Fifty-nine
In the dim light, fastened to a chair, Ella Bloom struggled against her bonds. The plastic ties were chafing her wrists, hurting her, but that was nothing to the pain to her head. The injury from the blow that had knocked her unconscious had stopped bleeding but she could feel the crusted blood on her cheeks as she tried desperately to get free. She tried to scream again but the duct tape across her mouth reduced it to a stifled moan. Within seconds she was drained and she slumped back and started to cry. It was her fifth attempt at trying to break free since she had woken and she was determined not to give in. She was still trying to fathom out why she was here – tied up. The last thing she could remember was cursing her flat tyre. That’s when she’d been clobbered from behind. She had heard footsteps but hadn’t had time to turn around before she was hit. The sharp blow and flashing stars were a distant memory now.
The sound of a door opening behind her made her jump. For a few seconds light flooded in and she saw a sparsely furnished room with a video camera on a tripod in the right-hand corner. As the door closed and the light disappeared, panic surged through her. Terrorists! Months ago, they had been briefed about home-grown Jihadists planning to abduct a member of the police or armed services. A soldier had already been murdered – almost beheaded – not too far away. Fuck! She began to shake as a dark figure brushed past and stood before her. Whoever was standing in front was just a silhouette. The person was slim and they were wearing a hoodie. She tried to shout through her gag but her lips hardly parted and it came out as an indecipherable cry.
Whoever it was sniggered. Ella got the impression it was a man from the deep tone. He bent towards her and fear gripped. She tried to flinch away but it was impossible. Not just her wrists and hands were tied but her middle was also taped to the chair. She fought to suppress a sob as he as he pressed his face ever closer. She suddenly recognised her captor. James Green! Even in the low light she could see a maniacal smile plastered across his face. She was terrified.
‘You forced me to do this you know.’ The words came slow and soft but were nevertheless menacing. ‘This is all your fault. Yours and Detective Macey’s.’
A sharp movement flashed and she looked down at something long and thin he was tapping in his hand. She caught a diffused glint along its shaft. It looked like metal. It reminded her of a small section of scaffolding.
He swung it towards her, pushing it to her chest, catching her breast bone. It stung for a second. He rested the pole there for a brief moment and then started to tease it down until it came to her lap where he let the end rest. His eyes fixed hers. They were black and feral. Suddenly she was cold and started to shiver. Thoughts of Ryan jumped inside her head: their weekend in Paris: Their plans for the wedding: Dad walking her down the aisle. Would she ever see them again? She didn’t want to die. She started crying.
He slowly pushed the steel rod into her genital area. ‘By the time I’ve finished, you’re going to be begging me to kill you,’ he said quietly.
Sixty
DCI Harris had tasked Scarlett with providing background information about James Green in readiness for the next briefing. So, reluctant to confess she already had copious notes about him from the files she’d smuggled home, she kept her head down, pretending to be busy, and then an hour later sneaked out the earlier written record from her locked bottom drawer. The one thing she had added were her thoughts that Green’s flat at Twickenham was only a transit address, based upon the photographic evidence, and her deliberation with Alex – though she left out the bit about Alex viewing the CSI photos. Everyone was busy – making phone calls or working on their computers – so she made herself a coffee and returned to her desk. The incident board had been cleared of the Trish Scarr investigation and now an A4 photograph of Ella was posted upon it. The image was one taken five years earlier, when she was in uniform, but she hadn’t changed much. For a moment Scarlett stared at it. She thought about what James Green had done to his victims and she shuddered. She hoped to God they would find Ella before he did anything to her. Looking away from Ella’s photo, Scarlett stood. She’d nail the bastard this time!
She grabbed her paperwork, shuffled it together and headed off to see the DCI.
***
Scarlett juggled with the wheel and a bottle of water, opening the top with her teeth and taking a sip. She handed it back to George Martin in the passenger seat.
‘So what is it we’re doing exactly?’ George asked, screwing the lid back on the bottle and placing it in the doorwell.
George was her partner for the day: Lucy was office-bound until the stitches came out of her head wound, and Tarn, although re-instated, had taken a week off to prepare for his wife’s funeral and be with his family. She answered, ‘A quick recce of James Green’s place. I know there’s nothing to prove he’s abducted Ella, and nothing’s come yet from the crime scene, but the minute we have something we’ll be ready to strike. I told the DCI I think Green has another place, somewhere other than his flat and she’s given me permission to make some discreet enquiries.’
George’s bushy eyebrows knitted together, ‘And what exactly does discreet mean? I’ve never known you be discreet.’
Scarlett shot him a quick look, ‘George Martin, how could you?’
‘Only speaking the truth.’
