by Sibel Hodge
‘I don’t want you wasting time on that. I believe it was a random attack. Stevens and her accomplice were driving round the county, high, looking to burgle somewhere, and found the Jamesons’ house an easy target. That’s what happened. And that’s the route we’re going down. Now I want every effort put into finding Tracy Stevens.’
But I thought he was wrong. And if I found the connection, it could very well lead me to Tracy Stevens.
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 28
I spent the drive back to Corinne’s house trying to get the images of the snuff videos out of my head and failing miserably. Raging anger coursed through me. I gripped the steering wheel and debated over and over again whether to tell Corinne what I’d seen. I knew what it was like to lose a child. When my son was murdered I spent thirty-one years never knowing what had really happened to him – how he’d spent his last few minutes, seconds, who had been responsible for it. Thirty-one years of torment and guilt and hatred and anger and grief. When I’d finally found my son’s murderers I’d thought that some of the heavy guilt I carried on my shoulders would melt away. Yes, watching the people who’d tortured and killed Alex die had been cathartic in a small way. It had helped assuage the guilt to a certain extent. It had certainly made the world a better place without them in it. But it still lived inside me. And taking their lives in exchange for Alex’s hadn’t made the emotions disappear. They’d lessened now, sure, but they would stay with me always to some degree, like a scab rooted deep within my flesh that I couldn’t help picking. I didn’t want to inflict the same pain on Corinne. Was it better for Corinne not to know the horrific details? And was that my choice to make?
I’d left Lee working on trying to trace the website or its server, or some other kind of link that would reveal the real IP address of the psychos who ran the red room. He’d thrown jargon at me about other possible ways to crack their identity. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about; it was all computer-speak, and he didn’t have time to explain it to me. I would just be a distraction if I stayed at his office, and my expertise lay in a different area to Lee’s. I was better off in Bournewood, in case whoever had taken Toni was local. Lee was calling all his guys in to work on analysing that website. All the rest of his jobs would take a backseat until we found her.
But dead or alive? That was the fear burning inside my skull.
It was just gone 4.30 a.m. when I arrived back at Corinne’s, and I still didn’t have a clue how to tell her.
I parked the truck outside the house, got out and stretched my back, my neck. My eyes were scratchy and raw. I was tired, running on the last of the pent-up anger from what I’d seen in those videos.
I glanced up and down the street. All was quiet. People shut up in their houses, blissfully sleeping, their lives untouched by the horror of the world. Lucky them. I’d seen a lifetime of it. My gaze strayed to Bert’s house. The place was in darkness but all the curtains were still open.
I took a last look around the street and then walked up the path. I hoped Corinne was still in bed and Maya would let me in. It would delay the decision I’d have to make about whether to tell her or not. But the door opened before I made it to the front step.
Corinne stood, leaning against the door frame for support, her face full of questions. ‘What did you find? Maya told me Lee had discovered something.’
Maya appeared behind Corinne. Our gaze met and she knew it wasn’t good news. She could read me well now.
‘Let’s go inside.’ I put my arm around Corinne’s shoulder and steered her gently into the kitchen.
‘I’ll make coffee.’ Maya busied herself with filling the kettle.
‘I think you should sit down,’ I said to Corinne.
‘I don’t want to fucking sit down! Just tell me what’s going on.’
So I did. Because no matter how sick and disgusting and heart-wrenching the truth was, it was the only thing she owned right then.
Not surprisingly, Corinne fell apart before my eyes. A guttural sound escaped her lips and she flopped forward as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Her knees buckled and she slid to the ground as tears, howls of pain, terror, and every emotion I knew so well rose to the surface and exploded, petered out and exploded again. She cried and screamed and shouted as Maya and I both tried to comfort her. But comfort was an obsolete word now. There would be none of it until Toni walked back through that door.
If she ever did.
When Corinne was exhausted with it all, she sat like a ragdoll in Maya’s arms staring at some spot on the floor, but I knew she wasn’t really seeing it. Instead, she’d be seeing her daughter, held captive in a white-tiled room, waiting to die in the most painful way possible.
‘You need some sleep,’ Maya said to me. ‘You’re no good to anyone if you’re exhausted. When Lee finds where Toni is, she’ll need you. And until then, there’s nothing else you can do.’
I acknowledged her words with a twitch of my mouth. I’d said something similar to her in the past. She was right, though. I did need to get my head down. An old rule from my Regiment days was: sleep while you can. Just a few hours’ kip to set me up.
I looked at Corinne, broken, distraught. I didn’t want to leave her like that, but I could do nothing more until Lee located where that website was transmitting data from.
‘We’ll be OK. I’ve had a few hours’ sleep. I’ll look after Corinne. Get some rest.’ Maya nodded.
Slowly, I stood and made my way into the lounge. The pillows and blanket Maya had been using on the sofa were still there.
I lay down, sinking into the soft fabric, adjusted the pillow beneath my head, and closed my eyes, everything floating in my mind.
I blocked it all out. Succumbed to sleep.
