by Michael Kerr
Laura was gagged now. And her wrists and ankles were bound tightly with duct tape. She had become hysterical when he snipped her finger off with the secateurs. He had recorded the screaming until it began to set his nerves on edge.
Kneeling down next to the mattress, he set the old cassette going again and ripped the strip of tape from her mouth.
Laura had been awake since he had cut off her finger. The pain was excruciating; a pulsating, unrelenting agony that seemed linked to her heartbeat and throbbed rhythmically up from the stump of her finger – which the maniac had bandaged – to her shoulder. Now, she tried to back-pedal away from him, only to crack her head against the wall.
“There’s nowhere to go, Laura. This is where you get to die and stay forever young in the minds of all those who know and love you.” he said, employing a raspy voice, with the hint of a northern accent.
The hope that she had held onto shattered like a broken mirror as he put the blade of the knife to her throat.
“Please, oh please don’t kill me,” she begged in a small, frightened voice that reminded her of how she had sounded as a four-year-old.
“I’m releasing you, sweetheart,” he said. “Saving you from a future that would almost certainly hold heartbreak, disappointment, unfulfilled dreams, illness and old age. Try to rejoice in the knowledge that you will be spared all manner of suffering.”
“Nooo!” she screamed as the blade slipped into her. She writhed, wide-eyed as the first crimson jet escaped from her carotid artery and spattered on the wall like an elaborate Rorschach blot.
“Oh sweet Jesus! Praise be and thank you Lord for what I am gratefully receiving,” he shouted, then cut through the tape at her ankles and spread her thrashing legs, eager to take his pleasure before she was lost to him. He held her in a firm embrace, joined to her and looking into her eyes as the liquid, gargling sound of her last breath was expelled. He lay with the now still, limp form for a long time, his cheek resting on the small breasts, his nostrils savouring the rich smell of Laura Preston’s blood. Surely this was as good as it gets.
With the release came exhaustion. He slept for almost two hours, and on waking was surprised to find that she was still warm.
He carried the body upstairs, to place on the large pine table in the kitchen, where he used a bucket full of hot water and strong industrial strength disinfectant to thoroughly cleanse the corpse and make it ready for its return to the subject of his wrath.
Preston’s debt was almost paid in full.
CHAPTER FOUR
GLENDA’S sister arrived, followed by the local GP who administered a sedative. Tom was already there, ready to drive Ray to the Yard.
“Let’s go,” Ray said after kissing Glenda on the forehead and squeezing her hand.
“Find her, Ray,” his wife called after him.
Ray followed Tom to the door. He did not answer Glenda. He would do everything in his power to get Laura back. She knew that.
“Was there a note?” Tom said.
“No. But the message is plain enough. He’s letting me know that he isn’t bluffing.”
“He’ll contact you again, Ray. The bastard must want the cash.”
“What if he doesn’t, Tom? If this is a personal vendetta and not about money, then we haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of lifting him.”
“He knows you. And that means it has to be some creep you had a hand in putting away. Matt and the team will dig him out.”
“I hope so, Tom. If we lost Laura, I don’t know how or if Glenda...or I would be able to get past it.”
Matt was waiting for them. He had a Samsonite with the hundred grand in it. The cash was from a drug bust, and he had arranged to use it in furtherance of what was now a kidnap and ransom case. He’d signed for it, and had a list of all the notes’ serial numbers. The rest of the team was out, calling at addresses of viable suspects who had the form to commit this sort of crime, and who had all served time, due to being collared by Ray, or as a direct result of his testimony.
Ray stood with his back to them, staring out of the window, not seeing the view of London by night, but looking inward, suffering more than he had ever done in his life, while Tom and Matt examined the gory evidence.
Matt arranged for a DC to take the finger to Forensics. He had a bad feeling about this. Anyone who could abduct, then cut the finger off a teenage girl, was of a rare breed, of the type he had not come up against many times in his career. He didn’t need Beth’s expertise in profiling to tell him that the guy was a sociopath. Although the new element of torture might give her an insight as to his agenda and mental state.
