Deadly Obsession

by DS Butler

  Mackinnon nodded. “Did she mention anything to you about a new job?”

  Denise shook her head and shrugged. “Vicky’s head was always full of silly ideas. She wants to be famous. She takes classes, dance classes, I think.”

  Mackinnon nodded. “At the Star Academy. They told me she missed a class.”

  Denise scowled. “Not surprised. They’re probably worried they won’t get anymore money out of her. Do you know how much those classes cost?”

  Mackinnon nodded.

  “I told her, she’d be better off saving her money, getting a proper job.” Denise sighed heavily. “I know I don’t sound very supportive, but I just don’t want her to be disappointed.”

  They both stared down at the green area in front of the flats. It was a beautiful day. The sun made even the ugliest areas of the city look decent. A woman walked along the pavement below them, pushing a pram and holding onto a little boy’s hand as he toddled along. He was sucking on a purple ice lolly. The sticky juice was smeared around his mouth.

  “Maybe it’s better to suffer a little disappointment, than never try,” Mackinnon said.

  The little boy screamed. He’d dropped his lolly on the floor, and his mother wouldn’t let him pick it up. She took his hand and pulled him along.

  “Is there anyone you can think of who might’ve held a grudge against her?” Mackinnon asked. “An old boyfriend?”

  Denise shook her head. “She’s had a few boyfriends over the years, some serious. But no one recently.”

  “Why do you think she’s gone missing? Do you think she left to work on a cruise ship?”

  Denise shook her head and looked down onto the patch of grass below the balcony. “No, I don’t. She wouldn’t just go off like that and not tell me. I think something bad has happened to her.”

  She turned to Mackinnon. Tears began to leak from her eyes. “I’m scared I might never see her again.”

  32

  When Victoria woke up, she was propped up in a bath, soaking in warm water. Her head lolled back against the taps.

  She wasn’t alone.

  The sick bastard was crouched beside the bath, running a sponge covered with soap suds over her body. Her naked body.

  Victoria tried to fight him off, but whatever drugs he’d given her were still in her system. Her limbs felt heavy, and she struggled to lift them. Her right arm splashed helplessly back under the water.

  “Now, don’t get excited, my little star. Save your energy for the competition.” He chuckled.

  Victoria felt the nausea build and work its way up to her throat. She retched.

  “Ugh.”

  He stood up and grasped Victoria behind the armpits, lifting her as easily as a doll. The water ran down her body, dripping back into the bath.

  “There we are,” he said. “All nice and clean.”

  He bundled her body in a large, white bath towel, threw another smaller towel over her head and began rubbing her hair vigorously.

  “You need to look your best tonight, don’t you? You’re up against last month’s champion. I don’t mind telling you, I think it’s going to be a close one. You both have talent. I can’t wait to see which of you triumphs.”

  He stroked her cheek.

  Victoria struggled. She tried to kick him, to raise her hands and gouge his eyes, but her arms were too heavy.

  Briefly, she slipped from his grasp, but he caught her quickly, laughing, and said, “You really are something, aren’t you?”

  Her drug-addled brain was slow to notice her different surroundings, but when she realised she was in a bathroom, her heart leapt. This room wouldn’t be soundproofed.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but her yell only lasted for a split second. He punched her full in the face.

  She couldn’t see properly. Dark shapes danced in front of her eyes, and the ringing in her ears went on and on.

  She was only vaguely aware of him moving his face close to hers and hissing, “Stupid bitch. Try that again and you’re dead.”

  He scooped her up in his arms, then propped her up on the toilet seat. “I’ll put that little outburst down to nerves. First night performances are always the worst, aren’t they?”

  On the edge of consciousness, she felt him pulling and tugging at her body, smearing stuff on her face.

  “We’ve got to have you looking nice for the camera, haven’t we?” he asked, brushing her hair.

  He hummed as he worked, applying blusher and lipstick, playing with her like she was the Girls World toy Victoria owned when she was a little girl.

