldn’t even get an idea about them. All she could see were their eyes, burning into her, behind masks that reminded her of those old black and white TV programmes, where the villain always had a band of light accentuating the evil in their eyes.

  One thing she was determined to do, if she ever got out of there, was remember those eyes, that was for certain. She’d lost a sense of how long she had been held in captivity. It could have been days or even weeks. The drugs she had been given made her drift in and out of consciousness, and causing hallucinations and muscle spasms. She felt even more powerless to resist the injections being given t
o her, the more they gave her. Every time she tried to resist, the other one would come into the room and hold her down. Then she’d drift off to sleep, only to wake up in darkness and silence. She knew she needed to escape, but how?

  As she lay there, she thought about how she had managed to get herself in that position. What was she doing, agreeing to Randall’s suggestion that everything would be OK and that there would be plenty of backup every step of the way? Where was the backup in the pub? Where was the backup that should be there, getting her out of this mess. If she ever got out of here she would never again volunteer for such hair-brained schemes. She’d even changed her hair for the operation, so she looked like those other women targeted by the killer, and here she was handcuffed to a bed. Welcome to my parlour, she snorted, and rattled the handcuffs out of frustration.

  What she didn’t understand was why she hadn’t been dumped somewhere, like Prentice instead of using her as a guinea pig. She was pretty sure that one of them was the woman who abducted her, but her disguise and the drugs made her unsure. But she’d know those eyes.

  Parker thought about her abduction, the approach of the red-headed woman, after she had moved outside to get some fresh air, then wouldn’t let her back in. She must have been watching her in the club, perhaps saw them all arrive then followed her outside. Damn! She should have realised earlier. Paid more attention, that this woman was the one Randall and Jake were looking for. She was put off the scent by the red-hair and conservative dress style. They’d expected her to look like some blonde bombshell. By the time she realised who she was, they were in the pub and she was desperate to let Randall know. She hoped that he had received her text that she had pinged across to him. He should have pinged it back by now. She’d tried to look around the room for her purse, but couldn’t see it. She must have dropped it in the pub, which meant that Randall wouldn’t be able to find her, even if he did try to respond to her text.

  She sat up on the bed. In the jaundiced darkness, it was difficult to see and she fumbled around until the silver tray with the syringes in, went crashing from the bedside table and onto the floor. She lay down, the sound of the crash still ringing in her ears. She expected somebody to come in to find out what the noise was. She closed her eyes, heart pounding and her breath shallow, waiting.

  Nobody came. Despite her mind being fuzzy from the drugs, she tried to get to the tray that had fallen on the floor. She knew that there were a needles and syringes in the tray. Leaning out of the bed, she scrambled around on the floor with her free hand. She found the tray and felt inside it. It was empty. Of course it would be – it’s not as if the needle’s going to stay there when it fell, stupid.

  She carried on searching with her hand. At the limit of her outstretched hand, she felt the body of the syringe plunger, but she couldn’t quite get hold of it. She stretched with her feet to see if she could reach it. The handcuff, pulling tightly against her left hand, sent pain shooting down her arm and into her shoulders.

  Stretching with her feet and her free hand, she eventually managed to get a hold on the syringe. Drawing it closer to her, she grabbed hold of it and felt elated. All she had to do now was pick the handcuff lock with the needle, if she could remember how to do it.

  She was unsure of how much time had passed since trying to pick the lock. She remained conscious of the fact that her captors could return at any moment but she continued picking at the lock. Then. Free. At last.

  She quickly slipped on her top and skirt, still folded at the bottom of the bed. She moved towards the door, as quietly as she could.

  She turned the door handle, slowly. It squeaked a bit that seemed to echo around the room. She froze. She expected it to be locked but it wasn’t. How wrong they were to think that she’d not try to get away.

  She opened the door a crack and peered out. Dark. She opened the door some more and stood listening for any noises from downstairs. She looked around the hallway. It wasn’t carpeted, just plain board. She slowly made her way out into the hall with her shoes in her hands, which was only lit by the light coming in from an outside street lamp.

  Standing at the top of the stairs, she could hear talking. Waited. Then realised it was the next-door neighbour’s television. She realised that she’d been holding her breath and relaxed with a great sigh. She looked in the other rooms. One had a large double bed, and a soft carpet, not like her wooden floor. The other room was locked. She crept down the stairs. A floorboard creaked and she stopped for a moment. Her breathing was fast.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she looked around the corner of the balustrade into the darkness of the kitchen. She moved forward towards the lounge door that she found ajar. She peered in. It was also in darkness. It was empty. No guards, just silence.

