Choked dipb-4

by Tania Carver

  May was bundled up inside a quilted jacket, but he still looked cold. ‘And you … what?’ he said to Mickey. ‘What happened exactly?’

  Mickey told him about the phone call. The message. May nodded.

  ‘Well we’ve pinpointed DC Shah’s GPS signal. That’s a bonus. Weak. So we’d better get a move on.’

  ‘Whereabouts is it?’ asked Mickey.

  May pointed at one of the cargo ships. ‘Over there, apparently.’

  ‘The ship?’ asked Anni. ‘That one there?’

  May nodded. ‘Far as we can make out. Had our experts in analysing it. Wanted to get it checked as quickly as possible before his battery went.’

  ‘Who’s the ship registered to?’ asked Mickey.

  May smiled. ‘Good question. Sloane Holdings.’

  ‘I think that confirms it, then. Do we need a warrant?’

  ‘Acting on information received, DS Philips.’ May looked round. There were another three officers with him. Both looking as thrilled as Mickey and Anni to have been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.

  ‘You ready?’ he said.

  They were.

  ‘Let’s go, then.’

  104

  ‘Where is he, then?’

  The woman was speaking, but Dee wasn’t hearing her. She was staring, open-mouthed. The woman before her, the one who used to be Dee Sloane, was completely naked.

  ‘Where is he?’ Screaming now.

  Dee managed to recover enough from the sight in front of her to force some words out. ‘He’s … busy. He sent me.’

  ‘Busy? Busy?’ Body vibrating in anger. ‘Too busy to see me? Bastard … ’ The words were spat out. She moved closer to Dee. ‘Too busy.’ She smiled. ‘Like what you see? Do you?’

  Dee was trying not to look, wanted to turn her head away, close her eyes. Anything. But she kept on staring, eyes drawn to the sight before her as to a car crash. Wanting to see the mutilation, the destruction. Wanting to say, thank God that’s not me there.

  ‘This is what it looks like. When you’ve been brought back from the dead … ’

  Her body had once been female. There was only one breast, and even that looked mangled. In place of the other one was a collection of grafted skin and scar tissue, by turns smooth and ridged, in varying shades of red. The scars stretched down the side of her body, creating a swirling vortex of flesh on her side.

  But it was her face that was the worst. Her face and her head.

  She was bald but for a few odd tufts of hair sprouting in between healed scars and grafts. Her skull was uneven, misshapen, covered in crests and craters, like a shattered egg that had been put together again without the instruction manual. Without make-up, the lines on her patchwork skin were vivid and throbbing. She had taken out the partial palate that held her false teeth, letting her mouth collapse in on itself on one side. One ear was just a curled stub.

  And her hand, clawed and gnarled, was shaking as it held the gun on Dee.

  ‘This is what he did to me … Take a good look, go on. Stare. This is his creation. This is what he made of me.’

  Dee’s mouth worked furiously but no sound emerged. No words seemed adequate.

  ‘And he’s not coming … ’ Amy shook her head. ‘Not coming … ’ She dropped her head and with it the light.

  Dee thought she would be thankful that the beam had been taken away from the deformed body, but the shadows it cast made the sight even worse.

  Amy looked up once more. ‘Why you? I don’t want to see you. Why you and not him?’

  Dee felt she had to answer this time. ‘Because I … I wanted to see you.’

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ Her voice was getting louder. ‘You wanted to see me?’ She stepped closer. ‘Well now you’ve seen me. Look. Go on, look.’ She swung the torch over her body again. ‘And don’t stop looking.’ Her voice reduced down to a hiss now. ‘This will be you. Oh yes … this will be you’

  ‘What … what d’you mean?’

  ‘When he gets bored of you. When he wants rid of you.’

  Amy stepped closer. Reached out a hand.

  ‘I want to touch you … ’

  Dee tried hard not to scream.

  105

  ‘Here.’ Sloane held out his hand. A thick pile of notes in it.

  The money was taken without even a smile.

  ‘Enough?’ Sloane knew the answer already. He wouldn’t have asked the question otherwise.

