As we followed him along the hallway, towards the lounge, I noticed how clean and tidy the place looked, though almost bare. The photographs of his two girls, and a couple of vividly-coloured abstract paintings, usually on the walls in the hall, were missing.
‘Where have all the photographs and paintings gone?’ I asked, gesturing to the walls.
He turned to me, ‘Oh, I’m going to emulsion the walls. Just getting the place cleared to start decorating. I take it that’s ok? I mean, I’m using the same colours, just freshening it all up, really.’
‘No, that’s fine.’ I followed him into the pristine living room, and again registered bare walls. ‘You decorating in here, too?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, doing the whole place up.’
We walked into the kitchen. Near a pair of step ladders, was a half-full bucket of water on the floor, directly beneath the light fitting. Big fat drops were plopping into it quite rapidly.
‘That’s the third bucket,’ James pointed out. ‘I’ve had to push a hole in the plaster, to stop the whole ceiling coming down,’ he explained, looking up.
I followed his gaze. ‘Well, you did the right thing. But what a mess. I’d better get upstairs and see what’s causing it. No sign of the plumber yet?’
‘No, he said he’d be straight here. You go on up. I’ll give him another call first,’ he picked up his phone.
Key in hand, I stepped out of the front door and looked around. Still no sign of the police. So much for back up I thought, letting myself into the door to the first floor flat. I ran up the stairs, heading for the kitchen, which I knew was directly above where the water was coming through. I couldn’t see anything untoward. I crouched to look under the sink unit. No leaking pipes that I could see. I thought Shit, it must be coming from a pipe under the floorboards. I heard a noise behind me and looked up to find James had followed me up.
‘Can’t see anything obvious under here,’ I told him.
‘Let me take a look.’ He got down on all fours to examine the pipework under the sink.
‘No, you’re right,’ he said, getting to his feet and wiping the dust from his knees. ‘Let’s pull the washing machine out, check the pipes at the back,’ he suggested. Together we shuffled the machine out, but the floor behind was dry and the pipe looked intact.
‘What time’s the plumber getting here?’ I asked him, a little tetchily. ‘Doesn’t he know it’s an emergency?’
‘He’s been stuck in traffic. There’s been a big accident on the main road apparently, but he’s on his way now. We’ll just have to wait for him to find the leak. There’s nothing obvious here. Must be under the floorboards. We need to turn off the stop cock. Do know where it is? I didn’t see it under the sink... I’ll just have another look.’ He got down on his hands and knees and stuck his head into the cupboard. ‘Oh, here it is,’ his muffled voice informed me from the depths of the cupboard. ‘It’s a bit stiff... oh that’s it, it’s turning.’
He backed out of the cupboard, a triumphant look on his face. ‘That should stop it til the plumber gets here.’
I thanked him for his help and as we made our way back down the stairs, I asked ‘Where’s Pauline?’
‘Oh, she asked if it was ok to use the bathroom.’
Before following him back into the ground floor flat, I looked again to see if the police had arrived, but there was still no sign of them. I wondered if they’d been caught up in the same accident that was holding up the plumber – that would explain them not showing up.
We made our way down the hall, through the living room and into the kitchen again. The water was still plopping loudly into the bucket, but less frequently. There was no sign of Pauline and I was wondering what the hell she was doing in the bathroom.
‘Coffee while we wait?’ James asked, opening one of the kitchen wall cupboards.
‘Yeah, that would be good, thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m just going to see what’s keeping Pauline.’
