by Joy Ellis
But this was not helping anything. What mattered now was to get out and get free. She took a deep breath and tried to keep calm. A while ago she had tried to stand, but to her horror, her legs had acted like unset jelly, and she had slipped clumsily to the floor. It had taken her a very long time to haul herself back onto the bed.
And it was a bed, a real one, with a quilt and a pillow. Apart from that, without being able to physically do a recce of the room, she knew little else. Except for the fact that, wherever she was, it was a long way from Greenborough town.
She recognised the salty, ozone smell of the marshes. She could also hear seabirds crying, and the constant sound of rushing water. There was no other sound at all, and she knew she was somewhere quite remote, which would make finding her very difficult indeed.
She had lived on the marsh almost all her life, but there were still parts of this lonely fenland that she had never even seen.
She drew in a deep breath and tried not to panic. Sadly, the very nature of her job meant that she was acutely aware of the seriousness of her position. She knew that she had most likely been abducted by Helen’s killer. She had one advantage. She was stronger than Helen had been. She was trained to fell the heaviest adversary, and fit enough to run like a greyhound — if she got the chance.
She rubbed her aching head. Right now she felt about as strong as Superman in a kryptonite cage. She needed to try to rest and regain her strength, but she had no idea how much time there was. She needed to get her legs working. Then at least she could explore her prison.
Holding her head with one hand, she levered herself upright, determinedly fighting back the nausea that still came with every movement. Her feet touched the floor, but — nothing. No feeling, and no strength. She swore loudly, then screamed out, ‘I’m damned if you’ll beat me! No way are you going to fuck up my life! Do you hear me? Not now I’ve got it back!’
The shout certainly didn’t help her legs, but it made her feel a whole lot more alive. She sank back on the bed. It was true. She suddenly realised that, after years of wallowing in guilt over Hannah, she had found a way to be happy again. She liked her life!
A feeling something akin to elation welled up in her. She suddenly thought of Rory Wilkinson. She saw his intelligent face, the shrewd grey eyes peering at her earnestly through his wire-rimmed glasses, and heard his words: “The killer really knows his stuff regarding anaesthesia.” She swallowed hard and rubbed at her legs, willing sensation to return. Right now she didn’t want to remember what he’d told her about how Helen died. She rubbed harder. One thing was for bloody certain, she was not going the same way.
‘So you want to be a detective, Rory Wilkinson? Well, if anyone can help me now, it’s going to be you. And before I finish up on your poxy dissecting table, get your finger out and solve the riddle of that sodding mandala!’
* * *
And Rory Wilkinson was doing exactly that. He was on his way to Jenny Jackson’s home, coaxing every ounce of speed that he could from his aging Citroen. Jenny had called him earlier, asking if he could get her the personal details of all Helen Brook’s clients and close associates. She thought that she might take them one by one, and see if any of them fitted the picture that she had built up from the mandala.
Rory had cleared it with the police, so he was taking them to her personally. He was glad of the distraction. He didn’t have many friends — his job saw to that — but he was fond of Nikki, and he was damned if he was going to lose her.
It was three in the morning and Jenny looked tired. Her face, normally carefully made-up, was bare. After hearing the news about Nikki, she had cancelled all her commitments, and had offered to help the police in any way she could, full-time.
They sat together at Jenny’s large drafting table and stared at sheet after sheet of sketches and notes.
Despite the lines beneath them, Rory noticed that her eyes still gleamed with enthusiasm for the task that she had set herself.
‘I’m certain that at least, I can reduce this list down to a few likely suspects. If I have their birth details, their names, and any other salient information about them, I can check them against the mandala, and see what we’re left with.’
Rory looked at the lengthy list of names. ‘Rather you than me, dear heart. There must be fifty names here.’
Jenny gave him a weary smile. ‘Then I’d better get to work, hadn’t I? By the way, what did you say was the medium that was used on the body?’
‘Malachite Green, a chemical. It’s a dye used in the health care of fish.’