  The other man nodded, as expected. ‘Quite sufficient, thank you.’

  ‘Good.’

  Sloane looked round. Listened. He could hear nothing but the low hum of the ship’s motors as they turned over. The slap of water against the side of the hull. Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary.

  Good.

  The ship’s captain was a man used to asking no questions. He had as many blind eyes to turn as Sloane had notes to give him. Working for the Sloanes, he had discovered it a useful commodity.

  Sloane watched the money disappear inside the man’s coat. ‘You know what to do?’

  The captain nodded. ‘Same as usual. I know.’

  ‘Yes, I know you know.’ Sloane’s eyes lit up with annoyance. ‘Humour me. Imagine I’m the man paying you and I want to make sure you know what’s happening. Go over it one more time.’

  If the captain was angry at Sloane’s words, he didn’t show it. His employer could be difficult at times, but there were compensations. ‘When we get out to sea, jettison one of the containers.’

  ‘The one that doesn’t appear in the ship’s manifest. The one that isn’t here.’

  The captain nodded.

  ‘Good.’ Sloane looked round once more. Listened. Nothing. ‘One more thing. You’ve got an extra passenger.’

  The captain frowned. This was a deviation from the script. ‘Who?’

  Sloane smiled. ‘Me.’

  The captain’s eyes widened. ‘But … this is unexpected. I’ll have to—’

  ‘You don’t have to do anything. I’m not here officially. I’m not crew, I’m not a passenger. I’m a paying stowaway. And there’s only you and me to know about it, OK?’

  The captain nodded, knowing how much another blind eye would pay.

  ‘Good. How soon before we set sail?’

  The captain checked his watch. ‘Couple of hours. First light. Wait for the tide.’

  Sloane nodded. Smiled. ‘Plenty of time for you to find me a cabin, make myself comfortable.’

  ‘Will there be just you on the voyage, Mr Sloane? Or will anyone else be joining us?’

  Sloane thought for a moment.

  ‘Just me,’ he said.

  106

  ‘Dee Sloane? Pretending to be your sister?’ Franks was confused.

  Stuart just nodded as if it was perfectly obvious.

  ‘Yes,’ said Marina. ‘Yes.’ Understanding hit her like a sudden flash of electricity through her synapses. ‘The woman on the phone. To me. Is that who you mean?’

  Stuart nodded patiently, as if he was the only intelligent person in the room, explaining a simple point to a couple of thickos.

  ‘She’s Dee Sloane.’

  He nodded again.

  ‘The real Dee Sloane, is that what you mean?’

  Franks looked between the two of them, not understanding what was going on.

  ‘What gave her away, Stuart? How did you know?’

  ‘The eyes,’ he said. ‘She looked different. Less … nice. Than before. But she couldn’t hide her eyes … ’

  Franks turned to Marina. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  ‘The woman who’s been phoning me, the woman who’s got my daughter, is Dee Sloane.’

  ‘But … who’s the woman with Michael Sloane? The one who’s claiming to be his sister?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Marina. ‘But she’s not Dee Sloane.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Marina turned to Stuart. ‘Why not, Stuart?’

  He looked confused.

  ‘Y
ou said she looked less nice. What did you mean?’

  ‘Less nice. Less … pretty. Not like before. She was pretty before. She’s not now.’

  He shivered.

  Marina turned to Franks once more. ‘Dee Sloane was hit with a shotgun blast. When her father and Stuart’s mother were killed. She almost died, but she and her brother survived. She took a lot of patching up, though. Maybe it was … I don’t know. Too much work?’

  ‘You mean replace her with another model?’ asked Franks.

  ‘Stuart says he didn’t kill his mother and stepfather and attempt to kill his stepsister and brother. He says Michael Sloane did. Now if Sloane is the kind of person who would engineer a shooting like that, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that he would replace his sister, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘But … shoot his own sister?’

  ‘Why not? He shot his own father and stepmother. If this hypothesis is right.’