I turned to head for the bathroom, when my hair was suddenly grabbed from behind in a painful grip, which jerked my head back. It was so sudden and unexpected, I had no time to react. A foul-smelling pad was clamped over my nose and mouth and I found myself choking, struggling to breathe. I fought to get free with every ounce of strength I possessed, kicking and elbowing him but my vision blurred, I began to feel woozy and realised I was losing consciousness. Just before I passed out, I noticed a pool of bright red blood on the cream floor tiles, spreading out from behind the kitchen island.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I became aware of movement and pain and couldn’t work out what was happening. My head was throbbing and I felt sick. Trying to put my hand to my head, I realised my hands were tied behind my back. Suddenly I was thrown against something and realised I was in the boot of a moving car. There was something stuffed into my mouth, which felt incredibly dry. Oh God I thought in mounting panic, I can’t breathe. I felt myself starting to hyperventilate. I’ve always been claustrophobic, and this was my worst nightmare come true. I could feel my heart rate escalating alarmingly, and my breath was coming in shallow gasps, through the gag. Keep calm I told myself, keep calm... you need to deal with this. I tried to control my breathing; deep breath in through the nose, hold it for a count of seven, then slowly release it through the mouth, in……hold…….out. Gradually, my heart rate slowed, and I tried to take stock. My ankles were hurting and I realised they too were tightly bound. Oh shit.
I remembered an article I’d recently read about what to do if you ever find yourself locked in the boot of a car. What the hell did it say? Try to kick out the tail lights and put your hand through to attract attention? Where the hell were the tail lights? I couldn’t see a damn thing. I didn’t remember any advice about what to do if your hands and feet were bound. Where’s he taking me? I thought. What’s he planning to do? What’s this all about?
My hands touched on something warm behind me. Exploring with my fingers, I found another hand. Pauline was in there with me... I grasped her fingers and tried to call her name, but only managed a pathetic grunt through the gag. There was no responding pressure from her fingers... Oh Pauline, please be alright. Please don’t let him have hurt you too badly. I remembered the blood spreading out on the floor. Oh God.
I tried to turn myself over to face Pauline and after an exhausting struggle, managed to heave myself around, claustrophobia forgotten in the desperate need to help my friend. I wanted to touch her, to try to assess how badly injured she was, but unable to use my hands, all I could do was put my face close to hers to check if she was breathing. I couldn’t see her in the dark. There was no sound from her, and I couldn’t detect any breathing.
‘No, No, No.’ I tried to scream. ‘Oh God, please no.’ Panic, shock, terror built up inside me until I thought I was going to pass out. I could barely breathe; I couldn’t release the scream inside that was threatening to choke me. Oh God, please, please, please make her breathe. Don’t let her be dead. I could hear whimpering and keening noises and realised that they were coming from me. My face was lying in something sticky, and there was a strange metallic smell. I realised I must be lying in Pauline’s blood.
I don’t know how long I lay there, helpless to help Pauline. Hours seemed to pass. I wouldn’t accept that she was dead at first, but as time passed, I could feel her body cooling and I knew. My mind became numb and I seemed to float away, no longer trapped in the boot of a car, but watching myself from somewhere above, clinging to the body of my dearest friend. This couldn’t be happening. Everything was surreal.
Eventually, a long time later, the motion suddenly stopped and all was quiet. I felt the car dip, and then rise, as he got out. This was followed by a low rumbling noise, like a roller-shutter door moving. Then the car briefly moved again before coming to a halt. Another low rumble. Suddenly the boot was opened and he was standing there, silhouetted against the blinding light of a fluorescent fitting above his head. He fiddled with the b
indings on my ankles, then grabbed my arm and roughly hauled me out of the boot. Excruciating pain shot through my numb legs and ankles, and I staggered and would have fallen but for his iron grip on my upper arm. We were in a garage and I registered bare brick walls and a steel roller-shutter door, before being pushed unceremoniously through a doorway, into a small galley kitchen. He then manhandled me into a sparsely furnished sitting room, with a chintzy settee and one armchair.
He threw me into the chair, then bent over me and savagely ripped the tape and gag from my face. It hurt like hell, but it was such a relief to be able to breathe properly and I took some big gulps of air.
‘Pauline?’ I sobbed. ‘Why?’
‘Shouldn’t have brought her with you, should you?’ he laughed. ‘It was just meant to be you. Pure improvisation, getting rid of her. Thought I did rather well, seeing as I wasn’t expecting you to have company. I had an iron bar there just in case you proved troublesome. Came in handy.’