‘Mmm, I thought that’s what you said. I’m wondering if it’s actually a key factor here. In colour healing, green is used in connection with the circulatory system, the abdominal region, and glands, especially the endocrine gland. But then it’s also used to reduce hypersensitivity to food additives and half a dozen other things as well.’
Rory peered at a page full of runes. ‘I’m sure it is important. What does green mean historically? Apart from Robin Hood’s dreadful taste in couture?’
‘It denotes life, spring, hope, and envy, as far as I can remember. But this isn’t a true green, is it? It’s more turquoise. A blue-green mix.’
‘And that means?’
Jenny left the table and pulled a paperback book from a shelf. After flicking swiftly through a few pages, she took a deep breath and said, ‘It’s supposed to stimulate the highest level of talent and creativity in art.’
‘Ah, so it may have been chosen as an aid to produce this masterpiece of a mandala, rather than a reference to the artist?’
‘It looks that way, doesn’t it?’ She pushed the book back into place and searched among the colourful spines for another. ‘Let’s just check out malachite. Uh, where is it? Oh yes, here we are. It’s a calming stone. In ancient times it was thought to have the power to strengthen teeth, aid those with poor eyesight, and warm a cold heart.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t get any colder than the bastard who did this. Where does it come from?’
‘The main sources are Zaire, Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Siberia and the Urals, I think — hang on, there’s something here about it bringing up old pain and traumas, and bringing suppressed feelings into the open. I wonder if that means anything?’
‘It could be something to think about after we find a candidate for the birth signs and the numerological information.’
Jenny nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. I’ll make a note of all that but go back to basics, starting with the star sign for Pisces. Leave it with me, Rory. I promise I’ll ring you the minute I find anything worth following up.’
‘Okay, and if you need any other information, Sergeant Joseph Easter said to give you his mobile number and he’ll try to help you.’ He passed her a scrap of paper with the number on it. ‘Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’ He gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Good luck, Jenny, and although I don’t want to put pressure on you, finding Nikki could be down to you making sense of that bloody awful tattoo.’
* * *
In Greenborough police station, Cat Cullen was poring over the CCTV and media footage that was just beginning to come in. She had told herself that she didn’t have time to be upset by her boss’s abduction. She would turn herself into a human robot and do whatever it took to find her. From the moment she couldn’t raise the guv’nor on her mobile, she had known something was terribly wrong. Now all she wanted to do was work.
Joseph had set up a rota so that the whole team wouldn’t be shattered after the long day and then the evening spent at the vigil, but Cat could not switch off. Not with Nikki missing. Right now, all she could think about was what had happened to Helen Brook, and what might happen to the boss if they didn’t find her in time. She had already ascertained that Eric Barnes had left the guv’nor sitting on the wall by the nursing home, and walked off into the throng at the end of the road. She had also seen the DI take a few tentative steps alone, then sit back down again. From that point on, there was nothing. Either
the tape had malfunctioned or the camera had been tampered with. Whatever, there was a break of about five minutes before the street became visible again, and by then, the wall was empty.
‘Got another one here, Cat.’ Jamie, a young detective who was helping them out, passed her a still photo. It was black and white and grainy, and showed Nikki Galena staring hard at someone, and looking seriously pissed off. ‘What’s upset her, Cat?’
Cat looked at it and passed it back. ‘That was when we were listening to that Kirton guy doing his Hamlet bit. She thought he was about to incite a riot. But we’ve got that timed already, mate, we need something from later.’
‘How about this?’ He passed her another print.
Cat’s face wrinkled into a frown. ‘This must be the fight that uniform were called to. Some idiots protesting against complementary medicine. You can just see the banners.’ She peered closer. ‘Yes! That’s definitely the back of the DI’s coat, and that arm around her, the person helping her move away. Do you recognise him?’
Jamie tilted his head to one side. ‘DC Eric Barnes for sure. That designer leather jacket is a dead giveaway.’
‘Any more in this series?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘No. It’s a one-off.’