She laughed. ‘Well, what I thought is, we’ll get our bearings at his flat is – it’s five months since I was last there – and make a few enquiries with his neighbours to see if anyone’s seen him recently. If we get anything I’ve promised Diane Harris I’ll give her a bell and wait for instructions.’
‘That seems discreet enough for me.’
‘Glad you approve Detective.’ Smiling, Scarlett indicated right and pulled across the lane into the junction: They were only a minute away from James Green’s place.
***
Scarlett parked two streets away and, with George backing her up, made the rest of the way there on foot. Green’s one-bedroom flat was on the first floor of a long red-brick building of one- and two-bedroom apartments, just a stone’s-throw from St. Margaret’s railway station. Entrance to the complex was gained by double doors into a foyer. An electronic keypad provided security and Scarlett had forgotten the code since her last visit. She was just considering her best options for gaining access without alerting Green if he was at home, when one of the doors opened and out came a plump, grey-haired, woman, in her late sixties, or early seventies. Head down, she was struggling with a shopping trolley. Its wheel had caught on the door, and she was trying to tug it free. Scarlett took hold of the door and held it, allowing the woman to release her trolley.
‘Thank you dear,’ she said, looking up at Scarlett.
She looked familiar. Smiling, Scarlett said, ‘Do you know a James Green who lives here?’
The elderly woman’s eyes narrowed for a second, then lit up. She pointed at Scarlett’s hair. ‘You’re that Detective who was here when he was locked up, aren’t you? The papers said he’d raped them students.’
Scarlett’s smile widened. It was Green’s next-door neighbour. During their enquiries, after he had been arrested, she said she had seen him burning things in an old oil drum at the rear of the flats. Thanks to her help they had found charred remnants of clothing, though sadly, nothing of evidential value. ‘You remembered.’
‘This body may be old but my mind’s still sharp. Nothing much gets past me. How come you let him out? Did he get off at court?’
Scarlett shook her head. She didn’t want to spend the next ten minutes trying to explain things. She replied, ‘It’s a long story.’
The lady straightened her shopping trolley, tapping one wheel with her foot. ‘Well if you’re here to see him, you’ll have a long wait.’
‘A long wait?’
‘I think you’ll find he’s done a moonlight.’
‘Why’s that then?’
‘Only seen him twice since he came out. They painted his door while he was inside.
Kids! Sprayed it. I saw him cleaning it off the day he got out, but he only stayed there the one night, I think. I haven’t heard him moving about, like I normally do. Last time I saw him was about a week ago. I was just down the shops – where I’m going now – and I saw him coming out of the supermarket with some flowers. He was carrying a suitcase. Looked like he was going somewhere. He never saw me.’
The thought of James Green with flowers and a suitcase was intriguing. ‘You’re sure it was James?’
The woman pulled a face and appeared put out, ‘Sure I’m sure. I only need glasses for reading, not distances.’
‘I’m sorry. I was just making absolutely certain.’
‘Why? Has he raped someone else?’
Scarlett’s mouth tightened. I hope not! She answered with the first thing that came into her head, ‘No, we just need to check something back with him. You said he had some flowers. Does he have a girlfriend?’
‘Not that I know of. They were for his mum. He always bought her a bunch when he visited her.’
‘His mum!’ Scarlett remembered asking him about his parents when he was in custody. He told her they were both dead. ‘Do you know where she lives?’
‘I think she’s in a home, dear. Dementia, or something like that. I remember him telling me once.’
‘Do you know which home she’s in?’
She shook her head. ‘I never asked, but I think it’s not too far away. He used to go on his bike.’
‘You don’t know her name by any chance, do you?’
For a moment the lady looked skywards, concentrating. She murmured, ‘It’s something to do with a film. Now what was she called?’ After a few more seconds of looking studious she smiled, ‘Dorothy. That’s it. Dorothy. As in The Wizard of Oz. I knew it was something to do with a film I’d seen.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Have I been some help to you dear?’
Scarlett stroked her arm. ‘You’ve been more than helpful.’
‘Good. Now, as much as I’d like to, I can’t stand here chatting all day. I said I’d meet Emily at eleven for coffee.’ With that the woman set off, almost at a trot, pulling her shopping trolley behind her.
Scarlett watched her go and said, ‘I hope I’m as sprightly when I’m her age.’ To George she added, ‘Come on. Now we’re here, let’s have a quick look around.’
Sixty-one
Scarlett and George took the stairs to the first floor. As they neared James Green’s flat they could see the blurred remains of the spray-can art the neighbour had spoken of. Across his black door, the word RAPIST, in silver, was still evident.
Good, Scarlett thought. She put an ear to the door and listened for the best part of thirty seconds. She tried the handle. It gave a fraction but was locked. Glancing at the Yale lock, she said softly, ‘Well, shall we take a look?’
