by JANICE FROST
“Yes, please.”
Ava put the phone down.
“He changed his name?” PJ asked.
“It might not be him.” They locked eyes. They both knew it was Seth.
“Jesus,” said PJ. “Does no one carry out background checks these days? These kids deserve better.”
Ava shrugged. “Philippa Patterson couldn’t prove Seth assaulted her daughter, and he wasn’t sacked from his course, he left voluntarily. He must have continued with his mental health nursing elsewhere, knowing his record was squeaky clean.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was nothing like coming round after an anaesthetic. Jess knew about that from the surgery on her back. Now she groped her way back to awareness through a swirling miasma of confusing and frightening dreams. One of these involved being dragged roughly from a car, her head exploding in pain.
The pain in her head was certainly real. Jess groaned and tried to move, but her hands and feet were bound. Where the hell was she? Some light filtered through a dirty skylight on a ceiling low enough to touch. She realised she was lying on a bunk bed in a very small room.
How had she got here?
Jess winced. She attempted to sit up and hit her head on the bunk above. Intense, frightening pain seared through her head and her vision blurred. What if she had concussion and her brain started bleeding?
‘I’m alright. Just dizzy,’ Jess thought. ‘I was at home. Someone was in the pantry. He . . . he hit me.’ She tried to conjure up an image of her attacker’s face but all she could picture were two pale circles surrounded by blackness. He must have been wearing one of those hats that go right over your head. A balaclava.
Who was the man? Who had brought her here? Jess ran through the men she’d been in contact with recently — Mitch. Henry. Jonty. She went over the events of the past few days. Pam’s mugging, the poisoning of Bunty, the warning letter she had found in her letterbox. Mitch had access to her flat. Magda was sometimes careless about who she gave her keys to. Henry had known where Pam lived. It wasn’t too much of a leap to suppose he had befriended Pam to get close to her, Jess. And then there was Michael Hollings. He sounded like a nasty piece of work, but why on earth would he want to harm her?
Think, Jess, think. But her head was bursting and her thoughts were all over the place. Then it all began to coalesce.
Leanne.
She had been trying to find out what happened to Leanne. Jess tried to think of all the people who might know about her enquiries. Ava Merry, of course. Pam. Maybe Pam had told Henry. Not Mitch. Who else? Think.
Jonty Cole.
Her mind flashed back to the morning she had stood watching the divers searching the river after Leanne’s death. Jonty had been there. He had walked some of the way back to her flat with her. She had told him she knew Leanne. She had even pointed out the road where she lived. Shortly after that, he had started showing an interest in her. She’d thought he fancied her. What if he had more sinister motives? Gingerly, Jess touched her head where the man had struck her. There was a bump and her hair felt sticky. Blood.
It didn’t make any sense. Did it? Wait a minute. This man had killed Leanne. Leanne had found out something about him and he had killed her. And now he thought Jess knew. He was going to kill her too.
She began to shake. It was hard to breathe because there was a gag over her mouth. Deep, slow breaths, Jess. You’re panicking. You’ll hyperventilate if you’re not careful. Jess concentrated on her breathing. In, out. In and out. She had to stay calm.
Pam would be missing her. And Mitch. Her colleagues at work. Her parents. They would have raised the alarm. Ava Merry would be looking for her. She was lucky. There were people who cared about her.
It was hard to suppress the dread. What would he do to her when he came back? Jess felt her whole world tip sideways and back, sideways and back. What was happening to her? Was it her head injury? Panic? No, it wasn’t her that was moving, it was everything around her. The room was gently swaying to and fro. Bobbing. She was on a boat.
The ropes binding her hands and feet chafed her skin. The gag was too tight, making her retch and the skin around her mouth was raw and bleeding. She lay still, looking up at the sagging underside of the bunk above her and blinked back tears. Every now and then a shudder convulsed her body. Then she heard the sound of tyres crunching on gravel. Her captor was back.