‘Bugger! Still, it proves that Barnes really was helping her. I’ve run that CCTV from the nursing home a dozen times, frame by frame, and I have to admit, it really doesn’t look as if he’s threatening her.’
‘And he did leave her alone and walk away. He even waved when he reached the main road.’
Cat sighed and picked up another sheaf of pictures. ‘Why was he there at all? That’s what I’d like to know.’
Jessie Nightingale placed a cup of coffee on Cat’s desk, then sat down opposite her. ‘Bit more caffeine. It helps.’
‘Thanks.’ Cat managed a weak smile, and looked at Jessie’s pale, tired face. ‘You should go home and take a break.’
Jessie stared back belligerently. ‘Like hell! I’ll sleep when we have the boss safely back in her office, ranting at everybody.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘Sorry, it’s just that this has brought back that time with my Graham. It was like this when he first disappeared.’
‘Of course! I’m so sorry, Jess. This must be purgatory for you.’
‘It’s not good. It would have been our anniversary tomorrow, which doesn’t help.’
Cat shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe we found nothing. I mean the case was never closed, and I know there’s a team over at Fenchester who still spend time each week checking for new updates or information.’ She leaned across and touched the detective’s hand. ‘They’ll never give up on him, Jess.’
‘And neither will I, but this isn’t helping the boss, is it?’
Cat noticed a tear in Jess’s eye, and decided that she was right. ‘Okay, let’s press on with the photo evidence.’
‘How close are we to pinpointing the last time she was seen?’
Cat rubbed her forehead. ‘A member of the public caught her on a mobile phone camera. Look, here, this is the last sighting so far.’ She passed Jessie the small device and pressed play. Jessie stared at the jerky and slightly out-of-focus pictures. The intended subject was a teenage girl holding a candle and a wilting bunch of flowers, but in the background, walking slowly down a side road, was Nikki Galena.
‘That’s not her normal walk, is it? She looks dazed.’
‘From what we’ve pieced together from witnesses to a minor fight earlier, she took a blow to the head, but someone rescued her and led her away from the youths involved.’
‘Eric Barnes.’
Cat nodded.
‘Can I have another look at the CCTV footage?’
‘Be my guest. It’s still in the machine.’
Jessie and Cat sat in front of the screen and forced themselves to concentrate. They watched it through, then let it run on to the point after the break to where the road was empty. Five minutes after the boss had left. They stared at the flickering screen, then Jessie gasped. ‘Maybe the boss didn’t leave at all! Cat, look at this!’
Cat looked closer.
‘There! Look, on the other side of that low wall, what’s that?’ Cat took the remote and ran the video back, stopping it several times, freezing the scene. ‘I’d say it was a hand, wouldn’t you?’
‘Exactly. But all that shrubbery along the edge of the nursing home is making it difficult to be sure.’
Cat’s eager face was reflected in the silver light from the television screen. ‘Run the tape further on.’
‘Hold on, I’ll forward it now.’ Jessie moved closer and together they scrutinised every inch of the footage.
‘There! There is movement behind the bushes. Look!’
‘Got it! God! That dark shape. I think it’s dragging something away from the wall and into the nursing home grounds!’
‘Jess, go get the super. I’ve got some more CCTV from the nursing home here, but it’s angled from the front door out into the car park. We haven’t checked it yet. I’ll set it up. Maybe if we synchronise the timing with this one, we’ll see more.’
Jessie returned with the superintendent. Cat had already got the footage ready.
‘Nothing clear, sir, but there is something. Look across the parking bays to that clump of trees. Is that a vehicle parked in the shadows there?’
‘I think so, Detective, but it’s well out of sight of the cameras. Get over to the nursing home and check the grounds.’ He spun around. ‘DC Cullen, take DC Harris and a couple of uniforms and sweep that whole area from the wall by the road to the car park. Ask if anyone usually parks there at night, and check for tyre tracks. Go!’
