by Linda Huber
It was clear to Caitlyn that Mim thought nothing of the sort, but the words seemed to comfort Frankie. The poor kiddie had probably been used to her mother staying out overnight and limping home the following morning with a hangover, but hell – Sarah would not do that to Mim.
Caitlyn rubbed her face. ‘Jack was driving, was he?’
‘Yes. So she might have stayed with him. But look at the time, Caitlyn – why isn’t she home yet?’
Caitlyn didn’t know what to say. Mim was right. If Sarah had stayed at Jack’s he’d have brought her home on his way to work. And he would start at eight in the morning and it was after that now. Of course, he could be on an evening shift today, or maybe he’d arranged a day off, to be with Sarah? But that came back to the same thing – Sarah would have let Mim know.
Caitlyn’s stomach was churning now, and she lifted her phone again. ‘I’ll try phoning Jack at the hospital.’
Mim gave a little sob. ‘Oh Caitlyn, he’ll be portering about all over the place, they won’t find him.’
‘They will. Even if he doesn’t have a bleep, someone will know which department he’s gone to.’ She listened as the number connected and rang out, two, three, four times before a woman’s voice spoke.
‘Brockburn General Hospital.’
‘I need to speak to Jack Morrison, one of your porters, as soon as possible. It’s an urgent family matter.’
A moment later Caitlyn was put through to someone in the porter’s office. She gave her own mobile number and Mim’s landline, stressing the urgency of the situation without divulging any details.
‘We’ll give him ten minutes,’ she said, handing Mim the landline phone. ‘I think you should call Harry West.’
Mim’s knuckles on the phone were white, and her voice was a mere whisper. ‘Caitlyn – she’s a grown woman.’
Caitlyn reached for Mim’s free hand, not wanting to say how afraid she was. Frankie was silent on her chair beside Mim, shoulders high and eyes wary. Mim pressed out the number. She stumbled over the words, telling them that Sarah was missing, then listened for a few seconds before breaking the connection and staring first at Caitlyn and then at Frankie.
Caitlyn swallowed bile. ‘Mim?’
‘Harry West is already on his way to see us. He’ll be here in a few minutes.’
Caitlyn’s ears buzzed and she gripped the edge of the table hard. Sarah? Mim’s face was a sickly grey colour and Frankie was shivering.
‘Has Sarah disappeared like my mum?’ she said, tears choking her voice.
‘I don’t know, lovey,’ said Mim bleakly.
Caitlyn fought to stay calm. Sarah had disappeared, and whatever had happened, it must have been hours ago now. Caitlyn leaned back, both hands pressed against her mouth and oblivious to the chair-back digging into her shoulder blades. Her thoughts spiralled round, dark and fearsome. Petra. Netta Chisholm. And now Sarah. Everything happens in threes, they say. And what were the police doing? All this time had passed since Petra had disappeared, why wasn’t her murderer languishing in a prison cell? And why hadn’t Jack kept Sarah safe?
Her phone on the table buzzed, making them all jump. It was a mobile number; this must be Jack. Caitlyn and Mim exchanged wide-eyed looks, then Caitlyn swung her chair round beside Mim’s to allow them both to hear what was being said.
‘Jack?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘Caitlyn Mackie. I’m phoning from Mim’s. Sarah didn’t come home last night. Do you know where she is? We’re worried.’
‘She didn’t… Oh God. Oh my God, oh no… She – oh shit…’
‘What is it? What happened? Where is she?’
Jack was hyperventilating down the phone. Panic filled Caitlyn as seconds passed without him speaking. When he did his voice was a mere whisper.
‘It was late… and there were traffic delays from the burst water main. She wouldn’t let me bring her all the way across town… there was a bus coming and she made me leave her in the High Street, near the bus stop. No, oh no – where is she?’
He sounded distraught, but Caitlyn felt no sympathy for the man. Mim was crumpled in her chair, and Frankie’s eyes were wild. She hadn’t heard Jack’s story.
‘The police are on their way here,’ said Caitlyn brusquely. ‘We’ll let you know what happens.’ She clicked the phone off and put her arm round Mim. ‘Jack dropped Sarah at the bus stop on the High Street last night,’ she told Frankie.