He was looming over me and suddenly I remembered this happening before. Of course I thought, as the realisation hit me.
‘It was you,’ I whispered. ‘In Barbados.’
‘Oh how perceptive of you, Carol. I knew you were bright.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Gayle called in to see Carol, as she did most days. Fiona answered the door and ushered her in.
‘Carol’s not in just now. She left me a note. She’s gone to see a tenant in South Shields. Can I get you a drink?’
‘Isn’t she back yet?’ Gayle asked, sharply, following Fiona into the sitting room.
‘Well, no. I’ve just got in. I don’t know what time she went. Why? Is there a problem? Pauline’s with her.’
‘Just a minute.’ Gayle took out her phone and walked into the hallway to make a call. Fiona could hear the urgency in her voice as she yelled at someone down the phone. She came back into the sitting room, looking agitated, the phone at her ear.
‘Carol’s not answering her phone. Have you got Pauline’s number?’
‘She could be driving; I don’t think she’s got hands-free in her car... I’ll get Pauline for you.’ Fiona keyed in Pauline’s number, which just rang out before going to voicemail. ‘She’s not answering either. Gayle you’re worrying me. What’s wrong?’
‘I arranged for some police cover for Carol, as a precaution. But they were involved in an accident on their way, and didn’t get there in time. Do you know who the tenant is? Do you have his number?’
‘Well, no, but Carol keeps files on the properties, in the office. I’ll just see if I can find that one.’
After a minute or so, Fiona returned with a red file in her hands, the spine labelled SOUTH SHIELDS. She handed it to Gayle.
Inside the file, there were two sections, with dividers indicating Ground Floor and First Floor It obviously had to be the tenant in the ground floor flat that Carol had gone to see, and looking inside, Gayle found the tenant’s name, Dan Smithson, together with a telephone number. She was just about to call him, when a small photograph fell out of the file on to the floor. Fiona, who was looking over her shoulder, picked up the photo and looked at it.
‘Oh, is that him?’ she asked, looking at a sandy-haired, plump-ish man, smiling for the camera. ‘Strange. He’s nothing like the man in the other photo that Carol was so worried about.’
‘What other photo? What are you talking about, Fiona?’
Fiona explained about Carol finding the photograph on Peter’s phone and getting Tim Lawrenson to check him out.
‘Tim put her mind at ease,’ she said. ‘He told her the tenant is definitely not Terry Archer. He did say there was a resemblance, but I can’t see it, if that’s the tenant in the photo.’
‘Who is Terry Archer? Can I see this other photograph?’ Gayle’s tone was urgent.
‘According to Tim, Terry Archer is the name of the man in the photograph Carol found on Peter’s phone.’ Fiona explained, scrolling through to find the picture. ‘That’s him.’ she said, handing the phone to Gayle.
Gayle studied the photograph closely, then went very still. ‘And Carol thought this was her tenant?’
‘Yes, she was really worried. Her mind was all over the place. She had it in her head that he’d joined the hiking group to get at Peter, before coming for her.’
‘And she never thought to mention this to me?’
‘Well, she asked Tim to check him out first, because Tim’s the leader of the hiking group. He knows the man in the photo. She knew Tim was the only person who could absolutely confirm that her tenant is not the man in the photo.’
Gayle muttered something unintelligible before going into the hall again and making a call to DCI Mayne.’
‘Boss, I’m concerned for Carol Barrington’s safety, and her friend, Pauline. They went to see one of Carol’s tenants in South Shields about three hours ago and haven’t returned. Their phones are just ringing out. I arranged back up, as a precaution, but it never arrived, because of an accident en route.’ Gayle was pacing up and down the hallway.
