The man’s strange cravings, once an indulgent quirk he could use to his advantage, were fast becoming a liability.
Now, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and extracted a photograph, then rubbed his thumb over it as he inhaled the next nicotine fix.
‘You’ve been a good boy, Eli,’ he murmured, ‘but you’ve been careless.’
He held the stub of the cigarette to the edge of the photograph until a flame caught the image and began to devour the glossy laminate with a crackle before the photograph disintegrated into ash.
He crouched, pushed the remnant into the small metal tray next to the door, and straightened at the sound of footsteps.
‘Those things will kill you,’ someone said as they passed, and then the door swung shut in their wake before he could turn to see who it was.
The voyeur smiled to himself as he peered out from under the eaves of the building, and tapped another cigarette out of the packet into his hand.
He breathed in the ozone-laced air before lighting up.
‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘but I’ll die a rich man.’
FORTY-SIX
Emma blinked, tried to raise her head, and then groaned as the dull ache at the back of her skull that had woken her began to throb painfully.
Her eyelids were heavy, and a strong urge to vomit sent her stomach into convulsions. Something covered her mouth, a cloth that was sucked in through her lips with each panicked inhalation.
Her arms were raised, and when she tried to move her hands, she discovered they were held at shoulder height by something strong wrapped around her wrists.
She opened her eyes, the wall in front of her spinning as she regained consciousness. A light shone in her eyes, and she frowned while she tried to work out where she was.
She ducked her head to the left, and saw that the light came from a camping lamp that had been fixed to a bracket above. Its wavering beam illuminated her position and cast shadows over the walls opposite. She tilted her head back, and her eyes opened wide.
Her wrists were bound, tied to the bow-legged junction of a steel pipe that snaked across the roof.
When she looked down, she realised she was standing in water. She moved her feet, and the sound of sloshing echoed off the brick walls around her.
She squinted past the beam of light to the opposite wall, where a white stick protruded out of the water and ran up the length of the brickwork.
For a moment, she couldn’t fathom what it was, and then she saw the black lines etched into its surface, and the numbers marking regular intervals.
The numbers began at “1” just below the level of her knees, and increased the further up the post they were painted.
She swallowed, her throat dry and painful, and tried to focus.
Despite the cold water, perspiration streaked across her forehead and between her shoulder blades.
She shivered, and strained at the bindings at her wrists once more.
A cry escaped her lips, its echo bouncing off the walls around her, amplified by the enclosed space and the acoustics of the arched brickwork.
She tried to recall what day it was, but the darkness of the tunnel prevented any light from reaching her, and she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious for.
She flexed her wrists, and then looked to her left hand. The material around it seemed more pliable, with more give in its woven seams.
Emma turned her head to one side, and wiped her face across her arm.
Christ, she was so damned hot.
She cried out as pain spread from her heart, jabbing her sternum, the sudden attack leaving her breathless.
She sank against her bindings, her breath escaping in pants.
She’d heard what had happened to Melanie, despite her mother and stepfather’s attempts to shield her from the truth.
Only Monday night, she’d stood at the top of the stairs, listening as her parents shared a bottle of wine with their neighbours and spoke in hushed tones about the murdered schoolgirl.
That was why she’d left the note on her dressing table before leaving the house Wednesday night.
She didn’t want her parents to panic; she simply needed time to let off steam before returning to school next week.
That was why she’d arranged to spend the rest of the week at Tanya’s.
Would Tanya raise the alarm when she realised her friend hadn’t returned to her home, and that the spare bed had never been slept in?
Or would she think her friend was sulking, back at her own home, after being dumped in favour of her twenty-year-old boyfriend?
The realisation hit her, hard.
No one knows I’m missing.
No one knows I’m here.
Then, she saw it – an unblinking red light to the right of the camping lamp, under which the cold dark lens of a camera peered back at her; a solitary eye that watched her every move, mocking her predicament.
Her knees gave way, and she felt her bowels move involuntarily as her arms took her weight.
She screamed.
FORTY-SEVEN
Ian Barnes checked his watch, and then gave a low whistle that turned heads.
‘Okay, let’s have a debrief,’ he said. ‘Sharp and Hunter are still in with Eli Matthews and his solicitor, so let’s have a progress update on the other leads we’re chasing.’
He turned to Carys as the rest of the small team gathered around. ‘You start.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ve managed to get hold of someone in the HR department at the Ipswich depot where Matthews was based until seventeen months ago. As with the depot here, there are no issues they can think of. I’ve requested a copy of his full personnel file, but apparently they need a senior manager’s approval to release that to us, and he’s not back in the office until Monday morning.’
A collective groan filled the room.
‘I know,’ said Carys. ‘But they won’t budge on that stance. I’ll phone them first thing Monday to chase it up. They should be able to email it to us as soon as they get the authorisation.’
‘Thanks, Carys,’ said Barnes. ‘Piper?’
‘I spoke to Suffolk Constabulary to find out if there were any unsolved murders or kidnappings similar to Melanie Richards,’ said Gavin. ‘I had a phone call back from them half an hour ago. There’s an unsolved kidnapping case from seventeen months ago.’