  After he finished his role as makeup artist, he stood up and lifted her in his arms. Victoria’s head fell backwards. She didn’t have the strength to fight. She couldn’t even find the energy to keep her eyes open.

  She knew he was taking her back to that dark room. She could smell the damp as he carried her closer. She started to cry.

  “No tears. You’ll ruin your makeup,” he said, grinning at her. “Now let’s see what Anya thinks of your transformation.”

  He set Victoria down on the floor, propped up against the wall.

  “What do you think, Anya, eh?” he asked as he started to loop the rope around Victoria’s ankle. “A stunner, isn’t she? I think I’ve found you a great competitor.”

  Victoria barely noticed him tightening the rope. Her eyes were fixed on Anya.

  Anya was dressed in some kind of ballerina outfit. The clown-like makeup on her face with red circles on her cheeks, terrified Victoria. She looked like a doll possessed by the devil. The dark, black makeup smudged around her eyes only heightened the effect.

  Victoria looked down and saw he’d dressed her in a black tutu with yards of netting under the skirt. What the hell was he playing at?

  His head bent down as he adjusted Victoria’s skirt around her legs. Victoria reached out her hand and fumbled for the metal file. Her hand closed around it, and she swung it up high, as hard as she could. It felt as if it weighed a ton.

  “Screw you,” Victoria screamed as she brought the metal file down on him with all her might.

  It missed his head, but caught him on the shoulder.

  He roared, grabbed the file, ripping it from her hand easily. Then he drew it back and used it to backhand her.

  The file connected with her jawbone.

  Pain exploded in her jaw. It felt as if her teeth shattered into a million little pieces. Victoria had never felt anything like it.

  He grabbed her arms and shook her.

  “You ungrateful little bitch! You’ve been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and you ruined everything.

  “I’ll have to postpone tonight’s performance.” He dropped Victoria’s arms, and she sprawled on the floor. He pointed at Anya. “You could learn from her. She is a professional. You are an amateur. You’ll never amount to anything!”

  On the ground, Victoria groaned in pain and rolled her head to the side. From the corner of her eye, in her disorientated state of mind, she thought Anya looked pleased.

  33

  When Collins walked past Oakland’s Furniture Store, he saw Fred Oakland in the shop window, rearranging the display. He caught sight of Collins and gave a cheery wave. Collins nodded and walked on to the entrance to the Star Academy.

  He told Pippa, the receptionist, he wanted to speak to Nathan Cleeves.

  While he was waiting, Collins looked out of the large glass windows. The sun was setting. Above the old buildings and glass skyscrapers, thick streaks of red and gold lined the sky. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. It would be another fine day tomorrow if the glowing sky were any indication.

  Could Anya and Victoria see this sunset? Or was it already too late?

  He swallowed, and the thought tasted bitter.

  “Detective Collins, isn’t it?”

  Collins turned and saw Roger Cleeves limping down the final steps into the reception area.

  “Yes, sir, DC Collins. I actually wanted to speak to your son, Nathan.�
��

  Roger Cleeves spread his hands and shrugged. “I’m afraid he isn’t here at the moment. He just popped out. He should be back soon, though. Would you like to wait for him upstairs? I could make tea.”

  Collins nodded. “Thank you.”

  He followed Roger Cleeves up the three flights of stairs. They made slow progress.

  “Where has Nathan gone?” Collins asked.

  Roger Cleeves turned on the stairs. “Sorry? What was that?”

  “You said Nathan had gone out. I wondered where to.”

  “Oh, yes, I see. I’m afraid I don’t know exactly where he went. He told me he was just going out for a few minutes, so he can’t have gone too far.”

  Roger Cleeves smiled as they finally reached the apartment level. “Here we are,” he said and opened the door, allowing Collins to enter the hallway first.

  He led Collins to the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen table, Belinda and Rachel Cleeves were in the middle of a heated discussion.

  Collins couldn’t work out the subject of their argument before they spotted him and lapsed into an abrupt silence.