“You asleep?” he said when she picked up.
“Not anymore. What time is it?”
“The wee small hours.”
“You still at the Yard?”
“Yeah. We’ve had a development.”
Beth pushed herself up against the headboard and reached out to switch the bedside lamp on. She was now wide awake. “What kind of development?”
“A gift wrapped finger was left on the chief’s doorstep.”
“Shit. Are you sure it was one of Laura’s?”
“I think Preston and his wife would know if it wasn’t. And the ring on it was their daughter’s.”
“And you believe that I can contribute?”
“You’re the card-carrying shrink who specialises in criminal personality types. I need any thoughts you might have on the psycho we’re trying to find.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if this is direct retribution against Ray Preston. The girl is probably dead. She was just a means to an end. Your supposition that this is the work of an ex-con might be spot on. He could have been simmering, planning and becoming totally fixated with getting back at whoever was the cause of his incarceration. He can’t get the years back, but can find solace in robbing others of any quality of life. He wants the chief to know what it feels like to be the victim of a terrible crime, rather than just be a part of the machinery that investigates them. Instead of being disconnected from it, your boss is now emotionally involved up to his neck.”
“So if you rule out kidnap for ransom, why has he demanded a hundred grand?”
“I don’t know,” Beth said. I can’t rule anything out. This isn’t one of several crimes’ committed by an individual. I have no way to correlate tendencies and behavioural patterns. I usually get asked to consult when it’s known you have a repeat killer started up.”
“We don’t have that luxury. Can you take what we do have and extrapolate?”
“I’ll give it some thought as I drive.”
“You’re coming in?”
“I might as well, now that I’m wide awake.”
“I’ll make fresh coffee. See you soon.”
“Send out for doughnuts.”
“At two in the morning?”
Beth pulled on a T-shirt, blue jeans, a chunky polo neck sweater and a pair of Kickers over athletic socks. Her suede Sherpa duffel coat rounded off an outfit suitable for a frosty December night. She winced at the thought of the power suits she used to wear, but had now weaned herself off. At thirty-three she had survived near death at the hands of a brutal serial murderer, fallen in love with Matt, and revaluated all aspects of her life. Adjusting her priorities was a breath of fresh air. She now spent weekday nights at her flat in Roehampton, and weekends at Matt’s maisonette in Harrow. The plan was to sell both properties and buy a cottage out in the sticks. They were looking for the right place; had even put in an offer on one, but it hadn’t worked out.
Climbing into her midnight blue Lexus, Beth headed into the city. She felt guilty. She had let her mind wander, to dwell on the future with Matt, when somewhere out there a young girl was going through unthinkable torment, or had maybe already been savagely murdered. She pushed away thoughts of looking towards a time at which she may live next to a river, walk with Matt hand in hand along its banks to a country pub, perhaps with a pet dog bounding along in front of th
em, barking at swans who would stare at it with arched-necked arrogance as they glided by like breeze-blown galleons.
Lighting a cigarette, she turned on the car radio. The mellow late night music was a perfect backdrop, and enhanced rather than interfered with the mental process she now adopted to mind hunt an unknown subject. She started with her set-in-cement premise that behaviour always reflects personality.
“Do me a favour,” Matt said to DC Dean Harper. “Find some place that sells doughnuts, and buy enough to set us all up.”
“Okay, boss,” Dean said, taking the crisp twenty-pound note that Matt peeled from his wallet. “You want regular, or a selection of―”
Matt managed a tired smile. “Surprise me, Dean.”
It wasn’t long before Beth arrived to join Ray, Tom and Matt in the squad room.
“Any new developments?” she said.
Matt shook his head. “The art teacher, Ellis, is clean. He was with the assistant head when Laura was lifted, and none of the other staff look good for it. All we know is that she was taken by some unsub in a white van, who has now...sorry Guv...mutilated her.”