Barnes raised an eyebrow. ‘Ties in with the time Eli Matthews left Suffolk to come here.’
‘Exactly,’ said Gavin. ‘In that case, the girl managed to escape, but she wasn’t able to give a full description of her attacker. All she can recall is a red van being used to take her from where she was grabbed. It was dark when she was taken – she was cycling home from a friend’s house at the time – and she couldn’t see her abductor’s face.’
‘How did she escape?’ said Carys.
‘The poor mite can’t remember,’ said Gavin. ‘She was found wandering along a lane on the outskirts of Ipswich early on a Tuesday morning by a woman taking her dogs for a walk. She was only eleven at the time, and the doctors who treated her afterwards said it was likely the date rape drug used to pacify her when she was taken could’ve still been affecting her memory at the time she escaped.’ He tossed his notebook onto the desk next to him. ‘She has no recollection of where she’d been, or how she managed to get away.’
‘Eli Matthews’ former HR department confirmed he applied for a transfer only days after that girl turning up,’ said Carys.
‘What reason did he give them for wanting the transfer?’ said Barnes.
‘He said his mother was sick, and he wanted to return to Kent to be near her.’
‘Any record of him applying for a transfer out of the Kent depot?’ said Gavin. ‘At least that might show Melanie’s kidnapping was premeditated.’
Carys shook her head. ‘No.’ She frowned. ‘Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her.’
‘Or he thinks he’s got away with it,’ said Barnes. He checke
d his watch. ‘All right. Carys, get yourself over to Beryl Matthews’ house and monitor the search there – see what CSI come up with. Gavin, call it a day.’ He glanced around at the rest of the team. ‘You, too. I’d imagine the first interview with Eli Matthews will go on for a bit yet. Get yourselves back here by seven-thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Gavin.
‘I’m going to meet Harriet and her team over at the lock-up garage,’ said Barnes. He held up a plastic bag containing a bunch of keys, and shook it with a grin on his face. ‘Which isn’t going to remain locked up for much longer.’
IAN BARNES STEPPED on the cigarette butt, ground the soft material into the pavement, then turned, and strode up the short concrete driveway towards the cinder block garages set behind a row of terraced houses.
He exhaled the smoke as he approached, savouring the last dregs of nicotine before he joined the crime scene investigators at a large, dark-coloured van being unloaded with equipment.
Two patrol cars blocked the entrance to the driveway, the uniformed officers doing an efficient job of maintaining a perimeter within which the forensic team could work in peace, as well as keeping any prying eyes from the operation.
They’d erected a plastic barrier around the entrance to the garage, while two floodlights on tripods shone above their heads. Another floodlight had been set up ready to be used in the garage itself.
The afternoon was drawing to a close, the early summer sky dark well before the cloud-covered sun would dip below the horizon.
Barnes’ eyes roamed over the scuffed, aluminium roller door that concealed whatever lay beyond. Once blue, it had been chipped and scratched over the years so it now bore a speckled effect, much like its neighbours.
There were six garages in total, all leased by the council to a menagerie of tenants whose addresses originated from various parts of the county town.
‘Makes you wonder what’s tucked away in the other five,’ he muttered.
Harriet smiled. ‘But you only have a search authorisation for this one.’
‘More’s the pity.’ He turned his attention back to the garage nearest them, and squared his shoulders.
‘Ready for this?’
‘Let’s do it,’ he said. He tugged on the gloves that Harriet handed to him, then pulled a bag from his pocket and emptied it of the keys Kay had taken from Eli Matthews.
He selected one, and inserted it into the lock.
It turned easily.
‘Used regularly, then,’ said Harriet.
Barnes didn’t respond. Instead, he stood, then placed his fingers under the handle and pulled.
The door rolled back smoothly, exposing first a concrete floor riddled with cracks and oil spots, and then, as the door fell back into its housing in the ceiling, a red van.
Barnes frowned. ‘Doesn’t that look like—’
‘A courier van? Yeah. It does.’
‘Looks like we hit the jackpot, then.’ Barnes stepped back to let Harriet and her colleague access the garage, and held his breath as they circled the van from either side.
A workbench and a row of shelves lined the back wall of the low-set building, and the crime scene investigators were already making a start on the contents.
‘No room to open the back doors of the van in here,’ called Harriet. ‘We’re going to have to move it.’
‘Here,’ said Barnes, and extracted another key from the bag.
Harriet walked back towards him, stepping sideways down the narrow path between the side of the vehicle and the cinderblock wall. She held out her hand. ‘Thanks.’
Barnes stepped out of the way. ‘Moment of truth,’ he muttered.
FORTY-EIGHT
They’d phoned the duty solicitor two hours ago to confirm another interview with his client, the fourth in total.
Now both men wore a confused expression at the request relayed over the intercom that DI Sharp’s urgent presence was required only thirty minutes after the recording had begun.
The major incident team had been working for a solid day and a half since Eli was brought to the station, re-checking the circumstantial evidence they had to hand while they tried not to look at the time as the hours passed. Nothing had been heard from the two crime scene teams that had been steadily working their way through Eli Matthews’ lock-up garage and his mother’s home.