‘I’ve just been shown a photograph of a man Carol thought was her tenant. You know I never forget a face. Well, I’m certain it’s a man I interviewed some time ago, in London, called Justin Green. One of Justin Green’s students at University College London, was beaten and raped in her own flat. She later died of her injuries. Her flat had been bugged. We interviewed Green as a person of interest, but he had a cast iron alibi and was therefore never treated as a suspect. But, I always had my suspicions - there was something about him that didn’t ring true.’
‘Go on.’ encouraged Patsy.
‘If I’m right, then Justin Green is living under an assumed name, as Carol’s tenant. He also used the name Terry Archer to join the hiking group that Carol’s deceased husband was a member of. I’ll explain the situation fully when I see you, but I believe they’re in grave danger. I want to go over to South Shields, without delay to check things out. I’ll need some back up.’
‘How certain are you that the man in the photograph on the phone is Justin Green? Could you not be mistaken? You’re making a lot of assumptions, based on your recollection.’ The DCI was playing devil’s advocate.
‘I’ve got no doubt at all. I’ll never forget his face.’ Her voice betrayed her agitation. She wanted to get over to South Shields right away.
‘Ok, Gayle. We’ll go with it. But if you’re wrong, you could have egg on your face.’
‘I’ll take that chance, boss.’
‘Right. I’ll request assistance from South Shields; get a couple of their lads to go there now. And I’m on my way, too.’
’I hope they’re more efficient than those morons were this morning. They didn’t even report back to let me know they’d been in an accident. That left Carol totally exposed. I’m leaving now.’
Fiona was on her feet, waiting for Gayle to go back into the room. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I just need to check something out. Can’t say much more at the moment. I’ll keep in touch and let you know what’s happening. Try not to worry.’ And with that she was gone, leaving Fiona very worried.
Driving through the Tyne Tunnel, Gayle thought back to the case in London. A young girl had been raped and beaten in her flat, and died later without regaining consciousness. The assailant had stuffed her knickers into her mouth to gag her, before assaulting her. Justin Green had been interviewed in the course of the enquiries and there had been something about him that hadn’t rung true with Gayle. He was the victim’s lecturer at college, where she was studying electronics. The girl had been for a quick drink with friends after class one night, before returning to her first floor flat, where she was attacked. Justin Green had been interviewed as a general suspect, but had provided a solid alibi for that night.
Gayle had left London soon after, for personal reasons, whilst the investigation was in progress, so didn’t have any further involvement with the case. She’d kept in touch
with a colleague on the force however, and knew that the perpetrator had never been found. That was five years ago.
When she arrived at the flat in South Shields, a squad car was already there, waiting. She quickly outlined the situation to the two young DC’s, then knocked at the door. When there was no response, she used the key that had been in Carol’s file. The door opened into a wide hallway. A spacious bedroom led off the hall to the left, a smaller bedroom and separate bathroom to the right. The living room was straight ahead. It was a large room, with a high ceiling. A spacious, modern kitchen was accessed through a door on the far side of the room. The flat was tastefully furnished and was very tidy, but it soon became obvious, as they looked around, that it wasn’t being lived in. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, no food in the fridge or cupboards, and the waste bins and wheelie bin were all empty. The kitchen ceiling was damaged around the light fitting, and tiny drops of water were still coming through, dripping into an overflowing bucket.
Gayle also had with her the key to the first floor flat, so they went up there next. Notes in Carol’s file indicated that the flat was currently unoccupied, so she wasn’t surprised to find it empty. She quickly looked around, but couldn’t see any sign of where the water might be coming from. More importantly, neither was there any sign of Carol or Pauline.
Gayle had just gone back down the stairs, when DCI Patsy Mayne arrived. She quickly brought her up to speed and explained in more detail about the photographs, showing her the one she’d found in the file and the one on the mobile phone.
‘So, if Carol Barrington thought the guy in the photograph on the phone was her tenant, then whose picture was in the file? They couldn’t be less alike. Yet, this Tim Lawrenson told her he thought there was a resemblance after meeting the tenant. Something isn’t adding up here. Gayle, how certain are you that the photograph on the phone is of Justin Green?’ she asked.
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