‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, so sorry. I’m sure you’re lovely,’ she gulped, and winced, knowing she’d chosen the wrong words. ‘Not lovely, handsome, and sexy.’
‘Oh, NOW I’m sexy, am I? Well you know what, bitch? It’s too late! I saw how you looked at me last night. It took one second and you JUDGED ME! You know, if you’d just smiled back and been nice to me… then this, THIS, wouldn’t have had to happen!’
Grendel barked and came trotting over to the cage. He seized her by the scruff of the neck and pushed her towards the bars. She gave a deep growl and bared a set of glistening white teeth.
‘No! Please!’ cried Beth.
‘Yes. You should meet my dog properly,’ he said, dragging Grendel by the scruff of her neck around to the gate of the cage.
‘What are you doing? I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything, please!’ cried Beth, shrinking back as Grendel began to bark and growl, her lips curled back.
Taking one hand off Grendel, Darryl unlocked the cage, and opened the door. Grendel was snarling, and trying to bite his hand. He twisted the fur on her neck and he pushed her inside the cage.
Beth screamed as the dog pounced on her.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Mary had been shopping, and was driving back up to the farm when she saw the road ahead was blocked by a skittish herd of sheep. She recognised the yellow dye mark on their backs, and knew that they belonged to their neighbour, Jim Murphy. Her husband and Jim had a respectful rivalry, and she hadn’t seen Jim for a long time. She sat patiently as the sheep flooded out of an open gate to the side of the lane, and then moments later, Jim followed. He walked with a stoop, and wore a pair of trousers and jacket that looked to be disintegrating. He dug in his crook as he walked, and turned. He was about to pass her car off as belonging to one of the villagers, then clocked who she was. He stopped and lifted a hand. Mary pulled forward and came level.
‘Afternoon,’ he said. His face was weather-beaten, and he had a scar running across his temple.
Mary nodded and smiled. ‘Spring will be here soon,’ she said, looking at the sheep skittering away down the lane.
He nodded sagely. ‘What you up to?’
‘I’ve been shopping, for the week,’ she said, then noticed that the back seat was covered with boxes of wine and several bottles of vodka. She liked that he didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘I miss having someone shop for me,’ he said sadly. His wife had died two years before.
‘You know,’ said Mary, gripping the wheel, ‘you should come over sometime for supper.’
He waved her away. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than being stuck opposite John, watching him slop his food.’
Mary laughed.
‘Say,’ he added, leaning on the roof of her car. ‘Have you got a new lad working for you?’
‘No.’
‘It’s just that bottom gate has been left open a couple of times when I’ve come past. I know it only leads up to the old Oast House, but the padlock’s been left open.’
Mary stared back at him.
‘Course, I just closed it and locked it back up, but I thought you’d want to know, in case someone you don’t want has got hold of the key… I know you probably steer clear of there, after…’
He looked at the ground. After your Joe hung himself down there, he was going to say. Mary bit her lip to compose herself.
‘Thanks, Jim. I’ll mention it to John,’ she said.
Jim nodded, still looking at the ground. Just then a car came up behind them.
‘I’d best be off,’ she said. He nodded and touched the brim of his cap and, with a smile, she drove away.
The last of the sheep were just vanishing through a gate further up, on the opposite side of the road, and one of Jim’s young farmhands raised a hand in greeting as she passed. Mary waved back and then drove on, her brow furrowed. No one who worked for them had a key to that gate. The only keys were in the office at home.
* * *
When Mary got home, she called out to Darryl to help her with the shopping, but he wasn’t in, nor was Grendel. She went to the office and checked the board where all the keys were hung up. The set for the gate was hanging on its hook. She reached out to take them, and hesitated. She pulled her hand back and went to fetch in the shopping, and pour herself a large drink.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
When Grendel had pounced into the cage, barking and snarling, Beth had closed her eyes, expecting to be savaged. In the back of her mind she’d hoped that the dog would do it quick and fast. She’d squeezed them shut tighter and braced herself, but there was nothing. Just some odd gulping noises, and then she’d flinched as she felt something rough and warm. The dog had started to lick her face. She remained very still, wincing with fear as it continued to lick, and then she realised it was cleaning the wound on her forehead, licking the dried crusted blood from around her nose. It finished, and Beth opened her eyes. The huge white face loomed close, staring at her with small beady eyes. Then it turned, and trotted out of the cage.