“He’s driven and on a mission,” Beth said. “I would imagine he stalked Laura, knew her every move; what time she left the house, and all her habits. He knew that she came out of school and walked across the street to wait for whoever was doing the run. There was a regular window of opportunity.”
“I can’t believe that she would have voluntarily got into a vehicle with a stranger, Beth,” Ray said with an underlying tremble to his voice. “It would go against all that she accepted as being commonsense. We raised her to be ultra careful.”
“Then It was someone she knew, recognised, or would trust,” Beth offered.
“Like a cop,” Matt said.
“Run with it,” Tom urged.
“If whoever it was convinced her that he was a cop, and gave her good enough reason to get in the van with him, it would explain it. The right authoritative manner, ID that would pass cursory inspection, and a believable reason would do the trick.”
“Could it be a cop?” Tom said to no one in particular.
“Have you been personally involved in having an officer dismissed for a serious breach of regulations or inappropriate conduct?” Beth said to Ray.
“It goes with the job,” he said. “It isn’t common, thank God, but sometimes I’ve had to recommend dismissal, or put evidence forward to the IPCC (Independent Police Complaints Commission) to investigate.”
“That’s another avenue to consider,” Tom said. “We’ll get a list of any officers who were sent down, or even just got kicked off the force and lost their pension.”
“Any that stand out?” Beth said.
Ray nodded. Pushed himself up out of the chair and began pacing. “One in particular. His name is Eddie Foley. He nearly beat a suspect to death. Claimed the guy was resisting arrest, but there was a witness. He used undue force and kicked the shit out of Joe Public.”
“Can you be more specific?” Beth said.
Ray took a deep breath. “A young black DJ was doing a gig at a nightclub that we had targeted in Fulham. It was a drug bust. Foley had words with the kid, took him out back into an alley and fractured his jaw, cheekbones and nose. Then started in with his feet. He was a DS with fifteen years in, but had a problem with booze and blacks.”
“Racist,” Beth stated.
“Yeah, he had previous for being too...physical with minority groups, but hadn’t gone over the top prior to that night, to our knowledge.”
“He got two years as I recall,” Matt said.
“And lost everything, including his wife,” Ray added. “He begged me to deal with it internally, even if it meant him going back to uniform as a PC. But I fed him to the wolves. He deserved all he got.”
“And why do you think it might be him?” Beth said.
“Because once he knew he was through, he went like stone. Just stared at me long and hard, and said, ‘Don’t think it ends here, Preston’.”
“Sounds a likely candidate,” Beth said. “He used violence and cruelty to establish control. His position of authority gave him the opportunity to vent his feelings. He is on record as being sadistic, and may have a personality disorder. He could be obsessed with getting back at you. I would hazard a guess that he would have been brutal in prison to other inmates. He fits the bill.”
“We’ll check him out,” Tom said.
As Ray made to leave, to go home to Glenda, the phone rang.
Matt picked up. “Yes?”
“I’ve got an outside call. A man asking to speak to whoever is investigating the disappearance of Laura Preston,” the civvie switchboard operator said.
“Put him through.” There was a click. “This is Detective Inspector Barnes. Can I help you?”
“You looking for Laura, cop?” A raspy, muffled voice.
“Yes. Do you have any information, sir?”
“Oh, yes indeedy. I took her. Now listen up real good. I won’t repeat myself. I want the number of your mobile phone. Then give the phone to Preston and tell him to drive to the Planetarium with the cash―”
“But―”
“Don’t fucking interrupt me again, Barnes, or I’ll take time out and start cutting more fingers off the split-arse kid. Just shut the fuck up and listen.”
Matt gritted his teeth.
“That’s better, plod. Has Preston got the money?”
“Yeah.”