  “What are you doing here?” Belinda Cleeves asked, her voice full of venom. She rubbed her right foot as she spoke and grimaced.

  Her toes were misshapen, twisted and lumpy. That’s what years of dancing did for you, Collins supposed. Her feet reminded him of a program he watched once, which showed how Chinese girls used to have their feet and toes bound, causing them to grow in deformed, narrow stumps, which didn’t resemble human feet at all.

  Collins looked away. “I’m here to see Nathan,” he said.

  “I’m afraid he isn’t here,” Rachel Cleeves said, clutching the neck of her cardigan.

  “I’m sure he can see that, Rachel,” Belinda Cleeves said, shaking her head at her daughter. “Sometimes you do state the obvious, child.”

  Rachel Cleeves blushed scarlet and stared down at the table.

  Her father put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “The detective is going to have a cuppa while he waits for Nathan to come home.”

  Roger Cleeves filled the kettle. As he busied himself making the tea, Collins took the opportunity to observe Belinda Cleeves and her daughter. They had an odd relationship. They’d obviously been arguing about something. But what?

  Did they know what Nathan had done? Were they involved? It was rare for women to be involved in abductions, but not unheard of.

  Clearly irritated by Collins’ presence, Belinda Cleeves stood up, grabbed her cup of tea and stalked out of the kitchen.

  Rachel looked around nervously for a few moments, before standing up too. “I think I’ll go to my room.”

  “All right, sweetheart. Goodnight,” Roger Cleeves said. He handed Collins a mug of tea. “Let’s take it into the living room, shall we?”

  Collins followed Roger Cleeves into the living room. The room was large, and a three-seater, brown, leather sofa sat opposite the television. A matching two-seater was pushed back against the wall, and two La-Z-Boy reclining armchairs were positioned on either side. Collins sat on one of the armchairs, raised the footrest, settled back and sighed. “Ah, that’s better.”

  The room was dimly lit. An up-lighter lamp in the corner of the room was the only source of light, apart from the bright, coloured lights flickering on the walls and furniture from the television.

  A loud, dramatic burst of music prompted Roger Cleeves to pick up the remote control and press the “mute” button.

  Collins watched the silent characters on the screen for a few moments, seeing the flashing graphics, and realised it was one of those ubiquitous reality shows.

  Roger Cleeves relaxed back into his chair with a contented sigh. “Have you managed to find Anya?”

  Collins took a sip of his tea. “We’re making progress.”

  Roger Cleeves nodded. “That’s good.”

  They lapsed into silence for a moment, then Roger Cleeves said. “What was it you wanted to talk to Nathan about?”

  Collins chose his words carefully. “I hoped he could help me with a line of enquiry.”

  “I see. He’s not a bad lad, you know. Things were a bit tough for him, after his band, Vivid, split up. It’s hard to lose fame and adulation. He got used to it, you see. Believed in the hype.”

  The minutes ticked past, and Collins glanced at his watch for the second time in the past thirty seconds.

  Where the hell was Nathan? Collins was wasting time here. Nathan Cleeves might not be back for hours. If Collins gave up and went back to the station now, he would be in time to attend Brookbank’s meeting.

  Roger Cleeves’ attention had been captured by the reality show again. Light and shapes from the wide, flat-screen TV played across his face.

  Collins got to his feet. “I can’t wait any longer. When you see your son, Mr. Cleeves, please tell him I want to speak to him.”

  Roger Cleeves’ eyes drifted away from the TV screen. “Of course, I will. I’m sorry. I’ve no idea what’s keeping him.”

  As Collins shrugged on his suit jacket, he saw Roger Cleeves’ eyes widen and his body tense. He’d seen something – someone behind Collins.

  Collins spun round. There in the hallway, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, was Nathan Cleeves.

  “Just the man I wanted to speak to,” Collins said, staring hard at him.

  “What?” Nathan looked at his father, then back to Collins. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “Of course you haven’t, son,” Roger Cleeves said, easing himself to his feet. He winced as he straightened his knee. “The detective just wants a word, that’s all.”

