Grabbing somebody off the street.
That gave Sam an idea.
He couldn't just sit around waiting for his phone to ring. He would only spend the time worrying how Lucy was holding up. How she was being treated. Sam decided to use the time constructively.
He left the flat, taking the steps down to the ground floor two at a time. Outside, he was stumped for a moment. Where exactly should he start searching for clues? He looked down the street.
The row of shops.
He hurried towards them. He was almost there when a middle-aged woman holding a clipboard stepped in front of him.
'Excuse me, sir. Can you spare a moment?'
Sam gave her no more than a fleeting glance.
'Sorry,' he said, already moving past her. 'I'm in a bit of a-'
He stopped and turned.
'Have you been standing here long?' he asked.
The woman gave him a curious look.
'Well, yes,' she replied, unsure of this sudden interest from a stranger. 'I've been here most of the day. Why do you ask?'
Sam cleared his throat.
'I'm looking for someone. A woman. Mid-twenties. Pretty, with long dark hair...'
She shook her head, nonplussed.
'She would have come past here about half an hour ago,' said Sam urgently. 'She might have popped into one of these shops.'
The woman stared at him blankly, tapping on her clipboard with a pen. Sam was unsure if she was trying to recall a person matching the description or wishing he would just go away.
'Never mind,' he said to her, unable to hide his disappointment. He could still ask in some of the shops. 'Thanks, anyway.'
He turned on his heels and headed for the nearest shop.
'Hold on a minute!'
Sam span around. The woman had taken a couple of steps towards him.
'You didn't give me a chance to think about it,' she said. 'Was she wearing a leather jacket? A black leather jacket?'
'Yes,' replied Sam eagerly. 'Yes, she was. Have you seen her?'
'If it's the same young lady you're talking about, then I didn't just see her, I talked to her.'
It was Sam's turn to look stumped.
'You talked to her?'
'Yes, I did,' replied the woman with a smile. 'Such a lovely girl...and such beautiful eyes.'
Sam shuffled his feet impatiently.
'Are you her partner?' the woman asked him. Sam could see she was wary of giving out too much information freely.
Sam recalled the gentle kiss Lucy had given him before he left the flat.
'Yes, I am. She was waiting for me and I'm running a bit-'
'Ah, we are talking about the same person then,' the woman said, her face softening. 'She said she was waiting for someone.'
'What else did she say?'
'Well, she kindly filled out my questionnaire for me. She said it would pass the time while she was waiting. I always appreciate it when someone stops, you know. Most people won't give you the time of day.'
'Can you remember which way she went?' asked Sam hurriedly, determined to keep the woman talking about Lucy.
'I don't remember,' she replied, a pained looked on her face. Sam watched her look up and down the street, trying to jog her own memory. Then something came to her. 'Oh, yes, now I do. She walked over there. Then she stopped to talk to someone.'
The woman had her arm out, pointing towards Lucy's block of flats. Sam nodded thoughtfully. Lucy had been on her way back home.
'Look, I'm sorry about all these questions,' he said, 'but can you remember who she talked to?'
The woman patted him reassuringly on the arm.
'You're really worried about her, aren't you, love?' she said, giving him an anxious look.
Worried? Sam was absolutely petrified. Lucy's safety was in the hands of a cold-blooded murderer. Despite that, he knew he had to be careful not to alarm this lady too much. She might panic and contact the police herself if she thought Lucy was in danger. Sam recalled the text message. No police.
'Well, it's just that we haven't been going out that long and I'm running late. I don't want her to think I've stood her up. So, you said-'
'Can't you ring her?'
'She's not answering her phone. Can you just-'
'Oh dear, the course of true love never runs smooth. I've been there myself, you know.'
Sam felt like screaming at the woman, demanding that she just get to the point and tell him who Lucy had talked to. He told himself to stay calm. This woman was his best hope right now.