“Music to my ears. Tell him that he’s got thirty minutes to get there. And I’ll know if he’s being followed, or if some dummy gets in the boot with a gun. Try anything, and the girl dies. There’ll be no second run. No more contact. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“So give me your number, and let’s get this show on the road.”
Matt gave him the number, and the caller hung up.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” Ray said.
Matt nodded. “Let’s move as we talk. You’ve got half an hour to be at the Planetarium with the payoff. Here, take my phone. He’ll contact you on it, and probably jerk you around for a while. I’ll have the nearest of my team in the vicinity.”
“Do nothing that might put Laura at risk.”
“We won’t. Now move, sir. Let’s go and get your daughter back.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DCs Phil Adams and Marci Clark were in place just before Ray parked next to the kerb on Marylebone Road.
This could work out, Ray thought. He had faith in his squad, and especially in Matt Barnes. They weren’t called the Serious Crimes Unit for nothing. They were all armed and lethal. Once they latched onto the bastard, he would be like a fish on a line, but wouldn’t even know he was hooked. They would let the drop take place, and then follow him back to wherever he was holding Laura.
Matt’s mobile trilled. Ray took a deep breath and answered it.
“Yes?”
“Okay, Preston, don’t talk. I know they’ll be tracing any call to Barnes’ phone. Drive to the main entrance of Waterloo Station. You’re on the clock.”
The line went dead before Ray could speak. He set off, checked his mirrors, but couldn’t spot a tail. He felt sick, and his knuckles were white, hands aching with the vicelike grip he had on the steering wheel. He wanted to get hold of the lowlife who had put his daughter through such an ordeal. Five minutes in a holding cell with him would be more than enough. For the first time in his life he wanted to kill someone. He chose to believe it was Foley. He had to have the image of someone to focus his hate on.
Braking to a stop outside Waterloo, Ray waited. The sweat formed like translucent blisters on his bald scalp and began to run down into his eyes, to mix with tears of frustration. Every second seemed an eternity. He willed the phone to ring, and prayed that Matt’s officers had not been spotted. It was six minutes before he got the call. He was a wreck.
“What’s it like to have your strings pulled, you fucking Muppet?”
“Please, don’t h
urt her anymore,” Ray almost whined. “Just tell me where to drop the money, and let her go.”
“Are you begging, Preston?”
“Yes. Anything it takes.”
“Okay. I’m bored with this. Get out of the car and walk towards the river. You want the Belvedere Road entrance to Jubilee Gardens. Just go in and take the first path on the left.”
He felt like how a man must feel as he walked from death row to the room that held the scaffold, electric chair, gas chamber, or the gurney where the lethal injection is administered. His legs were rubbery and his heart was pounding. He wanted to run, but forced himself to keep it together and just walk fast. This was something that he would have advised other parents in the same position not to do. But the team would see who collected the ransom and follow him back to his lair, and to Laura. He had to believe it would be that simple.
Matt, Tom and Beth stayed in the squad room, drank coffee and even ate some of the doughnuts that Dean Harper had purchased from a nearby 24 hour deli.
There were now three unmarked cars in the area of Waterloo. The chief was in sight at all times, and Tom was getting a second-by-second update over the phone.
“The chief is on foot now, sir, carrying the briefcase,” Marci Clark said. “He’s heading towards the river. There has been no sighting of anyone tailing him. If he is being followed, then the guy is good.”
“Keep him in sight, Marci. But remember to stay with the money. Be ready for someone attempting to snatch it and take off.”
“We’ve got it covered, sir. The chief is now going into Jubilee Gardens.”
“Don’t lose him, for Christ’s sake.”
Matt lit a cigarette, disregarding the no smoking policy. He shook his head. “It isn’t going to be this easy,” he said. “I think it’s a set-up.”
“Explain,” Tom said.
“He’s highly organised. He’ll know that there’s a police presence. And probably thinks that the chief is wired. He isn’t going to pick up the money.”
“So what is this all about? A practise run?”