The doorbell rang before the girl could answer, and Frankie ran to let Harry West and Mandy Craven in. Caitlyn kept a tight hold of Mim. What was Harry going to tell them, hell on earth, was Sarah dead? Maybe they had found her body, beaten and crumpled, dumped and cold in a ditch somewhere? Caitlyn could feel Mim’s shoulders shaking. But Harry gave them a brief nod when he entered the kitchen, and Mandy Craven smiled quickly. It wasn’t the worst news.
Harry West spoke first. ‘Mrs Dunbar, we need to speak to you –’ His gaze shifted to include Caitlyn ‘– alone. Mandy.’
Mandy Craven turned to Frankie. ‘You can come to the other room with me, Frankie.’
The girl was standing hands on hips, and quickly, Caitlyn reached across and touched Frankie’s arm. They didn’t have time for arguments this morning.
‘Please, Frankie. It’s quickest if we do what they say.’
Frankie glared at Mandy Craven and flounced out of the room. The policewoman followed.
Harry West cleared his throat. ‘Last night, a taxi company received a call at about half past eleven, from a woman who said a man was following her. When the taxi got there he couldn’t find the woman, and the company contacted us. We sent a car round but there was no sign of anything untoward.’
Mim gave a slight moan, and Caitlyn hugged her again.
Harry West wasn’t finished. ‘This morning, a bag was found in a shop doorway round the corner from the bank in the High Street. I’m afraid it’s Sarah’s bag. The woman who found it brought it in. There was no purse or phone, but there’s a membership card for a Swiss sports centre, in Sarah’s name.’
A dull headache starting behind her eyes, Caitlyn told Harry West about Sarah’s date the previous evening and Jack’s phone call a few minutes ago. Harry rapped out several questions about Sarah’s friends and her relationship with Jack, and Caitlyn and Mim answered as well as they could. Harry’s face became grimmer with every question.
‘Okay. We’ll interview Jack Morrison, and see what witnesses we can find. Someone at the bus stop could have noticed something. I’ll need a photo of Sarah. And a description of what she was wearing last night.’
‘Caitlyn, can you fetch the photo on top of the television, please.’
Stifling a sob, Caitlyn left the room as Mim started to describe Sarah’s outfit. Sarah had dressed up to go out with Jack. She’d been anticipating a happy evening. Caitlyn rubbed her eyes with her sleeve.
Frankie jumped up from the sofa, but Caitlyn shook her head. ‘We’ll fill you in soon, Frankie, I promise.’
She hurried back with the photo – Sarah in the garden, wearing a big happy smile. A thought struck Caitlyn as she handed the photo to Harry. ‘Ralph Bailey?’
Harry shook his head. ‘He’ll be checked, but there’s no reason to think he has anything to do with this. And the signature on Wilma’s withdrawal was ninety-nine per cent certainly hers. Thanks. We’ll see ourselves out.’
Frankie flew back to the kitchen before the officers had closed the front door. ‘What did he say?’
Caitlyn saw that Mim was fighting for control, and gave the girl a brief summary of what was happening. There was no point in hiding the truth.
Frankie began to shake, curling into a ball on the floor beside the kitchen table.
‘I want my mum, and I want Sarah, I want my mum, I want my mum,’ she moaned, her voice rising hysterically.
Caitlyn seized the child’s forearm and gave it a little shake. ‘I know you do. But this isn’t helping, Frankie,’ she said firmly, trying to
jerk the girl back into control.
Frankie leapt up and ran upstairs, slamming every door she passed through.
Caitlyn turned back to Mim. ‘Shall I go after her?’
Mim was pale, but her eyes were determined. She was tough, was Mim.
‘Leave her be, Caitlyn. She hasn’t had a real crying jag since her mother’s memorial, it’ll do her good. We’ve got to think. We’ve got to find Sarah before it’s too late.’
‘It might be too late already.’ Caitlyn could hardly get the words out.
To her surprise Mim turned on her. ‘If you talk like that then it is too late! So don’t! Think what we can do to find Sarah.’
Caitlyn rubbed her face on her sleeve. ‘Okay. Someone must have been watching Sarah, following her and Jack, waiting to get her on her own. Because she knew something, but we don’t know what. So who could this person be?’