He was still wearing the balaclava. Jess had no idea if it was a good or bad sign that he was hiding his identity. He strode over to where she lay. Jess noticed the plastic carrier wrapped around his hand, and gave a little whimper. Was he intending to suffocate her? Instead he removed her gag, took a water bottle from the bag and unscrewed the cap.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Why have you brought me here?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to the second question.
He put the bottle to her lips and Jess drank thirstily, choking on the cold water. He took the bottle away and replaced the cap. Jess blinked back tears. It was a good sign that he’d offered her a drink — wasn’t it? You don’t give water to a person you’re about to kill.
“Did you kill Leanne?” Jess asked, suddenly emboldened.
“Shut up,” he snapped.
For some reason, even though she knew it would only cause her harm, she began yelling at him, hysterically. “You killed her!”
He slapped her face and she fell silent. He paced up and down for a few minutes, as if in thought. Then, without speaking or even looking at her, he was gone.
Jess lay shaking and exhausted, but she couldn’t help feeling a glimmer of hope. She was still alive. He hadn’t killed her yet. And that meant there was still time for them to find her.
Chapter Twenty
“How are we getting on with tracing Seth Conway through the nursing agencies?” Neal asked. The agency the principal had mentioned said that Seth Conway — or Richardson as he had been calling himself — had moved on.
PJ looked at her notes. “It’s going to be a bit of a long job. There are a fair few nursing agencies that cover Nottinghamshire. I’ve already been in touch with around six and got contact details for three men called Seth. Only two of them specialise in mental health nursing and only one has been assigned to a post working with children. Seth Carpenter.”
“Keep trying,” Neal said. He turned to Tom. “Let’s go, Tom. Time to interview a couple of unsavoury characters.”
It had occurred to Neal that it might be worthwhile tracking down some of their registered paedophiles to see if they remembered Seth or his parties.
“Keep me posted on any leads you or Ava come up with for tracing Seth Conway.”
PJ gave a grim smile. “Best eat first. You definitely won’t have the stomach for anything later.”
* * *
Neal and Tom left the station and made their way to the car park. Things had moved so fast that Neal hadn’t had much opportunity to get to know Tom Knight. “Maybe we should take PJ’s advice and grab a quick bite to eat,” he suggested. They crossed the car park and went into the Duke.
Tom said he didn’t miss London, where he’d grown up, although he did miss his family and his friends down south. He had actually attended Stromford University before joining Hertfordshire, and after a couple of years there had decided to relocate to Stromford. He’d liked the city a lot in his student days. Though he seemed willing enough to talk, Neal had the impression that Tom wasn’t giving much away.
“So, how are you finding working on my team?” Neal asked.
“All good,” Tom replied laconically. “Though since my last DI was Reg Saunders, my bar was set pretty low.” Saunders was currently awaiting trial for murder.
“Well, if you put it like that . . . How about Ava? You two getting along?”
“She seems okay. Ambitious. Is she . . . you know . . . in a relationship?”
“Er . . . she was. An A&E doctor at the county, but it didn’t last long.”
“She’s hot.”
“Er, yes, she is.” They ate in silence for a few moments. Neal suddenly found that he had no appetite, and slid his plate aside.
Tom looked at the chips. “You leaving those?”
“What? Oh yes. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Tom scooped up the dish.
Neal smiled. “Carry on like that and you’ll be putting on weight.”
“Nah. Going to the gym later.” He grinned and patted his middle.
No doubt he’s sporting a six pack under that crisp white shirt, Neal thought, irritably.
He pushed back his chair. “Ready to meet upstanding citizen number one?”
Tom made a face. “As I’ll ever be.”
Their first destination was roughly twenty minutes’ drive away, in a village just south of the city centre.
Neville Burke lived in a terraced council bungalow near the centre of the village, disconcertingly close to a primary school. Most of the bungalows in his row had been fitted with ramps for disabled access. Burke’s was one of these.