  Putting her shoes back on, she was fully convinced that there was nobody in the house. She switched on the light in the hallway, which provided enough to be able to see the rest of the house.

  Feeling more confident that she was on her own, she made a quick search of the house. Looking for anything that might give away who her captors were.

  In the kitchen, she found a bowl with a set of car keys and put them in her pocket. Lucky. She switched on the kitchen light, and rummaged around to see what evidence she could find. Under a small pile of papers and till receipts, none of which gave any indication of where she might be, or who may have abducted her, she found an envelope.

  She looked closely at it. Oh shit.

  44

  Sitting in the collision investigation office reviewing a file, on Sunday morning, Jake heard the phone ring. He ignored it, a little irritated, as it came at a place in the file where he needed to get to grips with the physics of collision investigation, in this case, the complex calculations of momentum exchange. He needed to try to get the fact that Steph Parker was missing out of his head, as it was an all-consuming worry.

  He had been put off talking to her mother as he didn’t really know what to say to her. In the end Randall decided to go and pay her a visit at home, and by himself. By all accounts, she was spitting feathers at the news, blaming anyone she could find for losing her daughter.

  It reminded him a little of his father’s response when he joined the police. Jake never thought much about his parents. In fact, even when his mother still had all her faculties, he never really got on with them.

  Jake reflected that they weren’t the type of family, who spent their lives in each other’s pockets. Never close, in the true sense of the word. It was difficult for Jake to describe the type of relationship he’d had with his mother and father. He only wished he’d had better conversations with them, but his father was always very aloof – lukewarm – towards his son. If you believe the experts, an only child is usually doted upon by overbearing parents, but not him.

  He heard the way some of his colleagues talked. The way they went on about their own children of varying ages. Yes, some of them who had teenagers moaned about them, particularly if they could see them going off the rails and spending their life grunting at you as opposed to having a conversation – hormones, the doctors would say. Just bloody ignorance, as far as Jake was concerned. But there was still the understanding of a love between fathers and their offspring.

  Jake was different. He took a different view to most about the role of parents in a family. The lack of childhood love and closeness to both parents made him unwilling to have children of his own. And, after discovering that he could not have them anyway, it was a large burden off his shoulders.

  The only time he remembered his father being overcome with emotion was when his mother was given the diagnosis of early onset dementia. She was just forty-five and the ten-year struggle put a strain on his relationship with his father, right up until his mother died, aged fifty-four. A day he remembered vividly.

  Having joined the force when he was twenty, in the millennium year, the only reaction he got from his father was, �
�I suppose you’ll get a good pension, unlike your mother and me.” No “well done” or “congratulations”. The rest of the extended family rallied around with congratulations, but it was clear from his father’s reaction, that he saw his son becoming part of the establishment, whereas he, on the other hand, had been the union convenor for Wilberforce and Stack, a local and globally renowned boot and shoe company.

  Since his father’s redundancy and the pitiful pay-off he got after so many years service, he’d become even more insular, more withdrawn in himself after the passing of his wife.

  Jake thought fifty-four was no age to shuffle off, even if she did walk out in front of a number sixty-three bus in the Kettering Road, one bright August afternoon in 2012. She believed that she was meeting one of her make-believe friends on the other side of the road. Jake wondered what had been in her mind at the time. What if she had just one lucid moment and decided to end her misery and that of her husband? Strangely, a mysterious witness came forward to state that she mentioned seeing somebody she knew coming out of ‘The White Elephant’ pub. Jake wasn’t convinced. Funny how the friend didn’t come forward. He preferred to keep his own counsel and think that it was probably suicide. The coroner recorded an accidental death verdict and that was that. He certainly wasn’t going to rake up the past.

  The relationship with his father became even more strained after the death of his mother, to the point where they had not been in contact with each other for more than a year. He hadn’t told anyone about it, of course, and that was the way he wished it to stay.

  Jake was extracted from his reverie when Andy Thomas called him to the phone. ‘Randall,’ he mouthed to him as he took the phone. Jake listened. Said nothing, then put the phone down.

  In a private room at the hospital, Randall and Jake watched as the nurse made Fulborough comfortable. She smiled at them. ‘Don’t be too long now, he’s still very weak.’