Weaver turned to Pope, petulance gathering his eyebrows in. “So we’re going to sit here and watch it all play out? Even though we don’t need the GPS to know exactly where this is going to end?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Will watched the YouTube clip in his hotel room. The video had been uploaded only a day before his arrival in Singapore. It was an explanation of the fire that had been set on their doorstep in June and another illustration of how long planned the kidnappers’ actions had been.
It was an intimidation device, planted in the knowledge that it would be found. They knew they’d be searching for Ren online as soon as Will had set the blaze. As he watched the man he’d left dead in the surgery for a third time he knew he was delaying.
Will didn’t want to see the image of Luke, but had to go to the site and the penultimate house. The photo was suspended above it and it seemed to eclipse everything he’d witnessed. Was it because he knew Luke? He’d eaten at their table, laid on the couch with them in front of the TV and Will had carefully monitored him hanging around the summer house with Libby. He tried to remember his voice, any exchanges they’d had. He was quietly spoken, but had an explosive laugh that had raised his and Carla’s eyebrows the first time they’d heard it.
He couldn’t deny he’d perceived him as an interloper. But he’d regarded all of Libby’s boyfriends in the same way because he hadn’t believed her ready for an adult relationship. Luke had been a part of their lives for nearly two years and the idea of his last breath being wrung from him so callously was sickening.
His life had ended because he’d been with Libby. Had they both been taken because of something Will had been party to? He thought of Luke’s parents and how oblivious they were to his death, recalled the evening he and Carla had invited them to the house. Will had been on autopilot, believed it was time wasted because the boy wouldn’t be around long.
His behaviour then revolted him now. Everyone had been in on the pregnancy that night except Will. Carla had known how he’d react and had saved the news for when they were alone. He’d been dumbstruck, had quickly realised why Luke had been grinning so nervously for the entire evening. Then he’d been furious. He hadn’t concealed the depth of his anger from Libby either.
He thought of Luke tied up with the bag being held around his neck, but it was Libby’s face he saw breathing in the polythene. He tried to remember the last thing he’d said to her. It was probably a response to a text or an email.
He minimised Luke’s fogged expression and searched for Ren. He found the photos of him at the ball. What was the charity Carla had said Franks had been a patron of? He opened another tab to go to the Senator’s bio, but decided to visit CNN online first. Maybe there were more details released about Franks and what he’d been doing at the Gold Coast apartment.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“An all-out, state-wide manhunt has been launched by the FBI for the murderers of Richard Strick, Lieutenant Governor of Maryland, and his family who were found dead in their home in Ellicott City last weekend. The murderers are also wanted in connection with multiple homicides committed at the Bel Air home of Strick’s ex- private secretary, Wesley Monro, and the Florida holiday apartment of Consolidated Breweries CEO, Holt Amberson.
“FBI spokeswoman, Trisha Thorn, says there is ‘compelling evidence’ to suggest they may be seeking the same individuals, a man and a woman, in connection with the murder of Jacob Franks, US Senator for Illinois. Senator Franks’ body was discovered in a Chicago apartment on Sunday. Eyewitness reports and CCTV footage have enabled authorities to release a sketch of one of the suspects. The public is advised not to personally confront them, but to report any sightings immediately.”
A sketch of Will stared blankly from an image superimposed beside the anchorman. Carla’s call came seconds after. He froze the news clip on his laptop.
“Have you seen it?” Her tone suggested she already understood what the release of the picture signified.
“I’m being hunted,” he said darkly. He studied the artist’s impression. The hair length was shorter than his, the composition of the features slightly disproportionate, but it was a pretty accurate likeness. Where had the CCTV cameras captured him? “They obviously haven’t managed to get a statement from Monro’s daughter yet.”
“She’s probably still too traumatised. But you’re still ahead of them.” Her words were leaden. She knew it did little to better the situation.
“Even if they can’t identify me from prints, every airport will have security footage. They only have to check the flight manifests to see who flew between the specific crime scenes and they’ll have an answer.”
“They still obviously believe you’re in the US.”
He knew she was trying to bolster him, looking for hope in every dirty crevice. “They’ll soon know where I’ve gone, though.”
“What about any evidence she’s left behind?”
Carla’s words prompted him to consider something he hadn’t before. She hadn’t worn gloves in the doctor’s surgery. Had she been wearing them in the Chicago apartment? What about hair, fibres from her clothes and the bloodied footprints she’d left by the pool in Kissimmee? Will knew nothing about forensics, but why hadn’t she made any attempts to conceal her presence? “OK, they have to be closing in on her, but it’s my face on TV.”
Carla was silent. Both of them knew they would soon catch up to him, maybe before he could make it to the next address.
“I’ve paid for cabs, checked into hotels, used the credit card every time. I didn’t exactly cover my tracks. If we don’t get the next location soon there are probably a hundred different ways of them finding me.”
It was an undeniable fact, the very people who should have been able to help them could now remove the one slender chance they had of ever seeing Libby alive.