He looked up at them from a wheelchair. “Whoever you’re after, it’s not me,” he snarled. “I haven’t been out the house in weeks.”
Neal attempted a sort of smile. “Just a couple of questions if you don’t mind, Mr Burke.”
Burke led them into his living room. It was small and arranged to accommodate the wheelchair. Burke’s laptop sat on a table, lid up, screen blank. Burke had been done in the past for possessing indecent images of young children, as well as grooming offences. It was impossible not to look at that laptop and wonder what he had been looking at before they arrived.
Neal got down to business. He asked if Burke recalled being invited to any parties where Seth had supplied teenage girls for entertainment.
Burke fidgeted with the controls of his wheelchair. Neal had read that he considered himself a reformed man, who’d supposedly found religion and renounced his bad old ways. Somehow it was hard to see him as redeemed. There was something seedy about this room, about Burke’s whole demeanour. Tom had placed himself next to the laptop, and from the way Burke kept glancing at it, he had something to hide.
“Name rings a bell,” Burke said. “I went to a lot of parties back then.” Neal realised that Burke wasn’t going to be stupid enough to admit to attending the type of party that might lead him into more trouble with the law.
“Never went to any involving teens myself, but might have heard some rumours at the time.”
“What sort of rumours?”
“Mate of a mate, you catch my drift?” Neal nodded. “Said he’d been to a couple of parties where the girls were, er . . . young.” Tom moved a little closer to the laptop.
“As in underage?” Neal asked.
“Now that depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?”
“No.” Tom spoke through gritted teeth. “The law is completely clear on the age of consent.”
“Well, if it’s the law you’re on about.”
“Your ‘mate,’ did he know any of the other men who were there? Did he say where these parties were held?” Neal asked.
Burke looked at his laptop. With a movement of his eyes, Neal signalled for Tom to move away from it. Neal hoped he would understand. Two women were dead, one was missing. Burke was no longer considered a risk to children, given his disability. Whatever sick material was on his laptop, it wasn’t their priority right now.
“No to the first question. I . . . I mean . . . he told me the parties took place on a boat. A narrowboat.”
Neal and Tom exchanged looks. Both young women had died on a boat, and the murder weapon was a flat iron of the type typically found on a traditional narrowboat.
“Description,” Tom snapped.
Burke gave him a sarcastic look. “Well, narrow. ..”
“Don’t piss us off, Burke.” Tom looked at the laptop and Burke shifted in his chair. He gave them a description. For what it was worth after eight years.
“Who owned the boat?” Neal asked. “Was he called Seth?”
Burke shook his head. “He called himself ‘the captain.’ That’s all my friend could tell me.” Even if he knew this ‘captain’s’ real name, Burke was unlikely to reveal it.
Neal looked at him. “Does your friend recall what the captain looked like?”
“Well, it was a good eight years ago, but he’s probably still on the short side. Bit podgy. Five seven, eight tops. Probably late forties, early fifties. He was pretty grey.”
“Anything noteworthy about him?” Neal asked.
Burke rubbed his chin, deliberately making them wait. “He was a bit of a toff.”
“What do you mean?” asked Neal. “The way he dressed? How he spoke?”
“Both. Wore one of those stupid silk things round his neck.”
“A cravat.”
Burke nodded. “And spoke with a plum in his mouth.”
It was obvious Burke wasn’t going to, or couldn’t, name names. Neal asked a few more questions and wrapped up the interview. On their way out, Burke threw them another snippet of information.
“Oh yeah, I just remembered. The captain. He had a funny looking dog. Skinny thing with a shaggy coat?”
Neal waited until they were outside before he spoke. “Henry Bolt.” Tom frowned. “Jess Stokes’s neighbour Pam struck up a friendship recently with a man called Henry Bolt. He has a borzoi — think hairy greyhound. He’s an older man. Met Pam by chance on the common when they were walking their dogs. He could have targeted Pam to get close to Jess, and maybe find out what she knew.”