They looked at each other. There was no way to know.
Caitlyn stood up and put the kettle on. Tea was good for shock and it might help them think. ‘Let’s go further back. This is the same person who took Petra. She disappeared in the hospital grounds, so presumably she got into someone’s car. Whose car would she get into?’
‘It was a terrible day,’ said Mim, frowning as she remembered. ‘She’d have been pleased to get a lift.’
‘Yes. But it’s still unlikely she’d get into a car with a complete stranger. So either it was someone she knew personally, or else it was someone she knew from the hospital.’
‘You’re right,’ said Mim, staring. ‘She didn’t necessarily know him well. Assuming it was a him. So it could be a neighbour, a friend, someone she worked with – or someone from the hospital.’
‘And now this same person must have picked Sarah up in the High Street. Mim, if it’s someone from the hospital, we’ll find them. Let’s get Frankie back down here because we need her input. I’ll fetch Glynis’s list and we’ll see if anyone there strikes either of you.’
Mim pulled herself to her feet, and Caitlyn raced back home for the list. They must find Sarah in time, they must.
Her whole body hurt. Lie still, Sarah advised herself. A nurse’ll come soon. It’ll get better. She lay there, forcing herself to breathe evenly, slowly becoming aware that something was very wrong. She was on a bed but she couldn’t move and she couldn’t see, either. The smell was tinged with hospitals, but it was old and musty too. What had happened?
Jack’s car, yes. She’d been in the car with Jack. They were going back to his house for coffee. She could remember turning left at the lights into Albion Street, but after that her mind was blank. There must be more to remember – had they crashed? And why was it so dark? Oh no – shit, shit, was she trapped in the car? Her heartbeat clattered in her ears; it was difficult not to panic. Pain crashed through her head every time she tried to move. Her body was heavy and limp, oh God – was she paralysed? Breathe, Sarah. Just breathe for now.
Her thoughts cleared gradually. She wasn’t in the car, but it didn’t seem to be a hospital either. The smell was too stale. She was lying flat, and her feet... She couldn’t move her legs much because… because her feet were stuck together… and her hands…
Setting her teeth against the pain, Sarah spread her fingers, but – her hands were stuck; she couldn’t pull them apart. She tried to lift her arms – oh no. Christ no. Her hands were tied at the wrists, and a sheet or something was covering her. Horror swamped down; she could feel her lips tingling. Had she been buried alive? Panting, she moved her hands upwards and as far as she could to the side; oh thank God – there was space round about her. She ran her fingers over the rough cloth that was covering her head. Sackcloth. That was where the smell was coming from. But the sheet – she could feel it with the back of her hands and it was right up over her head. Like a dead body. The horror chilled back. She wasn’t in a coffin, but someone had tied her up and gagged her and left her here.
Where was Jack? They’d been in the car… and then they’d stopped, hadn’t they – but where had they been? She couldn’t remember, and her head hurt so terribly. Who had done this to her? Was she going to die, like Petra? Jack, Mim, help me…
The panic was unstoppable now and she moaned, sweat breaking out on her brow, her back, between her legs as she tried frantically to pull the ill-smelling sack away. But the cloth moved centimetres at most, it was tied on round the back or something, and everything was pitch black. She couldn’t even scream; the only sounds she was able to make were choking, throaty moans. Blackness rose inside her and she felt her thoughts slide away as the pain in her head took over.
It’s a nightmare, Sarah decided. You’re having a nightmare. Go back to sleep. Everything will be all right in the morning.
She lay still, and after a while a strange kind of peace seeped through her. She dozed, half-waking every now and then as a stab of pain sliced through her head. Someone would come soon and help her. Jack would have gone for help; it would be all right…
It was still black dark when she awoke properly, but the throbbing in her head was no longer crushing. Sarah listened, but there was nothing to be heard except the sound of her own breathing, shuddering and irregular. Eyes closed against the darkness, she tried to work things out.
Someone had brought her here. The last thing she remembered was… arriving at Jack’s lock-up. After that there was nothing. Had someone been waiting at the lock-up? It seemed the most logical explanation. And what had happened to Jack? They were both in grave danger; she had to get away. She had no idea what time it was, but if it was still night, Mim wouldn’t have realised yet that she was gone.