“And who knows when I’ll get the address – a couple of hours from now? A day?”
“She’s still at the hotel. She’s got to be monitoring the news as well. She wants you to finish this.”
The last time they’d spoken, they’d discussed police intervention. Now they would have begged to be led to the end of the street without them. “But maybe amusing herself further isn’t worth the risk. Perhaps now they’ll tell us what they want.”
“There’s an agenda, Will. She’ll make sure you see it through. Killing Luke was the ultimate example of that.”
Silence; both their minds reluctantly recalled the depiction of Luke’s final moment.
“She wants to terrify you.”
It was Will. He felt like he and Carla had faced everything together, but it had been his name explicitly in the instructions. He’d been told to fly to Florida. In the absence of a ransom demand, the campaign had to be aimed at him. What could Carla have done, even indirectly, to have this inflicted? Again he speculated whether it was something way back; an oblique involvement in an episode he was being held to account for. He looked down at the laptop and the soulless eyes of his figurative countenance staring out at him.
“But we know nothing more than when we started.” He wanted to curl up against the pain now. “The people she’s killed are strangers. There’s no connection between them or me. Dr Ren seems even more far removed.”
“Apart from the website for the practice and the odd charity photo he’s managed to avoid making any real digital footprint. You’d expect there to be more out there. Maybe that’s significant. Perhaps he’s hiding something behind all the respectability.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“They know we’ll be looking for him online. Perhaps there isn’t anything to find.” He stood and walked the pain off. Didn’t want his body to shut down.
“What about money? Have you got enough so you don’t have to use an ATM?”
“For the moment, but I suspect I’m going to have to get on another plane soon. I’m going to need some the other end.”
He was right, but the destination he received, just o
ver an hour later, wasn’t the one he’d anticipated.
Tam woke with jolt. There were lots of noises around him and as they perforated his oblivion he became aware of how cold he felt. His teeth chattered and he curled his body into himself as much as his bonds would allow.
The halogen lights had been turned on and their glare steadily invaded his senses. Through slits he could see nothing but hot yellow and waited for his sight to accustom itself to the light. But then the bulbs were extinguished and darkness fell.
He heard slow, dragging footfalls ascending the concrete steps and opened his eyes wider to see shapes amongst the shadows. But there was one he couldn’t see that had been there before. He rolled sideways, anticipating his soft impact against the girl. Until then her presence had been blocking the draught across the floor. Tam shivered. She was gone.
The instructions obliterated Will’s last hope of a reunion with Libby. He stared unblinkingly at them and knew Carla would be doing the same.
Dundee,
UK
Eight hundred miles was the closest he’d got to his daughter. Now he would be flying six thousand miles away from her. The location drained his final reserves of nervous energy and he contemplated what his return to the UK meant.
Another flight of thirteen hours and at the end of it...? When he’d left the UK, he hadn’t expected to return. Walking off the plane without her and having to look into Carla’s eyes would be the worst thing he’d faced.
There was only one door left before his. Libby wasn’t going to be there. What would they have him believe? That they’d fly her back as a prisoner?
Ingram had no pipelines in the territory. He’d never been there. Did someone they’d done business with in the past operate in the district? How could it possibly be connected to the locations he’d already visited? He was sick of stacking questions. The blow of the coming return allowed fatigue to intervene.
He massaged his face and clicked on the cracked, yellow rendered front of the house. He went through the images. It was the most basic of all the addresses that had been photographed. The downstairs walls were a grubby mint green. The only furniture in the living area was a double couch, TV and glass cabinet of ceramic figurines. The bedrooms upstairs had the curtains drawn. In the larger one, the yellowing, coverless duvet on the king size divan was in disarray. When Will examined it closer he could see it wasn’t just unmade, but that there was actually somebody twisted up in it.
It was an adult, but in the dinginess it was impossible to identify if it was a man or woman. The body was concealed and the head sunk into the dirty pillow. The most terrifying aspect of the image was that the photographer must have stood in the doorway and taken it while they slept. Her intrusion on the homes seemed to be becoming bolder with each address. Easton Grey was next.
It was probable whoever lived at the property in Dundee had as much time left to live as it took Will to reach them. He’d nearly been able to save Ren. Would she allow him to rescue anyone here? He doubted it.
Luke’s pointless death proved they were inhuman. They obviously wanted to draw out Will’s torment. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t imprisoned; this was slow asphyxiation.
How could he not go? Even though they’d given him every reason to believe Libby was already dead, they knew he’d finish.
Carla called, neither of them vocalising the thoughts they shared about his return. They’d made the choice to see it through. It was all they could do. But now the concrete futility of it removed any speculation from their exchange. Their dialogue was truncated by bleak resignation.
Carla would make the arrangements. She would use the new location as a starting point and cross-reference Ingram’s client base to see if they had any network there. It was what they’d both been doing since Libby had been abducted and it had led nowhere. The Ambersons, the Stricks, the Monros, Jacob Franks and Dr Ren. All dead within the time it had taken him to navigate the street.
