He really did have to go. There was no way he could throw in the towel now. Too much had been invested in this case and he had to see it through. Besides, as he’d told Bev, they had nothing to worry about at the moment. She would have a quick operation to remove the tumour and start the road back to full recovery. Everything would be fine, he was sure of it.
“I can’t stay, Bev.”
“I know.”
She knew, but she didn’t like it. He didn’t either.
“I’ll try to check my phone more often, okay? Leave a message the second you hear anything, and I’ll call you when I can, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry if it takes a while. It’s a bit difficult.”
“I know.” She was a little calmer.
“Mum will be right here,” he reminded her. “Lucy will come and keep you company. You have lots of friends so there’s no need to be alone.”
“I know. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it’s nothing to worry about. Remember Beryl? She had a tumour.”
“A lot of people have them. A quick op and life returns to normal.”
“They haven’t actually mentioned the C-word,” she said, “but I do have high levels of CA-125, which is an early indicator. And they wouldn’t do a MRI scan if they didn’t think—”
“Nothing’s a hundred percent. Worry when there’s something to worry about, okay?”
She nodded, but he knew she’d worry herself sick regardless. He would too.
“You go,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”
He got out of the warm bed and pulled on his clothes. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. I promise. Hopefully, it won’t be too long now.” He reached across the bed to kiss her. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Take care, won’t you? And don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”
He hoped so, but he wasn’t convinced.
He had to go though. It was time to return to the dark shadows of Child’s life.
* * *
No one had stolen the heap of junk DI Rhodes called a car, and miraculously it did the 230-mile journey from London to Dawson’s Clough without skipping a beat. Dylan’s Morgan would have done it faster, but he still managed it in under five hours and that included taking a half-hour break.
During the drive, he’d worked on his story for Child. He’d been arrested during a drugs raid for possession of a weapon, but police had been forced to release him because his claim about it having being planted during the raid had convinced them of his innocence. So he’d stolen a car and driven to London to see if the heat was still on. As it most definitely was, he’d returned to the safety of the refuge to lie low for a while. Hopefully Child would believe that. Maybe he wouldn’t even have missed him. Maybe.
As instructed, he left the car, unlocked and with the keys in the ignition, outside Fletcher’s, where a huge sign promised Class Cars at Bargain Basement Prices, and began the walk through the town. He’d be at the refuge in plenty of time for breakfast.
It was almost six-thirty and the town was slowly waking. A few cars yawned their way through the quiet streets.
He was opposite a fish-and-chip shop on a quiet street when a large dark car slowed to a stop outside an old terraced house that had been converted to flats. A tall, thin man wearing a classy overcoat and carrying a smart leather briefcase emerged from the back of the car, looked left and right, and let himself into the house. It was Kennedy.
Kennedy with a briefcase? Being driven around in an expensive car? Looking smart and businesslike? That didn’t add up.
Lights came on in the second-floor windows of the house. Presumably, as he’d let himself in with a key, Kennedy lived there. It was probably rented, given that two identical properties in the row had Flat to Let signs outside.
A few yards on was a bus shelter, and Dylan settled there to watch the building. All was in darkness except for the second floor. He saw a figure, presumably Kennedy, moving behind curtains.
Minutes ticked by. At seven-thirty, all lights on the second floor were extinguished. A few seconds later, Kennedy emerged. The smart coat and briefcase were gone. In their place was a grubby waterproof coat and a carrier bag.
Dylan would love to get inside that house. He was proud of his breaking-and-entering skills, and if it were a private house, he’d go for it. With a number of tenants inside though, it was too risky.
For now, he had little choice but to follow Kennedy. Dylan suspected they were both heading for the same place.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Leah recalled a book she’d read. She wasn’t into self-help books, but a friend had given it to her, saying it was fascinating, and to pass a train journey, she’d read it. She couldn’t remember too much about it, only that it kept banging on about living in the moment. Nothing, it claimed, was too bad in the present moment. If you stopped dwelling on the past, wishing you’d done or said something differently, and if you didn’t worry about what might happen in the future, life was good. Dogs, the author claimed, were always happy because they didn’t think about past or future. They had no idea they were going to the vet’s next week or that the lump in their throat was leading them to a slow death. If they’d been in trouble last week for peeing on the carpet or chewing a favourite shoe, they’d forgotten.
That was crap though. Dogs abandoned by owners to take their chance at rescue centres weren’t happy. Some were so stressed by a life of confinement that they bounced off the walls of their kennel 24/7 and went so crazy, they had to be put to sleep.
The book was crap. Life at this particular moment was about as bad as it got.
All the same, she supposed she was quite calm. She knew she was going to die in this hellhole and she’d accepted her fate.
She should have known that he’d get to her, that one door wouldn’t keep her safe. Those bolts had stood no chance when faced with an angry man brandishing a heavy fire extinguisher.
He’d dragged her, kicking and screaming, to this windowless room where the only piece of furniture was a bed with a filthy mattress. No sheets, no blankets, no toilet—nothing. Light seeped in from gaps around the ill-fitting door to tell her when darkness fell and when the sun rose.