Darryl was silent. He closed the door of the cage and fed a large sliver padlock through, and he snapped it shut. Beth shifted, feeling the pull of the chain circling her neck. Grendel moved to the door, and flopped down onto the uneven brick floor of the furnace.
‘Grendel likes you,’ he said.
‘What?’ she croaked.
‘The dog is called Grendel. She usually hates women…’
‘She’s… She’s sweet.’
‘You don’t think that,’ said Darryl, watching her. He was deciding what to do next.
Beth thought Darryl was strange to look at. His eyes were soft and brown, but deep-set and small, giving them a piggy quality. He had a round little face, thin lips, and no real chin, just a slope of podgy flesh from his bottom lip to neck. It was those baby teeth which disturbed her the most, so small and sharp.
Beth watched as he left through the low door of the furnace and returned a moment later with a black backpack, which he placed on the floor. Keeping his back to her, he rummaged in it. She wanted to shout out and ask what he was doing.
He came close to the cage, a sharp little baby-toothed smile on his face, his hands behind his back.
She shrank away. ‘Please. No,’ she said.
‘You don’t know what I’m doing. How can you say “no” to something when you don’t know what it is? I could have a treat behind my back,’ he said.
‘A treat?’
‘Yes. Now choose. Left or right?’ He leaned closer: ‘Left or right.’ She closed her eyes, feeling a hot tear escaping her left eye. ‘I said, left or right, now CHOOSE!’
‘No.’
‘If you don’t pick, it will be worse for you. I promise. CHOOSE.’
She opened her eyes. His face held a smile so dark and full of malevolence that her stomach contracted.
‘Choose, or you’ll die!’ he screamed.
‘Left, I choose left,’ she stuttered.
He swiftly brought his left hand round. In it he held a small silver scalpel. He brought out his right hand, and it held an identical scalpel. He giggled and pushed the left-hand one through the bars and dragged it across her forearm. She looked down in shock, the feeling of pain delayed for a moment. And then it felt as if her arm was on fire, and blood began to ooze and then pour. She tried to pull away, but her hands were chained together, and he sliced through her flailing arm several times. She landed a blow to his hand, and he dropped the scalpel. Quick as lightning, she picked it up and held it out.
‘You come any closer you sick fuck, and I’ll slash you!’ she cried. Grendel lifted her head and growled. ‘And your dog too.’
Darryl laughed and walked back over to the backpack. He returned with something in his hand, watching impassively as the blood poured from her wounds.
‘You’ll want this,’ he said, holding up a roll of gauze bandage. ‘Throw out the scalpel and I’ll give you this.’ She gripped the scalpel in her hands as a stream of b
lood dripped down on to her legs. ‘You can use the bandage to stem the bleeding. I’m serious, Beth. Give it back and this will be forgotten.’
‘No.’
‘Beth, I’m sorry, take the bandage. I have another scalpel. I have a boxful in that bag, and I could take them all out now and go to town on your body, and on that pretty, pretty face. Who would want to hire an actress with a messed-up face?’
Beth yelled in pain and despair and threw it outside the cage. It landed with a clink on the brick floor. He picked it up, and dropped the packet of gauze bandage through one of the mesh holes above her head.
‘Such a stupid bitch,’ he said, holding up the bloody scalpel. ‘If you’d kept hold of this, it would have given you leverage. Now all you have is a packet of bandages. I used this on the other girls. I cut them out of their underwear, along the seam between their legs. It was tricky without nicking them.’
He picked up the backpack and left, Grendel following.