'No, it doesn't seem to be right now,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Look, I don't mean to be rude, but the sooner I find out where she is, the sooner we can-'
'I know,' she said, giving him a knowing wink before looking back over towards Lucy's block of flats. 'Now, a car pulled up over the road there, just before those flats. A white car. It pulled up alongside her.'
Sam listened hard, the dread rising within him.
'She bent down to talk to whoever was inside.'
He felt sick. He had an image of being Lucy being manhandled against her will and forced into the car.
'And then she got in.'
'She got in?' asked Sam, checking he hadn't misheard.
'Yes, love. She got into the back seat and the car drove off.'
Sam gazed over to the spot where the car would have stopped. The woman was telling him Lucy had got into it of her own accord. But that had to be the moment she was abducted. It made no sense to Sam. Why had she willingly got into a stranger's car?
Chapter 55
Sam returned to Lucy's flat in a state of confusion, still unable to figure out why Lucy had allowed herself to be spirited away so easily. He tried to look at it logically. The person in the car had to be the one now holding her, and Sam couldn't imagine a scenario where Lucy had got into the car compliantly because she knew her abductor. It just wasn't possible. Sam had mentioned the possible suspects in Carl's murder to her, but she had no idea what any of them looked like. And if she did, it was all the more reason to run a mile from them.
It had to be someone unknown to her. But Sam couldn't imagine Lucy being so gullible as to climb into the vehicle of a complete stranger. As sweet and kind as she was, he wouldn't describe her as naïve. The only conclusion available to Sam was Lucy had been lured into a trap of some kind. A very effective one.
The next few minutes passed agonisingly slowly for Sam. He sat on Lucy's sofa, fidgeting restlessly, willing the phone to ring. He had already decided his response. He would comply unconditionally with whatever the caller wanted. If that meant taking a step back and leaving it to the police to complete the investigation, then so be it. It would be a hard one to swallow, trusting in Mason to get to the truth, but what choice did he have? He should have done it earlier. Lucy had tried to tell him. Now, all that mattered was getting her back safe and sound, and never putting her in such a situation again.
The guilt began to consume Sam.
He was to blame for Lucy's predicament.
And it wasn't the first time.
His actions that had placed others in danger before.
His wife and daughter.
Perhaps he should have taken the blame for their deaths. It had been himself, not Walters, who had willingly married Elizabeth and then had a daughter with her. It had been himself who had started up a family knowing his career was a precarious and dangerous one. Had that been selfish?
Sam thought about Lucy. Elizabeth. Danielle.
The weight was crushing him.
He looked at his watch and his heart sank. Forty-five minutes had passed since the phone call. Something had gone wrong. He tried Lucy's number again, but there was still no line. Why hadn't her captor rung back?
He waited another fifteen minutes. In that time, he stewed, the anger building up inside him until he had to face facts and consider his options. They weren't ringing back, and Lucy's position was getting more precarious by the minute. Sam gave
serious thought to swallowing his pride and going to the police station. He could tell them about recent events, report Lucy as a missing person, and hope they took him seriously. He could even ask the woman who had seen the car to go with him and back up his story. But wouldn't involving the police be putting Lucy in even greater danger?
Sam got up and looked out of the window, gazing over at the row of shops. He watched for a few minutes but saw no sign of the woman he had talked to. And there was no guarantee she would be back tomorrow. Anyway, the harsh reality was tomorrow could be too late. Sam looked up and down the street for CCTV cameras. He couldn't see any. The authorities probably deemed there was no need. It seemed a pleasant residential area, probably one with a low crime rate. Sam could almost taste the irony.
He thought about what he had to go on. The only added information the woman had been able to supply was the driver's side of the car had a red door. It stood out like a sore thumb, she told Sam. A red door on a white car. But no, she didn't know the make of the vehicle. Nor could she supply a description of the driver. She had been too far away.
An image popped into Sam's head. White car. Red door. He had seen it parked up somewhere recently. Sam racked his brains, trying to remember the location. He ran through everywhere he had been during the last few days. It was no good. All he could see was the vehicle stationed in a car park. It was infuriating. He just hoped the details came back to him soon. In the meantime, he had to do something.