  ‘Still … ’

  ‘Gary.’ Marina lowered her voice, tried to keep the conversation as private as possible in front of Stuart. Stuart showed no signs of listening. ‘Someone shot that family. I worked the original case and I never for one minute believed it was this gentleman here.’

  Franks said nothing.

  Marina leaned forward once more, trying to engage Stuart before he drifted off to sleep again. ‘You said she’d gone home, Stuart.’

  Stuart looked confused. ‘What?’

  ‘The real Dee,’ said Marina, as patiently as she could manage. ‘Your pretend sister. You said she’d gone home.’

  Stuart thought for a few seconds, eyelids drooping.

  ‘Stuart … ’

  He jumped. ‘Yes. Home. Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ Marina nodded. ‘Good. Where is home, Stuart?’

  Stuart looked puzzled once more.

  ‘Home,’ she persisted. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Home?’ he said. ‘Well it’s … home.’ His eyelids closed once more.

  Franks sighed. Marina kept staring at Stuart.

  ‘We could look it up,’ said Franks. ‘Check some records.’

  Marina stood up. ‘No need. I know where she is.’

  107

  Dee stepped backwards, tried to stay out of the woman’s reach. ‘Don’t.’ Her voice was small, trembling.

  Amy stopped moving. Put her head on one side, like a dog listening. The torch lit up her eyes. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘Why not? Afraid it’ll rub off on you? Afraid if I touch you, you’ll end up like me?’

  ‘I … ’ Backing away. ‘I … ’

  ‘I just want to touch you. Where’s the harm in that? Feel what I used to feel like … ’

  Amy advanced once more. This time Dee stayed where she was. It was better, her mind quickly and reluctantly rationalised, to let a madwoman with a gun touch you rather than shoot you. The Golem must be around somewhere, she thought, but even he wouldn’t be quick enough to stop a bullet from close range.

  Amy moved in close to her. Her breath smelled like the rotting house around them. She reached out a hand, stroked Dee’s cheek. Her fingers were rough, callused. Like being touched by tree bark. Dee tried not to move.

  ‘It’s … it’s like looking in a mirror, one that takes you back in time … ’ Her voice was low, calm. Almost a whisper. ‘How much?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How much did it cost? To make … whoever you were … look like me?’

  ‘I … I don’t know. Lots.’

  ‘Lots.’ Amy nodded as if she had given the correct answer. ‘Lots.’

  ‘He … he said he wanted me to, to look more beautiful. Said I would, I could, if I would let him do it.’

  ‘And you did.’ Still stroking her cheek. Eyes travelling all over her features, appraising her. Her expression changeable; sometimes like she was looking at old love letters, sometimes like a farmer at a livestock market. ‘You did … ’

  Encouraged by Amy’s tone, Dee continued to talk. ‘I didn’t mind,’ she said. ‘What he wanted to do. It hurt, but … ’

  ‘Yes.’ Still stroking. Still the same quiet voice. ‘My operations hurt too.’

  ‘More beautiful. That’s what he said. And that’s what I am. Beautiful.’ Dee looked at Amy. Found strength in her words. Her position. Because she was the winner. She was young, beautiful. And she had Michael. This mad old woman had nothing. She smiled. ‘He recognised something in me. We connected. Like no one I’ve ever met before. We’re soulmates.’

  Amy drew back, her hand falling to her side. She stared Dee in the eye. ‘Pathetic. Soulmates. You know nothing.’

  ‘I know everything.’

  ‘You know nothing.’ Her voice rising, starting to shake once more. ‘About him. About me. Nothing.’ She stood where she was, still staring at Dee. ‘Soulmates. That’s what we were. He wanted me. And I wanted him. We had each other. All that we needed. We were our world.’ Her face twisted. ‘And then the boy arrived … ’

  ‘I know all this,’ said Dee. ‘He’s told me. How the two of you hated Stuart. How your father wanted to make him part of the family, marry his mother. How he wrote a new will with him in it, threatened to write you out if you complained.’

  ‘He told you all this, did he?’

  ‘He did. How he faked the shotgun attack, made it look like Stuart had done it. And he told me how sad he was about what happened to you.’