Cat grabbed her jacket, yelled for Dave Harris, and ran from the room.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, as she continued to trawl through the images, Jessie received a call from Dave. Apparently there were distinct signs of something or someone having been dragged through the overgrown shrubbery. He had cordoned off the area and asked the SOCOs to check it for evidence. Cat had discovered that the shadowy spot where the vehicle had been parked was not even a designated parking bay, but the overgrown base of a tool shed, long since gone. No one used it, especially at night. However, Cat had been told that one resident, an elderly man who kept very late hours, had mentioned to the warden that someone had parked a car there for at least two hours the night before. Sadly he had no interest in cars, so all he could tell them was that it was a dark coloured four-by-four. Dave asked Jessie to check with the list of Helen Brook’s clients and see who owned four-wheel drives.
With fingers that flew she brought up the details of client after client on her computer screen. At least seven had that kind of vehicle, nothing unusual in the wild, marshy, fenland farming area. She printed off the names, and when she realised that Oliver Kirton’s name was one of them, warning bells began to ring.
‘What’s the matter, Jess?’ She looked up to see Joseph’s hollow eyes looking at her across her desk.
‘Have you been interviewing Oliver Kirton, Sarge?’
‘More like he’s been interviewing me, the pompous git. I’ve just come up for air and a strong coffee before I go back in. Why?’
Jessie told him about what she had seen on the CCTV, and the mysterious vehicle parked close by. ‘Does he have an alibi for where he was after he gave his speech last night, Sarge?’
‘Home alone, grieving, so he says. Are there any tyre tracks at the nursing home?’
‘SOCOs are checking that now.’
‘Well, I think I’ll get uniform to pop round to Kirton’s garage and make a note of what kind of tyres he has, just in case.’ Joseph smiled at her. ‘Good work spotting that hand, Jess. This must be hell for you, having been through it all before.’
Jessie swallowed hard. ‘Every morning when I wake up, it comes back to me in a flood of pain and heartache.’ She fought back tears. ‘I just want to know if Graham is still alive. I feel certain that he is, but . . .’
>
Joseph walked around the desk and put his arm around her. ‘Hang on in there, Jess. You’ll have your answers one day, I’m certain.’
She smiled back. ‘Fingers crossed, huh?’
‘You will, I just know it.’
A WPC stuck her head around the door. ‘Everyone wanted in the murder room in twenty minutes. The super’s called an emergency meeting.’
‘Don’t like the sound of that, do you?’
Jessie shrugged. ‘Probably just an update on what the search parties have found at the suspects’ houses. I hope.’
‘Mmm. I just hope it’s not more bad news. I’ve had enough of that to last a bloody lifetime.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Superintendent Woodhall prowled up and down the room like a caged bear. ‘I don’t think I have to reiterate that DI Galena is in grave danger, and so far we have sod all to go on.’ He pounded a clenched fist onto a desk as he passed. ‘So, here is the state of play right now. Titus Whipp has been allowed to go home. His house contained nothing of interest, unless you are a taxidermist, and he has a solid alibi for his whereabouts at the time when we believe Nikki Galena was abducted. He was cooling off in a cell downstairs, after mouthing off at two of our officers at the vigil. Oliver Kirton’s house is also clean, and although his alibi is unsubstantiated, we have got nothing concrete to hold him on. There were no identifying tyre marks out at the nursing home, so we can’t use that. The best we can do is let him go, but watch him like a hawk.’
He continued to pace back and forth. ‘We have to assume that Nikki’s abductor is also Helen Brook’s killer. So to find DI Galena, we need to use every scrap of information we have regarding Helen’s murder. I want you to go over all the original statements made by Miss Brook’s clients, friends and work colleagues. Look at everything again. Anything odd, chase it up, talk to them again. Ask the questions you failed to ask before, the ones you were frightened to ask. Take their houses to pieces, from attic to basement. Check every outbuilding, every caravan, every coal shed and every barn. I want to know everything about the people around Helen Brook, because one of them has taken our comrade, and I want her back. Alive!’ He flopped into a chair. All energy seemed to have drained out of him. ‘DI Gill Mercer and DS Easter are temporarily in charge, so take everything to them.’