Larch had obtained authorisation from a superintendent late the previous day for an additional twelve hours to hold Matthews for questioning on the basis of a convincing argument that Eli was withholding the truth from them, but despite their best efforts, they were getting nowhere, and they were running out of time.
Kay resisted the urge to look at her watch.
Unless they could obtain information from Matthews during the next few hours, they would have to release him without charge.
Sharp had sensed the team’s frustration and exhaustion, and sent everyone home Saturday night, instructing Kay to report in early Sunday so they could resume interviewing their main suspect.
Now, Kay avoided Eli’s intense stare as Sharp buttoned his jacket and left the room.
She’d arrived at the station early that morning, met the interview specialist and Sharp in his office for an hour, and now rued not taking up his offer of a coffee while they were preparing their notes.
The young duty solicitor twirled his pen between his fingers, and popped the nib in and out each time it passed his thumb, and then cleared his throat.
‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Kay.
‘How long will he be?’
‘Do you need to be somewhere else?’
The man fell silent.
Eli crossed his arms over his chest, slumped in his chair and closed his eyes, then rocked his head from side to side.
Again, Kay found herself fighting the urge to check her watch, and willed her heart rate to slow down. Something was wrong, she could sense it.
Footsteps in the passageway preceded the reappearance of Sharp.
Kay took one look at his face, and realised what was going to happen.
She spun in her chair to see Eli grinning at her, a manic look in his eyes.
‘Mr Matthews, thank you for your cooperation,’ said Sharp. He reached out to the recorder and pressed the “stop” button.
Eli pushed back his chair and stood, ignoring the hand his solicitor held out for him to shake.
‘If you’d like to follow me,’ said Sharp. ‘We’ll get you released and your belongings returned to you.’
He waited until Eli was in the corridor with his solicitor, and then turned to Kay. ‘Stay here.’
She sank back into her seat.
Desperate to know what had happened during the searches, and why the decision had been made to let Eli go, she fumed silently as the minutes passed.
She checked her watch. Eli had been with them for slightly less than the thirty-six hours they’d been able to question him without having to seek an extension from a magistrate. During that time, he had volunteered no information. He hadn’t been charged yet, but surely forensics would have found something to link him to Melanie Richards’ kidnapping and murder? And from the way Matthews had ducked and weaved around every single question, surely Sharp could see now that Guy Nelson would’ve had to have had an accomplice, and that the accomplice was Eli Matthews? Why had he let him go before their allocated thirty-six hours had expired?
After a time, she heard someone approaching the interview room, and looked up as Sharp returned.
He pushed the door until it was almost closed, then turned to her, and thrust his hands in his pockets.
‘They didn’t find anything,’ he said.
‘What? Why not?’ Kay stood, her heart racing. ‘They found the van, right?’
Sharp nodded. ‘Yes. They found the van.’ He unbuttoned his jacket and pulled at his tie to loosen it. ‘It had been wiped down with bleach.’
‘Same as the po
st box.’
He shook his head, his eyes weary. ‘But, unfortunately that doesn’t necessarily prove a link between him and Melanie’s kidnapping or murder.’ He sighed, and leaned against the wall. ‘Both the exterior and interior of the van had been wiped down. Nothing in the back of it. Nothing to link Eli Matthews to Melanie Richards or Guy Nelson in the lock-up garage or at the house he shares with his mother.’
‘He can’t be that good.’
‘We were getting nowhere with him, Hunter, and there’s no way we’re going to get an extension from a magistrate based on our attempts so far. How long have we been questioning him for? Perhaps he’s innocent. Thought of that?’
Her mouth fell open. ‘You don’t seriously believe that.’
He straightened, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘We have a confession in the form of Guy Nelson’s suicide note.’
Kay threw her hands up. ‘From someone whose own death showed none of the violence or forethought that went into Melanie Richards’ murder.’ She paced the room. ‘Eli Matthews could have socialised with Guy Nelson at the barbeque held at the courier depot.’
‘But Nelson was the one who was found with the ransom money. Not Eli.’
‘He must’ve guessed Bernard Coombs would get in touch with the police,’ argued Kay. She swore. ‘Damn it – why didn’t he call us straight away? We lost hours. Plenty of time for Eli to clean the car.’
‘It’s too circumstantial, and like I said, DCI Larch wouldn’t authorise us approaching a magistrate to hold Matthews for any longer based on the slim evidence we have.’
‘They’re still looking, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘Please tell me forensics haven’t given up that easily.’
Sharp exhaled. ‘The van’s at the pound. They brought it back here under the pretence of having it cleaned. The pound is closed to the public on Sundays.’ He held up his hand to stop her interrupting. ‘I’ve told Harriet she’s got until tomorrow morning, or I’m going to let it go.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and then spun on her heel as the door crashed open.
DCI Larch stalked into the room. ‘You’re both here. Good.’ He glared at Kay, then at Sharp. ‘Well, that was an unmitigated disaster, wasn’t it?’
Scared to Death (A Detective Kay Hunter novel) Page 18