Anything to stop thinking about Lucy being held captive.
Anything that might give him a clue to her whereabouts.
Sam picked up his phone and punched in the numbers he had been given by the two loan sharks.
'Yep?'
The voice was distracted. Disinterested.
'It's the bloke you talked to earlier outside the Renshaw's place,' said Sam. 'I think I might have something.'
Straight away, the tone on the other end changed.
'Oh yeah, what you got?'
'Look, no offence, mate, but I'd rather talk to your boss.'
'Why can't you-'
'Take it or leave it.'
Sam heard a heavy sigh, then whispering and the noise of the phone being handed over.
'You've got some information about Molly Renshaw?' a new voice asked.
'Yeah, that's right,' Sam told him. 'She's living on Hodge Hill Road. A friend of mine saw her coming out of one of the houses-'
'Hodge Hill Road? There's some money up there.'
Sam composed himself. The bloke was falling for it.
'Look, I was wondering. If your guys are going to go up there, can I tag along?'
Sam heard laughter on the other end. It was a spiteful, unpleasant sound. He knew he had more chance of going to the moon.
'Sorry, fella. The guys told me about your situation but that's not my problem. We don't take passengers along with us.'
'Yeah, but if there's more of us...'
More cynical laughter.
'We don't need any help. My boys are capable of looking after the situation.'
Sam exaggerated a sigh.
'I don't know why Carl Renshaw needed to borrow money, anyway,' he said, sounding defeated. 'The bloke was bloody loaded.'
Sam closed his eyes, willing the man to give him something. Any bit of tittle-tattle.
'Drugs, sunshine. That's the rumour. Anyway, thanks for the tip. Have a nice life.'
Sam heard the phone click at the other end.
Now, why had Carl Renshaw needed money for drugs?
Chapter 56
Standing outside the garages at the rear of the flats, Sam realised he couldn't get his car out. Lucy's garage was locked and she had the only key to it on her. He would have to use the Clio again. Sam hoped sticking with the unfamiliar car would prove to be a blessing in disguise.
He drove into town and parked in the small bay outside Rigbys auction house. It was getting late in the day and he didn't have any idea how late such places stayed open. It didn't look promising. There were no lights on at the front. He tried the large oak doors but they were locked. Round the back it was then.
He didn't want to leave the Clio out front on display, so he drove down the side road and carried on past the rear entrance of Rigbys. Driving by, he saw the gates still open. A wagon sat idle in the yard with its lights on. Sam hoped it was just leaving. He parked the Clio just yards past the gates, switched the headlights off and waited. Darkness had descended and the area was practically deserted. Sam checked his phone again. No calls. No texts.
Minutes later, he heard the wagon roar into life. He got out of the car and peeked into the yard. The wagon was coming out. A man waved the driver off before dipping his head under the shutters and going inside the back of the auction house. Sam watched with bated breath. The shutters stayed halfway up.
Sam waited in the shadows until the wagon had turned out of the gates,. Then he walked casually into the yard. A soft yellow light shone weakly from beneath the shutters.
'Hello?' he called out cheerfully, bending down to look under the shutters. He straightened up when he a voice shouted back from inside.
'Hold on, mate. Let me take these up a bit.'
Sam stepped back and watched the shutters rise a few feet, just high enough for someone to walk through upright. They stopped with a shuddering halt. A young man wearing jeans and a jumper looked at him with curiosity.
'Can I help you?' he asked.
'I tried the front but there was no answer,' said Sam, giving him a friendly smile. 'Hope you don't mind me coming round here?'
The young man shrugged easily. He didn't look any more than eighteen years old.
'Well, we're just about to lock up for the day...'
'Ah, I see. Well, I won't keep you. I just wanted to ask about your storage facilities. I need somewhere to store some of my stuff.'