The door to the furnace clanged shut, and she was in darkness. She heard the outer door open and close.
* * *
Beth scrabbled at the bandage, using her teeth to tear the plastic open. Twisting her hands in opposite directions where they were bound and using her teeth, she crudely wrapped the material around the cuts on her forearm. It felt better not to have them open to the air, but her blood rapidly soaked through. Just as she wound the last of the bandage around her arm, she felt something small and hard. It was a little safety pin attached to the very end. She quickly unfastened it from the material. It was small but sturdily made. She held it between her fingers for a moment. His words echoed in her head… other girls… and then she knew for sure who had taken her.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Erika called her team in for 10 a.m. on Sunday morning, and again the day started slowly. Just before 3 p.m., Moss knocked on her office door and poked her head round. Erika looked up from the pile of paperwork on her desk.
‘Boss, I’ve managed to track down the grey-haired woman seen leaving the office on Latimer Road. Her name’s Lynn Holbrook, and she’s on line one.’
‘Great, come in. I’ll put her on loudspeaker,’ said Erika.
Moss came in, closed the door and sat opposite.
‘Hello, Lynn, this is Detective Chief Inspector Erika Foster. Can I call you Lynn?’
‘No, I prefer Ms Holbrook,’ said a snooty voice through the loudspeaker. Moss rolled her eyes. ‘Why have I been pulled out of a meeting to speak to you?’
‘You’ve been pulled out of a meeting because we believe, on Friday night, you may have witnessed the abduction of a young girl,’ said Erika.
‘You must be mistaken.’
‘We believe the girl was abducted outside your office last night as you were leaving work.’
‘What?’ she cried.
‘We have CCTV footage of you leaving the office building at Latimer Road on Friday night at 8.13 p.m. Is that correct?’
There was a pause. ‘I don’t know the time I left to-the-minute, but if the CCTV footage shows it…’
‘It does, Mrs Holbrook…’
‘It’s Ms, if you don’t mind.’
Moss shook her head and twirled her finger in the air. Erika nodded.
‘Ms Holbrook, you left via the main entrance at 8.13 p.m. and you turned right into Latimer Road… Did you see a young white girl with long brown hair waiting by the kerb?’
There was a pause.
‘No… I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so? Or you’re sure you didn’t see a young white girl with long brown hair? She was wearing a long brown coat and black high heels’
‘No,’ she said, more certain. ‘No, there definitely wasn’t a girl waiting on either side of the road. It was almost empty.’
Erika sat back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair.
‘What do you mean it was almost empty?’
‘There was a chap, fiddling at the boot of his car…’
Moss’s head snapped up, and Erika sat forward. ‘What did he look like?’
Moss scribbled on a piece of paper and held it up:
WHAT COLOUR WAS THE CAR?
Erika nodded.
‘Funny-looking; I suppose I’d say geeky. Climbed into his car and drove off.’
Erika scrabbled through the papers on her desk and found the photo of the blue Ford.
‘What colour was the car, Ms Holbrook?’
‘Erm, blue. It was blue…’
Moss punched the air and started to jump up and down.
‘Can you remember what kind of car it was?’ asked Erika.
‘I don’t own a car. I don’t tend to think about the make…’
‘Could it have been a Ford?’
‘Yes. It could have been, it was a little old and grimy …’
Moss was doing a funny shrugging little dance, and Erika waved at her to sit down.
‘Thank you, Ms Holbrook, I think you may be the only witness I have right now who could identify the man who has been abducting women in South London.’
‘Good lord,’ she said. ‘Really?’
‘What else can you tell us about this man? What did he look like?’
‘Well, I did see him. But only from behind and the side. And my mind was on other things… He was quite dumpy; he had dark hair. Mid-length.’
‘You didn’t happen to see the number plate of the car?’
‘No, sorry. I’m not in the habit of remembering those.’
‘What exactly did this man do as you walked past?’