‘Take a look?’ whispered back George.
‘Yes, you heard the neighbour. He’s not here. What did she say – done a moonlight.’
‘And how are we going to get in, it’s locked?’
‘It’s only a Yale lock. Pretty flimsy. A little push and we’ll be in.’
‘And how are we going to cover forcing an entry?’
‘You’ve seen the graffiti the kids have done. We’ll just say we found it busted open.’
George rolled his eyes, ‘Christ, Scarlett, I thought you said discreet.’
She tapped her nose, ‘Ways and means George. Ways and means. Right, big man, gloves on and get your shoulder on that door.’
Shaking his head, he pulled on latex gloves from his jacket pocket, grabbed the handle and launched his shoulder at the door. There was a sharp crack but it held.
Scarlett held up her gloved hand, looked up and down the hallway and listened a second. Silence. She gave George the nod and he repeated his action. This time the door gave way and he almost fell inside. Holding onto the handle saved him from falling.
Scarlett tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done.’ She gave another look along the corridor before pushing George further inside and stepping into James Green’s hallway. As she shut the door behind them she glanced at the lock and said quietly, ‘You’ve hardly damaged it at all. We’ll be able to screw that up easily. No one will be any the wiser. ’
Scarlett remembered the layout from her last visit. To the right was the kitchen and lounge and at the far end of the hall was the bedroom and bathroom. For a moment she stood, listening. She got a strong whiff of disinfectant. Green must have done a thorough cleaning job before he left, she thought, and wondered what he was covering up. Pushing open the kitchen door she stepped inside. It was exactly the same as her last visit. The sides were clear. She remembered the crime scene photographs and the comments Alex had made about checking the cupboards for signs the place was lived in. In one wall cupboard, she found a couple of mugs and a few plates. The rest were empty. She opened the base unit doors. There were a few tins of food in one of them, but not enough for more than a couple of days. The sink unit contained a single pan, some cleaning materials and a couple of towels. There was a small fridge freezer, but it was empty and she could tell from the smell that it had been bleached clean.
With George bringing up the rear she went on to the lounge. Here was an old two-seater sofa, a chair, a wooden sideboard from the seventies and a large TV on top of a unit. There was no fireplace, just a wall mounted electric fire. On the floor was a cheap light brown carpet. On the walls were cheap prints of a vase of flowers, above the fire, and an autumn woodland scene above the sideboard. There were no family photographs or anything personal. It confirmed what Alex had said about this being merely a place for Green to get his head down from time to time.
They left the lounge and walked down the hallway to the bedroom. Even before she opened the door she knew from her last visit that all she was likely to see was a made up double bed, a bedside cabinet and a dark-wood double wardrobe. She pushed the door open. The room was gloomy, curtains closed. She went to the window and drew one aside to let in the light. As she turned back to look around the room her eyes fastened onto the large black writing on the wall above the bed headboard.
George had also seen it.
She read it twice before looking at George.
‘What the fuck does that mean?’ George asked.
She read it again.
WILL YOU PAY?
WHEN?
I DO NOT KNOW?
Have you worked it out yet Detective Macey?
She was sure she’d seen the writing before.
Sixty-two
Scarlett took a photo of the message with her phone; she would have to call this in. For a couple of seconds, she ran through things in her head. This was an important find. James Green was taunting her with some kind of puzzle, though she couldn’t think what it meant. The issue however, was not about finding it, but how they had found it. They had made an illegal entry and if that was revealed, the discovery would be compromised. She had no other option but to lie. It’s only a little white lie! So, after agreeing the story with George, she rang Diane Harris. She repeated what Green’s neighbour had said, said they had found the door to his flat insecure and investigated, finding the message. ‘He intended for me to find this,’ she said. Diane Harris asked about the state of the flat and whether she needed CSI and Scarlett knew she’d been convincing. She took a sharp breath, ‘No point. He’s cleaned it from top to bottom. There’s nothing here. Not even his clothes. It’s as I thought, this is somewhere he put his head down from time to time. On the face of it, he made it look like he lived here. He’s led us on a wild goose chase right from day one. I’m even more convinced, seeing this message, that he’s got Ella.’ She repeated the neighbour’s comments about Green’s mother, adding, ‘He told me his parents were dead. James Green is just one big lie. I’m not even convinced that’s his real name. I’m going to make a few more enquiries with the other neighbours and see if anyone else knows anything of his mum. I’m sure that if we find
her, we’ll find him. We’ll be a couple of hours max and then come back to the office. Even if I find out where his mum is, I’ll come back to the office first before doing anything.’ Scarlett ended the call and turned to George. ‘Come on big man, we’ve got some doors to knock on.’
You're Next Page 17