Sam got a blank look in reply.
'You have got a warehouse, haven't you?' asked Sam. 'A friend of mine told me he used your warehouse for storage.'
The man shook his head.
'There's only this despatch area and a small box room for storing items ready to go on auction,' he explained, looking confused. 'Hold on, I'll go and fetch the boss for you. I've only been working here a week.'
Sam thought he was going to be left standing where he was, but the young man invited him to wait inside before disappearing to find his boss. The area Sam found himself in was no more than a modest loading bay, a smaller version of the one at Carl's factory. Against a wall stood a battered grey filing cabinet. Sam walked over to take a closer look. The top drawer was labelled Customer Invoices: A-F. Sam bent down and pulled out the third drawer: M-R. He found it particularly difficult to open. Rust had set in and he only got it out all the way by jiggling it about noisily on its runners. Once it was fully out, Sam took a quick glance behind him. Nobody was coming yet. He turned his attention back to the drawer and rifled through the sheets of paper until he came to the R's. He flicked through them.
Randall. Raymond. Rendall. Renshaw.
Renshaw.
He pulled out the piece of paper and scanned it.
Sale of goods. Mr Carl Renshaw.
Sam heard voices. He hastily folded the piece of paper and stuffed it in his back pocket. The voices were getting nearer. Sam took a quick glance at some of the other sheets in the drawer before slamming it shut, covering the screeching sound with a sudden bout of coughing.
A tall, elegant man with grey hair appeared in the doorway, looking at Sam with mild concern.
'Are you okay?' he asked.
Sam put his hands on his waist and took a few deep breaths.
'Yeah, just a touch of flu. I'll be alright.'
The man gave him a sympathetic look but didn't come any closer.
'Well, I'm Charles Rigby. What can I do for you?'
Sam had prepared for the question. Mentioning Carl's name to Charles Rigby could be risky, but it was a calculated chance he was prepared to tak
e.
'A friend of mine...the late Carl Renshaw...'
Sam watched as Rigby's jaw tensed up and his eyes widened. Everybody in Bursleigh must have heard of Carl Renshaw's tragic and mysterious death by now. It had been all over the news. But Rigby's reaction looked more personal.
'He told me before he died that you stored some of his possessions for him. He recommended that if I never needed to do the same-'
Rigby cut Sam off.
'No, you must be mistaken,' he insisted. 'We haven't got the space here to do such a thing. Anyway, we're an auction house not a storage company.'
More lies. Sam had heard enough.
'Oh, okay,' he said, giving Rigby a disappointed look. 'I must have got it wrong. Sorry to have bothered you.'
Rigby gave him a hollow smile. The colour had drained out of his face. His eyes darted around nervously.
'That's not a problem,' he said, moving towards the shutters. 'I'll see you out.'
Sam allowed himself to be ushered out of the loading bay. Walking across the yard, he heard the shutters come down and thought of how Rigby had been a picture of sobriety and good grace until Carl Renshaw's name had been mentioned.
That told Sam a lot.
Rigby hadn't recognised him. Nor had he asked for his name.
Sam Carlisle meant nothing to Charles Rigby.
His visit hadn't increased the danger to Lucy.
Sam blew out his cheeks in relief.
Chapter 57
He opened the door. All was silent inside. Stealthily, Sam made his way along the hallway. With each peek into an empty room, his heart sank that little bit more. He had allowed himself a brief glimmer of hope while driving back to Lucy's flat. Her captor may have released her. The police may have intervened and rescued her. She might even have escaped.
Sam slumped down on the sofa, castigating himself for his foolish optimism. He checked his phone again, knowing it was useless. No calls. A temptation to throw the phone against the nearest wall in disgust overcame him, but he stopped himself. The mobile was his only hope. With no idea where Lucy was, who was holding her, or even where to look anymore, it was his only possible connection with her captor. Despondently, he dropped the phone gently onto the sofa alongside him.
A New Dawn Rising Page 18