‘He looked as if he was moving around from the boot of the car; he hitched up his trousers – I remember they had a brown stain on the rear – the fabric was a sort of tweedy green. He went to the driver’s door and got in.’
Moss wrote another note:
WAS THERE A GIRL WALKING AWAY FROM CAR?
‘Did you see a girl up ahead of you, walking away from the car?’ asked Erika.
There was a pause on the line.
‘No. No. Latimer Road is a long straight street, and you can’t turn off it until you get down to the bottom, where a train track runs along behind the buildings. The buildings on the opposite side of the street are all being refurbished, and they’re covered in scaffold.’
Erika gripped the phone. ‘How long does it take to walk down to the bottom of the street?’
‘I don’t know. Four, five minutes.’
‘Okay, thank you.’
Erika put down the phone.
Moss gave a yelp of glee and jumped up and down again. ‘A blue Ford! He’s using a different bloody car!’ she cried.
‘Yes. We’ve got him. Now we have to find him,’ said Erika.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
After confirmation of the blue car, the atmosphere in the incident room became energised, and the team began their search afresh, looking to trace the journey of the car. Finally, just before 9 p.m., CCTV footage came through which led to another breakthrough.
‘Look!’ cried Crane, jabbing his finger at his computer screen. ‘We’ve got him. We’ve got him! This is footage from the next building along the block, before the Latimer Road offices. It’s from a block of private apartments which have a doorman and security…’
Erika and the rest of the team crowded around Crane at his computer.
‘At 8.11 p.m. our blue Ford passed, which ties in with him passing the security cameras on the Latimer Road offices, twelve seconds later!’
He played the footage again through the projector on the whiteboard.
‘Go back to just when he crosses the image and pause it,’ said Erika, moving over to stand next to where the picture was now huge on the wall. Moss joined her. Crane ran the footage back and paused. They peered at the car.
‘Shit, we have a partial plate, J892,’ read Moss. ‘Half of it is grimy, but we’ve got a partial number plate! We’ve got a partial!’ She hugged Erika. ‘Sorry, I must stink,’ she added. ‘All day in a cramped h
ot office.’
Erika grinned. ‘Okay, this is really good everyone, and thank you for coming in this weekend. I know it’s been a slog, but now we have a partial, I need to ask a little more from you all. We need to keep working to trace the journey he took after abducting Beth. We need to work our contacts,’ she said, checking her watch. ‘Let’s get on to TfL. Now we have a partial number plate it should speed things up with their image recognition.’
* * *
Two hours later, a batch of video files came through from Transport for London.
‘Okay let’s see what we have,’ said Crane, downloading the files. Everyone gathered round his computer. He clicked on the first. ‘Here he is, 8.28 p.m.,’ he said, as a time-lapse image on the screen showed a blurry side-on image of the blue car moving past a petrol station forecourt. Crane minimised the screen and pulled up the next video file. This time the car was pictured head-on and passing some traffic lights; they could even make out a white face through the windscreen, but the whole image was blurry.
‘So he goes past here at 8.30 p.m., and again cha-ching, we’ve got that partial number plate: J892,’ said Crane, grinning up at Erika.
‘So he’s obscured the number plate again.’
‘But not well enough this time,’ said Peterson.
‘Crane. Where does he go next?’ asked Erika.
Crane clicked on the third video file, which showed the blue car from behind, moving past a traffic camera mounted high above the road, and away until the image became blurred.
‘Where does he go? Did he turn right?’ asked Peterson.
‘Or is he going over the brow of the hill?’ asked Moss.
‘There isn’t a hill,’ said Erika. ‘Look, at the next car, it signals right.’ They played the footage a couple more times.
‘Is this still Tower Bridge Road?’ asked Erika.
‘Yes,’ said Crane.
Moss went to a nearby computer.
‘Where does that right turn-off lead to?’ asked Peterson.
‘Tower Bridge Road turns off to Druid Street, and it’s a dead end,’ said Moss, working on her keyboard.
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