Then—
Live in the moment, she reminded herself. There was no point reliving the pain.
Her left eye refused to open, two teeth were missing, the cuts on her arms, breasts and legs refused to stop bleeding, and the cigarette burns on her arms and legs—
Live in the moment.
She had no idea of the day, let alone the time. She’d guess it was Tuesday, but she couldn’t be sure. It had been Saturday night when he drove her here, when she realised she wasn’t spending the night in a top London hotel after all.
Sunday night, she’d been raped, cut and beaten. He’d set up a camera on a sturdy tripod so that every second of her pain was recorded. Her only respite had been the brief seconds during which he went to stand behind that camera and made sure it was capturing everything. Several times, he’d stopped to smoke a cigarette. He’d tossed the matches to the floor and stubbed out the cigarettes on her skin. He’d coughed a lot, as if he wasn’t used to smoking.
Every time she thought of that night—
Live in the moment.
On Monday night, she’d been alone. That was last night. He’d left last night, so today had to be Tuesday.
“I’ll be back,” he’d said, but she was past caring.
She knew she was going to die here. She only hoped it was before he returned.
There was no escape. Whether the door was locked was of little consequence because a pair of thick metal handcuffs held her left wrist to the bed.
“Don’t think you’ll get away like that other ungrateful bitch,” he’d said as he snapped the cuffs in place.
If
she’d had the strength, she might have been able to drag the bed around the room. What was the point though? There was no way out.
Unless—
For a brief second, wild glorious hope surged through her. When he’d gone, she’d heard a key turn, yet there was no light shining through the lock. It was a big, old-fashioned lock and the key would be heavy. The floorboards were uneven and there was a gap easily wide enough for a key beneath the door. If the key was in the door, she might be able to poke it out with one of his discarded matches.
There was a little light coming from the gaps around the door, but not enough to see the matches on the floor. She had to run her free hand over the floorboards. She soon found one and she gripped it between her teeth as she tried to drag the bed toward the door. It was easier to push it, and soon she was able to reach the lock.
Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might burst from her rib cage.
She pushed her matchstick into the lock. It stopped. The key was still in the lock. She poked it, she wriggled the matchstick in the lock. Nothing happened.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she continued to work her matchstick in the lock. Minutes ticked by. Perhaps hours ticked by. Her matchstick was ruined, every bone in her body hurt and every inch of skin was bruised and bleeding, but she knew she mustn’t give up.
She dragged the bed back a little and used her free hand to sweep the floorboards for more spent matches. She found another and pushed the bed back to the door. Her new match was soon useless.
It was hopeless. There was no escape. Deep down, she’d known that.
Perhaps the worst part was knowing that no one had a clue where she was. She’d walked out on her parents on impulse and hadn’t told them she was going to Leeds to stay with Shelley. They didn’t even know Shelley. Even if they had known her, Shelley and her boyfriend would simply tell them that she’d left Leeds to stay at the refuge. People at the refuge would believe she’d gone home or returned to Leeds. And what would they care? They didn’t even know her real name. They might wonder in passing what had happened to Anna Woodward but that would be as far as it went.
No one knew where she was. Worse, no one cared.
All was silent. The only smell was her own body odour and her own filth. All she could taste was blood. She had no food, no water and no escape.
That book she’d read was full of shit. No dog, no matter how expert it was at living in the moment, would be happy to be chained to a bed and in so much pain it no longer cared if it lived or died.
Chapter Thirty-Six
When Dylan sat down to breakfast in the refuge’s kitchen, he wondered if the biting cold weather was responsible for robbing people of their sense of humour.
Ivy, usually a busy, smiling woman, was slamming plates around and banging them down on the table for this shift of diners.
“Everything all right, Ivy?” he asked.
“No.” She placed her hands on her ample hips and sighed. “No. Everything isn’t all right.”
“What’s the problem?”
Everyone in the room—all twelve of them—were quiet. Ivy could be relied upon to be bright and chirpy, to offer a smile for everyone and always look on the bright side. People were uneasy in the face of this angry Ivy.
“When I retired,” she said, “I wanted something to do to get me out of the house. I didn’t need the money—well, no more than anyone else—so I decided on voluntary work. Well, I wanted to get away from my Alf too, because he was under my feet all day, but that’s another story.” She eased herself into a vacant chair, the anger ebbing from her. “I worked in Oxfam’s shop for a while, but that closed so I came here. I liked the whole idea of the place. As far as I could see, everyone helped those in need. I know I can swear like a trooper, but I’m a Christian and I like to help others. I wouldn’t dream of slamming my religion down anyone’s throat, it has to be their own decision, but I wanted to help those who wanted or needed help.”
Dylan, along with everyone else, waited for her to go on.
“Well, pardon me for saying so, but I don’t feel as if I’m helping anyone. All I seem to do is cook breakfasts and clean this place. What’s the point of that? I thought we were setting up the soup kitchen today, but no. It’s been cancelled again. All I am is an unpaid skivvy. I’m doing nothing useful.”