Five hours later I bolted off the sofa, wide awake. Because my brain had slotted something I’d seen into place. Something I’d mistaken.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 29
‘Tracy’s dealer, Dex, is dead,’ Ronnie said, raising two neatly trimmed eyebrows. ‘His real name is Derek Merchant, and he was stabbed the night before Tracy disappeared on the estate he lived in.’
‘Anything to suggest Tracy was involved?’
‘Nothing, guv. There were witnesses. It was a gang-related drugs turf war gone wrong. An argument with another dealer who’s been arrested.’
I leaned my head back against the headrest, fighting exhaustion. It was 3 p.m., I’d had hardly any sleep, and the day wasn’t even over yet. ‘All right, first, we visit the squat Tracy used to live in. Maybe she went back there.’
Ronnie started the car and drove out of the labyrinth of roads that skirted Kings Tower block and headed to Church Road while I called the local control room to see if they were aware of the squat and could give me the house number. According to the operator I spoke to, they’d had numerous complaints from neighbours about it in the past.
‘It’s number sixty-three,’ the operator told me. ‘But the last job we had there was ten months ago, accompanying bailiffs for an eviction order to get the squatters out. Apparently, the house was sold at auction. All of them were evicted.’
‘OK, thanks,’ I said. ‘It’s worth a try anyway.’
But it wasn’t. When Ronnie and I arrived at number 63 the new owners were in situ, a middle-aged couple who’d renovated the house since it had been a boarded-up mess. Tracy wasn’t there and hadn’t tried to get in.
Next we tried the main local homeless hang-outs. Under the railway bridge, derelict buildings, park benches, a disused industrial estate. No Tracy Stevens and no one we spoke to had seen her. There were no homeless shelters in Berrisford to try. She could’ve been sleeping rough anywhere.
‘I need something with caffeine in it.’ I slapped my cheeks to wake up as I got back into the car. ‘Stop at the next shop you see.’
‘OK.’
I stared out of the window, thinking. As we drove along a residential street, my mobile rang. It was the conve
yancing solicitor dealing with the sale of my house.
‘Unfortunately, your buyers have pulled out. They’ve had problems with getting their mortgage.’ He got straight to the point after saying hello. Time was money, and he was probably charging fifty quid just to call me.
‘Right,’ I said.
‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’
I ended the call and thought that maybe it wasn’t bad news at all. Maybe it was a sign. I tapped my phone against my lips, wondering if Denise was trying to send me a message. Don’t sell the house. Don’t move to London. Don’t start the new job. I felt like going home and just yanking down the For Sale board and taking it off the market.
For Sale board. A thought struck me as I pictured the same board up outside Simms Livery Stables. I clicked my middle finger and thumb together. ‘That’s what doesn’t make sense.’
‘What’s that, guv?’
‘DSU Greene thinks this was a burglary, right? Parker Farm has a lot of security – high walls and gates, even before the owner started putting up barbed wire on top after the Jamesons were killed – so I can understand why that property would seem more trouble than it was worth to break into. But no one was at home at both Bill Graves’s farm or the house at Simms Livery Stables, so why didn’t they break into either of those empty properties if that was the intention? Depending on which direction they came down the lane from, they would’ve had to pass one of those to get to the Jamesons’. The house at the stables would’ve been ideal because there’s still plenty of stuff in there worth nicking that Mrs Simms’s son hasn’t got round to getting rid of yet. Why did they choose the Jamesons’ with the Land Rover parked outside it that indicated someone was most likely at home? In broad daylight, too.’
‘You can never tell what a druggie’s going to do. They’re totally unpredictable.’
‘Don’t you start. You sound like Greene.’
Ronnie blushed. ‘Sorry.’
‘It wasn’t a burglary gone wrong,’ I said. ‘If they intended to rob the place, why didn’t one of them hold the Jamesons at gunpoint while the other ransacked the place? They were an elderly couple who couldn’t have posed much of a threat.’
‘But Greene said—’
‘Greene has been sitting in an office too long. He’s a pen-pusher, not a copper.’
‘So what’s next?’
‘I’m going to speak to Paula Eagan and Bill Graves to see if they can shed any light on whether the Jamesons knew Tracy. I want you to come back here with me tonight and we’ll go to London Road. Talk to the other sex workers and see if they know anything. We need to find out who Tracy went off with that night, whether anyone saw her again, and if they have any idea where she might be. Becky couldn’t find any other known associates of Tracy. And Alice said she didn’t have any other friends. But she was with someone in that house. How did she get there? There must’ve been a vehicle involved to get to that remote location. But who was driving it? Was it the person she disappeared with that night?’
‘Yes, guv. Anything else you want me to do?’
‘You can get the pink stones you collected off to the lab when we get back.’
‘Will do.’
‘Hey, stop here.’ I pointed to a petrol station coming up. ‘I’ll grab a couple of coffees.’
‘Tea for me, please. Peppermint if they have it.’ Ronnie checked his mirrors carefully, indicated, and pulled on to the forecourt. ‘That salad I had was dodgy.’ He rubbed his stomach. ‘My irritable bowel’s playing up now. I hope I’m not coming down with food poisoning.’