  ‘You were doing so well up until the last part. The last part’s a lie.’

  ‘He said he went all over Europe, taking you to specialists to fix you up.’

  Amy was beginning to shake with anger. ‘That was what he told you, was it? Even he couldn’t bear to be seen as a bastard. Even he … ’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You think it was an accident? What happened to me? Do you? He shot me … ’

  ‘He said he had to make it look real.’

  ‘Bullshit. I looked in his eyes and I saw it. It just … went wrong, that’s all.’ She shook her head. Eyes fluttering, miles away. ‘Do you know … do you know what it feels like to watch the man you love … the absolute, total love of your life, the only person you’re ever going to feel like that about, pick up a gun, point it at you and … ’ Amy stared at Dee with renewed hatred. ‘He’s gone, you know.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Left you. Dumped you.’

  ‘No, no, he hasn’t … ’

  ‘Yes he has.’ The words spat out. ‘I know what he’s like. He wouldn’t have sent you here if he hadn’t left you. He’s gone off without you.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that … ’

  Amy laughed. It sounded like something was being dislodged inside her. ‘Yeah … that’s what I said. He wouldn’t do anything to me. Wouldn’t hurt me … But he did, didn’t he? Tried to kill me. Thought it would be easier to find a new one, make her the way he wanted, rather than make me well again … ’

  She swung the gun on Dee. Started squeezing the trigger.

  Dee looked round, desperately trying to signal to the Golem.

  But he was nowhere to be found.

  108

  ‘Where?’ asked Franks, looking puzzled. ‘Where is she?’

  Marina looked at him, didn’t answer. She leant over the desk, brought her face right up against Stuart’s.‘Home,’ she said, her voice loud enough to make him open his eyes. ‘Home.’

  He nodded, closed his eyes again.

  ‘It’s the house, isn’t it? The one in Wrabness? The one the Sloanes wanted to let crumble away?’

  He didn’t answer. She reached over, shook him by the shoulders.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Leave me alone … ’

  She pulled him up close to her. Franks made to stop her, but she gestured at him to leave her alone. He dropped back. Stuart’s eyes were wide and staring, like he had been woken from a particularly deep sleep.

  ‘No, Stuart, I won’t leave you alone. Amy has taken my daughter, Josephina, the little girl you said y
ou wanted to protect, to the house in Wrabness, hasn’t she?’

  Stuart nodded.

  Marina let him go. She looked at Franks.

  ‘Wrabness,’ she said, eyes lit by triumph. ‘Let’s go.’

  109

  Mickey had never liked ships. And containers at Harwich held equally bad, violent memories for him. But he put that all aside. He had work to do.

  Harbour security was minimal as May and his team had driven up to the main gate. May had shown his warrant card and explained that two senior officers had gone missing, believed to have been abducted and placed on board the waiting cargo ship. The two rent-a-cops on the gate had jumped to attention. This was the most action they had ever seen on duty. They allowed the car through with no fuss. May asked them not to contact the ship and, thrilled at being in the presence of real coppers, they agreed.

  They had embarked from the cars, stood on the pier. Mist and fog settled on them, dampening their clothes and hair, belabouring their breathing. May turned to his second in command, DS Terry.

  ‘What’s it say, Philip?’

  DS Terry scrutinised a hand-held device, looked around. Converted what he saw on screen to what was in front of him.

  ‘That ship,’ he said pointing to the one in front of them. ‘Somewhere near the back.’

  May nodded. ‘Come on then.’

  The walkway was long, raked. The ship, one of several, looked huge against the pier, the cars, the people. A vast metal town. But Mickey was sure it would look tiny once it was out to sea, dwarfed against the waves.

  The containers were piled high in the centre of the ship. Multicoloured, uniform and battered, they looked like enormous grubby bricks in some oversized, rusted Lego set.

  The six officers arrived onboard and were met by a crew member. Bleary-eyed and unshaven, his eyes darting warily, guiltily about, he looked to Mickey not like a ship’s crewman but more like the kind of guy who operated fairground rides. Mickey never felt comfortable on fairground rides.