There were murmurs of agreement from around the table.
“I agree,” Sharon said. “We’re certainly not getting out into the community as much as we used to, or as much as I feel we should.”
“I’ve had the impression that Joe’s losing interest lately.” Adrian couldn’t quite bring himself to be critical of Child. As far as he was concerned, the man was a saint. “Perhaps he’s got a lot on his mind. That young man who was killed, Christian Fraser, that was a friend of his. Like a son to him, he told me.”
People agreed and expressed sympathy for the family.
Adrian was behaving differently toward Dylan. He was edgy, reserved. Dylan wondered if he’d done or said something to upset the bloke. Or perhaps Adrian had seen the small paragraph in the local paper that told how David Young had been arrested during a raid on a local pub and released without charge. He would disapprove.
Hank Child stormed into the room and everyone fell silent. He helped himself to coffee, then turned around to look down his nose at them all. “I don’t suppose anyone’s heard from Anna?”
“Nothing. Sorry,” Sharon said.
“Anna?” Dylan asked. “What’s she doing?”
“Now there’s a question we’d all like answered.” Hank’s voice was like ice. He looked at Dylan as if he were dog shit, shook his head in despair at the rest of them and carried his coffee out of the room. Dylan didn’t take it personally. Hank considered himself a cut above everyone.
“What’s all that about?” he asked.
“I think Anna’s been leading him on,” Sharon said, her voice little more than a whisper. “He was expecting to meet her on Saturday night and she didn’t turn up. We haven’t heard from her since.”
“Someone saw her in Tempo—that nightclub in town,” Adrian said. “She was dancing with a group of girls and having a laugh.”
“She’s taken her belongings,” Sharon put in, “so she never had any intention of coming back here. You’d think she could have said goodbye, wouldn’t you? Mind, that’s young people for you.”
“Did she have any belongings?” Dylan had thought she’d turned up with just a backpack.
“Oh, yes,” Sharon said, “and it’s all gone—iPod, phone and chargers, clothes, toiletries—all gone.”
“Didn’t she say anything?” he asked. “Was she meeting someone? Going back to her friends in Leeds?”
“That’s just it,” Sharon said. “She didn’t say a word. We didn’t get so much as a ‘good to meet you.’”
Maybe she’d taken his advice and gone home. He hoped so. If that were the case though, he would have expected her to say goodbyes to them all.
Child stormed into the room then and Dylan decided the weather must be making everyone grumpy. He looked straight at Dylan. “Can’t you keep out of trouble for more than five minutes, Davey?”
“Seems not.” Dylan shrugged. “It’s okay though. There was a drugs raid—”
“So I heard. And you’re the one found with a gun. Nice one.”
Ivy gasped. Sharon’s hand went to cover her mouth and she inched back from Dylan as if she expected him to put a bullet through her heart.
“I read about it in the paper,” Adrian said, which explained his reservation.
“Except it wasn’t mine,” Dylan said. “I’d never seen it before in my life. When the coppers arrived, I wasn’t wearing my jacket. I put it on, about to make a sharp exit, and the coppers searched me at the same moment I discovered it. Som
e rotten bugger had obviously been looking for a hiding place and my jacket was the best place.”
“The coppers believed that?” Child’s tone was scoffing.
“It’s the truth.”
“I don’t want them sniffing round here,” Child said. “They’re here often enough as it is.”
Was Child finally feeling uncomfortable?
“That’s because of the missing girls,” Dylan said. “It’s nothing to do with me.”
Child merely grunted.
“And now I hear Anna’s taken off,” Dylan said. “I hope she’s okay.”
“Of course she is. Christ, she’s a grown woman.”
“Is she hell. She’s just a kid.”
“I agree.” Ivy sounded nervous, but people did when Child was in a bad mood. “The more I saw of her, the more I thought she was probably closer to sixteen than eighteen.”
“Rubbish,” Child said. “Anyway, she said when she came here that it was only for a day or two. I for one didn’t expect her to stay longer. If you lot did, you’re dafter than you look.”
Charming.
“Right, you’re all going into town today after all. I’ve had a change of mind. It’s high time we set up the soup kitchen or the homeless will think we’ve deserted them. The leaflets are all ready to go—Simon’s loading up the van. I’ll be late getting there as I have a spot of business to attend to, but I’ll join you early evening to see how it’s going. Do you think you can manage without me?”
“Yes,” Ivy said, looking relieved. “I was just saying we hadn’t been out doing charity work for a while. It’ll be good to get out.”
Business to attend to? Dylan would love to know what that was. With luck, he’d find out. He’d go into town with the rest of them and sneak off on the pretext of going farther afield in the town to hand out leaflets. Then he’d double back to the refuge and see what Child was up to.
“Meanwhile, try to keep the noise down, will you?” Child added. “Doll’s not feeling too great this morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ivy said. “Is there anything I can do? Would she like—?”
Deadly Shadows (A Dylan Scott Mystery) Page 24