I raised my eyebrows and pulled a face. ‘Food poisoning from salad?’
‘Actually, bagged salad leaves are renowned for it.’
‘Well, you learn something new every day. You’re better off with a greasy old burger, then, aren’t you? Anyway, mints are meant for sucking not drinking. Do you want me to see if they’ve got any antacids?’
He pulled a face. ‘I don’t take them. They play havoc with my IBS, too.’
I got out of the car, entered the garage and came back with a can of iced coffee and a bottle of water. I tossed Ronnie the water. ‘No peppermint, I’m afraid.’
We drove back to the nick in silence with the windows down, blasting me with fresh air to keep me awake. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 30
I shot off the sofa and strode into the kitchen. There it was, the leaflet discarded where I’d left it on the kitchen worktop after picking it up from the front door mat when I’d first arrived. It was a flyer, touting for business, and I hadn’t taken much notice of it at the time. I studied the logo at the top and then read down the page.
Your home security is just a step away! Peace of mind anytime, anywhere . . .
The new Pro-Secure family of smart, covert security cameras feature HD video quality, wide angles, live streaming, free cloud recording and alerts. They’re wire-free, waterproof, and . . .
I stopped reading and looked at the logo again. I’d seen it before on an invoice on Bert’s table in his hallway.
Maya was washing up cups and glasses at the sink beneath the front window. ‘What is it?’
‘Where’s Corinne?’ I asked.
‘In her room. She said she wanted to be alone.’
I walked towards Maya, stood next to her and looked through the net curtains at Bert’s house opposite. I couldn’t see a camera anywhere. His curtains were still wide open, and I spotted the top of his head just above his front window, sitting in his wheelchair, a shadow falling over him. I couldn’t see his eyes from that distance but I guessed he was watching the street, as usual, like a sentry.
‘What?’ Maya said to me, following my gaze.
I was silent for a moment, waiting.
‘He lied to me about having CCTV cameras.’
‘What?’ Maya squinted through the window. ‘Why?’
‘I think it’s because he’s not just using it for security. He’s always watching everyone and everything going on. Maybe he doesn’t like to miss anything so he’s recording it all, too, but he doesn’t want anyone to know. But hopefully he might’ve caught something that could help us. If the people who took Toni knew her online identity, they’d have known her address. They might’ve thought it was too risky to break in to get to her. Corinne could’ve been in the house. Or a friend. Or a neighbour might spot them. Or someone from the school behind if they went through the rear. All sorts of possible complications. So they did what I would’ve done. Watched and waited for the right opportunity. They must’ve been parked up further down the street. Too risky for them to hang around on foot; someone would’ve seen them. Most likely they were in a white van. Who pays attention to white vans? They’re everywhere. We see so many they just become unnoticeable.’
‘And they followed her to the cutting,’ Maya said. ‘Where there was no one around. The perfect opportunity to grab her and throw her in the van. Then they turned her phone off and probably dumped it along with her rucksack, because if they’re using anonymous software, then they know about being traceable.’
‘And he might’ve recorded a vehicle.’ I pointed in Bert’s direction, then strode out of the house, across the street. My gaze met Bert’s through his window before I banged on his front door.
Bert wheeled himself backwards to accommodate opening the door. ‘Good morning.’ He looked surprised to see me again. No, more like nervous. And now I knew why I’d got a strange vibe off him. ‘Is there any news about Toni?’ He gave me a worried frown.
I ignored the question, answering it with one of my own. ‘You film people on the street, don’t you? You’ve got cameras somewhere.’
His eyes turned huge behind his glasses. ‘Um . . . what . . . Of course I don’t!’ He tried for indignant and failed. The red, nervous flush creeping up his neck and the quivering of his hands gave him away.
‘Spare me the lies. I don’t have time for that.’ I walked in
side and picked up the invoice from his table. It was the same logo. Same company. I read it out to him. ‘An invoice for a wide-angled, wireless security camera, two hundred and twenty-five pounds, including installation. Dated four weeks ago.’ I waved the invoice at him. ‘I asked if you had CCTV and you lied to me. Toni’s in serious danger and you might be able to help her. I don’t care about you filming the comings and goings of the street, unless you’re into children. In which case, you’ve got a huge problem.’
The flush kept on coming, all the way up to his cheeks. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. ‘Definitely not! And I resent that implication.’
‘You can resent it all you want. But I need to see what’s on the recording. I think whoever took Toni followed her from her house. Where do you store the footage? Laptop or smartphone?’
He didn’t answer. Didn’t deny it, though.
I stepped past his wheelchair and went into the lounge, looking around. I couldn’t see a laptop but his phone was resting on the windowsill.
Bert wheeled himself in behind me. ‘How dare you come in here and look at my things! I’ve a good mind to call the police.’
‘So call them. I’m sure they’d love to know what you’re doing. Where’s the footage?’
His mouth flapped open and closed, trying to think of some excuse or way to get out of the situation. Trying to stop his secret voyeurism being exposed. Then he resigned himself to the fact that there was no getting out of it, and his shoulders sagged. ‘On the phone.’