  Nathan Cleeves backed away, toward the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  Collins followed. If Nathan Cleeves wanted to make a run for it, Collins would be ready.

  Roger Cleeves obviously saw the panic in his son’s eyes and came to the same impression as Collins. “Don’t do anything stupid, Nathan. He just wants to chat, that’s all.”

  Nathan spun on his heel, and in an instant, he was out of the apartment door.

  Shit.

  Collins ran after him.

  Behind him, Collins could hear Roger Cleeves calling out, “Don’t hurt him. He’s just scared. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  Collins took the stairs two at a time. Nathan Cleeves was a dancer. He was fit. Face-to-face, fist-to-fist, Collins would win. But running? Stamina wasn’t exactly Collins’ strongest point. He needed to bring him down quickly.

  As he jumped down the final steps and rounded the corner into the reception area, Collins skidded across the polished floor. He scrambled for purchase like a character in a cartoon.

  The receptionist looked up from her desk and blinked at him.

  “Which way did Nathan Cleeves go?” Collins asked.

  The receptionist pointed right, and Collins yanked open the door and stepped out onto the street. His heart was hammering as he looked up the road. It was busy. People were milling about on the pavement, commuters heading home. The sun was low in the sky, dipping behind the buildings, and thick grey clouds had drawn in, threatening rain. So much for the shepherd’s weather forecast.

  Collins squinted as he searched the crowds. As the seconds passed, Collins felt the panic begin to build in his chest.

  Then he saw him. A flash of yellow.

  Collins grinned with relief. Nathan’s bright-yellow, zip-up sweatshirt was not the ideal item of clothing to wear if you wanted to blend into a crowd.

  Collins’ feet pounded hard against the pavement as he chased after Nathan Cleeves. His chest hurt, and already he could feel the start of a stitch, but he wouldn’t slow down.

  Collins pictured Henryk Blonski lying on the floor of Jubilee House with his head smashed open and dug in harder.

  Maybe he’d get into trouble for this. They had no arrest warrant, no interview questions planned, no strategy mapped out, but Collins didn’t care about that. He wasn’t going to le
t this bastard disappear, never to face justice. He couldn’t bear that.

  He screamed at a large woman in a hot-pink skirt-suit to get out of his way. She was dawdling along toward him, tottering on her high heels, searching for something in her bag, oblivious to everyone around her.

  Everyone else saw Collins bundling towards them and moved aside. Everyone except that stupid woman.

  Collins screamed again, and she looked up, startled, then dropped her phone.

  Instead of moving out of his way, she bent down to pick up her mobile, turning sideways so she completely blocked the whole pavement.

  Collins was going too fast to slow down. He would have to run into her, or chance the road.

  He only had a split second to turn and take a fleeting glance over his shoulder for traffic before he left the pavement and stumbled onto the road. His ankle twisted as his foot hit the tarmac.

  A sharp pain shot up his leg, but Collins ran on.

  He couldn’t see Nathan Cleeves anymore. He scanned the pavement ahead of him for the yellow sweatshirt.

  Where the hell was he? How could he move so quickly?

  But he couldn’t give up. Collins kept moving, his eyes on the crowds of people around him, trying to catch their faces in case Nathan Cleeves had taken his sweatshirt off. That was just the sort of thing a devious, low-life bastard like him would do.

  Then he saw him.

  He had taken off his sweatshirt, and his arms were pumping at his sides like pistons. Collins felt a jolt of energy. He could do this. He could catch the bastard. There were crowds of people in front, slowing Nathan Cleeves down. He weaved in and out of the commuters. But not quickly enough. Collins was gaining on him.

  Collins was so close now. His chest was burning, and his lungs felt like they would burst. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

  So close. He could almost touch him.

  Then Collins saw something Nathan Cleeves hadn’t.

  A man dressed in a navy, pinstriped suit was striding along the pavement. In one hand, he held his mobile phone up to his ear. In the other, he pulled along a large, black document case on wheels.