Neal called Ava and instructed her to get round to Pam’s place immediately. “If Bolt is there, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, but don’t alarm Pam. If he’s not there, get his address from Pam and call me back straightaway.” He turned to Tom. “Do you know where Millside Road is?” Tom nodded, and Neal told him to get there as quickly as possible — using the siren and a flashing light.
When Neal and Tom arrived, Ava’s car was already parked in the reserved parking area outside Jess and Pam’s house. “Park behind her,” Neal said, hand on the door handle. Outside the house, Tom banged on the front door. Ava opened, shaking her head.
She led them into the hallway. “He’s not here. Pam hasn’t seen much of him lately.”
“Since Jess’s disappearance?” Ava nodded. “Does she have his address? A contact number?”
“No.”
“Damn it!” If there’d been a wall within punching distance, Neal’s fist would have been through it. He glared at Tom, who flinched.
“Has Henry done something wrong?” Pam’s voice, thin and fearful, issued from the stairway.
“I’ll speak with her,” Ava volunteered.
“She’ll have to be told,” Neal said, grim-faced. “And if she has any idea where Henry might be, we need to know. Fast. I’ll be outside in the car.” Neal turned around, stumbling against Tom who had been hovering in the doorway. Neal jerked a thumb at the car, and Tom pressed the key fob to unlock the doors.
Tom seated himself at the wheel. “Now what?”
Neal gave no answer.
* * *
“I should have known. He was just too good to be true.” Pam sighed. “But never mind that, what about Jess? If Henry is capable of killing an innocent dog, who knows what else he might be capable of!”
Ava asked Pam to think hard about where she thought Henry might be, or how they could find out. Pam sat pummelling her cheeks with her fist until Ava worried that she might hurt herself. She waited by the window, gazing down at the street, and saw a traffic warden approach the car where Neal and Tom Knight were parked. When she saw the passenger-side window wind down and the poor warden lean in, Ava cringed and turned away.
“Of course! Boris.” Pam leapt up.
“The dog?”
“Henry’s dog. He’s ten years old. No dog gets to that age without a few health problems. My Bunty—”
Ava cut her off. “Thanks, Pam. I’ll get someone o
n to checking out the vets’ surgeries straightaway.”
“No, no, you don’t have to. I know where Henry took Boris.”
Ava jotted down the name and address and promised to let her know if there was any news about Jess. She didn’t have the heart to tell Pam that they might already be too late.
Neal’s window was still rolled down, and the traffic warden retreating, when Ava leaned in on Tom’s side of the car. “I’ve got a lead. PJ’s getting in touch with the vet on Blackberry Lane. She’s going to call straight back.” Ava slid into the back seat. “Henry’s dog, Boris, is registered there. Pam thinks they’ll have Henry’s address.”
Ava’s phone soon rang, and she put PJ on speaker.
“Bloody hell, Ava, I thought they were going to demand a flipping warrant.”
Tom drove off before PJ had finished reading the address. Neal punched the postcode into the Satnav. Ava had no choice but to go along too, and leave her own car at the mercy of the next traffic warden.
* * *
Henry Bolt was in his front garden halfway up a stepladder, watering a hanging basket outside his front door. The watering can was green, with a floral design of red, white and pink roses, a splendid example of canal art.
“Nice watering can,” Ava said, and opened the garden gate. Neal and Tom were a formidable presence right behind her.
Henry didn’t even blink. “Good afternoon. Yes, it is rather pretty, isn’t it? ‘Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful . . .’ Personally, I believe that even useful things should be beautiful — or at least not ugly.”
The water ran to a trickle, and then stopped altogether. “Excuse me while I refill my can.” Henry climbed down from the ladder and stepped back to admire the basket, full of cascading petunias and trailing lobelias, and dripping water around Henry’s feet.
“I don’t think so.” Ava reached for the watering can and prised it from his grasp. She proceeded to caution him and informed him that he would be accompanying them back to the station for questioning. Even that didn’t wipe the genial smirk off his face.