Shuddering, Sarah rolled onto her right side and stretched her tied hands forwards. She couldn’t move them enough to grip anything, but she could feel the edge of the mattress. She was on some kind of bed, and the sheet covering her was loose – she could pull it off. For a moment she concentrated on this, and the cloth slid away. Okay. She should try to sit up.
It took a couple of goes, but eventually she managed to push up into a sitting position, her head swirling. Her feet touched the floor – oh – she had lost a sandal. She kicked the remaining one off and took a shaky breath. Sitting up, she didn’t feel so helpless. But it was very disorientating, surrounded by blackness and no idea where she was.
Slowly, Sarah pulled at the sacking covering her head, and by bending her face down over her knees and pulling with both hands, she managed to free her head of the cloth. Christ, that was better.
It was still almost completely dark. Sarah waited, blinking, giving her eyes time to adjust. She could make out dim shadows to her left, as if there was a tiny window over there. There might be people on the other side. Hope flared and she tried to cry out, but she could hardly make a sound. The gag was disgusting – foul-tasting and much too tight; it was breaking the skin at the corners of her mouth. She pulled at it with her fingers, but it hardly budged and her efforts only broke more skin round her mouth. And there was no way she could get the cords off her hands or feet, either. It was too painful, and her skin was already torn and raw under the bonds.
Sarah sat still, trying to think logically. Every minute or two a sick wave of pain surged through her head, but she knew she had to stay conscious and think. There might not be much time left. If she’d been brought here by the same person who killed Petra, then he was going to come back and kill her too. But why? She didn’t even know who he was. But that was beside the point; the important thing was to get out of here. She turned her head towards the small patch of dim light – she should try to get over there. If it was a window she might be able to attract someone’s attention.
Taking care not to lose her balance, she stood up, wincing as the bonds round her ankles rubbed over broken skin. She tried to take little shuffling steps, but the cords tore cruelly at her skin, and warm blood trickled down her ankles. This was no use. If she fell and broke a leg here she’d be done for. She sank to her knees, and found that by pushing with her bound arm
s on the floor she was able to slide on her knees towards the dim light. Her dress tore and her back ached, but she carried on, and on. The floor was wooden and very dusty, and she kept bumping into things she couldn’t see and then having to make a detour round them.
It seemed to take hours, but at last she arrived at the dim light. Something was blocking it, though, a box, or a carton. Right. Now to stand up again. Slowly, Sarah, you can do this.
Moaning aloud as cramped muscles and torn skin protested, she pushed herself to her feet and stood, supported by the wall. Okay, she was standing beside something big here, and the dim light was directly behind it. She reached out again and felt cardboard. It was a pile of boxes, and it moved when she pushed it. Straining, she leant against it and pushed with all her might. Two boxes tumbled to the floor, revealing a tiny window, much too high and too small to climb out. It was covered in the dust of years, and a bush was pressing against it on the other side in ground that was at window level. So she was in a cellar.
Panting, Sarah felt tears well up in her eyes. Wherever this cellar was, it didn’t seem to be the kind of place that was often used. Standing precariously on tiptoe, she managed to touch the window, rubbing it with her fingers, trying to clean the glass and let more light in.
It was daylight outside, but not sunny. Sarah squinted at her watch – it was partially under the cords round her wrists but a couple of good wriggles against her chin had the face visible, and she made out it was after eight o’clock. Mim would soon realise she was missing, if she hadn’t already. She would be worried, poor Mim; she would phone the police and get Caitlyn to help and they would look for her, look for Jack. Where was Jack? He couldn’t be in this room or she’d have heard him breathing. He’d been in the car with her when it stopped, hadn’t he? Yes, she had asked where they were and he said this was his lock-up… And then… Sweat broke out on Sarah’s forehead as she strained to remember. She’d been so afraid – but why? Something had happened, something terrible. Maybe they’d been attacked; maybe she’d seen her kidnapper. Who was also Petra’s murderer. This was dire; why couldn’t she remember? Her head, her head. The pain was crashing back and she couldn’t think straight. Had she seen Jack killed? Was that why she couldn’t remember – was it the shock? Oh, no, no. What should she do?