When he hung up he did something he hadn’t told Carla he’d do. He rang the kidnappers’ mobile number. He would plead with them, promise anything if they only agreed to let him speak to Libby.
It was still engaged.
The GPS told him that the killer had been at the airport an hour already. He hoped it meant she would be taking off soon. He couldn’t be on the same plane as her. He snapped the laptop shut, choked down some more pills and dragged himself to the stairs.
Carla had spent another long night alone in the office. As she’d visited the bathroom she’d encountered a few staff members returning to their desks to check emails before returning to the Remada ops room. Will’s phone had been silent since Nissa had been fielding his calls from there and Carla had kept the blinds closed against the empty reception.
With everything that had happened she was glad of the isolation. While she looked for answers that weren’t there she could only contemplate the conversation she would have with Luke’s family and wait for Will to return without Libby.
Somebody tapped the door so lightly that, at first, Carla thought she’d imagined it. She looked up from her position in front of the screen and waited. It came again.
“Yes?” She didn’t disguise her agitation.
The door opened and Nissa gingerly slipped her tall frame in, quietly closing it behind her as if something might escape the room.
“What are you still doing here?” She realised the comment only highlighted her own continued presence.
“It’s just that things are hotting up out there and a lot of people need to speak to Will...”
“Of course. I’ll pass that on when I speak to him later.” Carla felt a tug in her chest when Nissa made no move to leave.
“I hope you don’t mind, but in light of our last conversation I got the impression you didn’t want to be disturbed here.” Her accent couldn’t make it sound anything other than an understatement. “So I tried contacting Will on his mobile and at home…and on his private mobile.” She pressed her spectacles into the middle of her nose, a microscope to study Carla’s reaction.
“I told you he was in Sussex on family business.”
“Yes. See I just tried him there and they all seemed very confused by your story.” She raised her eyebrows as she emphasised the last word and cocked her head to one side.
Carla opened her mouth, but her mind went blank, all the sleepless hours voiding any fabrications she should have had in reserve.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The cab ejected Will at Changi International in a dosed-up stupor. As the passengers buffeted him in the terminal he wondered how much damage the fire had caused and if the police had unchained Ren’s body from the chair. It was 10.32am and his flight left just before midday. He sluggishly estimated it would be around ten at night when he got back to the UK. He picked up his tickets from the machine and joined the line for check-in.
Anxiety overrode pain and he darted his head at every female in the vicinity. He couldn’t share a flight cabin with her again. After what had been done to Luke, he doubted he could restrain himself. He quickly scrutinised the GPS map. Her dot had vanished again. She was definitely in the air. He told himself insomnia and the medication were making him paranoid.
There was a police presence in the terminal. Blue uniforms and red berets mingling with the passengers. He counted three armed with rifles. Was this standard procedure or had there been an incident? Could it be a response to Ren’s murder?
Carla had conceded she’d lied about Will’s whereabouts but with good reason. It wasn’t sufficient for Nissa, however, who was still standing cross-armed, refusing to take the receiver from her.
“Please, call the police back. Tell them it’s been a mistake.”
“First, where’s Will? Or should I ask Anwar?”
“Nissa, I don’t have time for this, what are you talking about?”
“I booked the Cawley Manor trip that you, Will and Libby were meant to be taking the weekend. What happened on Friday to make you turn
up here for the first time in eight months having panicky telephone conversations and booking rapid travel arrangements?”
Carla wondered which events she could pick out of the last handful of days that would satisfy Nissa, but wouldn’t sabotage everything. She couldn’t risk having a conversation about any of it with the police.
“What makes you not want to go home for the night even though you tell me Will’s there? Before you changed that story, of course.”
“Will was with me here early Saturday morning. You can ask security.” But it seemed like such a long time ago she almost doubted it herself. “I’ve told you I can explain everything, but you have to trust me and call the police back now.”
“Then you have me pulling files to keep me out of the way before Anwar turns up.”
“So, that’s what this is. You think Anwar and I…?”
Nissa raised her eyebrow. “It’s no secret he’s smitten with you. Will told me about the night they both got drunk. He might have brushed it off, but I know exactly how persuasive Anwar can be.” The intimation in her eyes was unmistakable.
“You and Anwar are an item?”
“Were, a long time ago, the Thailand trip. So over now.”
Carla doubted that. “But he always gets your name wrong.”
“No. You always get my name wrong.”
“Your name is Nessa?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. I know you do it to bait me.”
“No, I’ve always called you Nissa because I thought that was your name. Why has Will never corrected me?”
“It was our in-joke. It amused him, but I know you do it because you’ve always resented our professional relationship.”
Carla knew she had to discard every triviality she was hearing. If she allowed this to continue several minor misunderstandings were about to expose everything she’d protected for the last four days. She slammed her palm flat on the desk. “Please listen, I haven’t disposed of Will. I’m certainly not having an affair with Anwar, but I do need you to call the police and stop them coming here. If I told you somebody’s life actually depended on it would you please do it for me now?”
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