Slowly, reluctantly, I removed my jacket, then hesitated. The thought of exposing my body to him was abhorrent.
He waved the knife. ‘Keep going.’ His eyes were boring into me.
I had no choice but to do as he said. Soon, I stood there, in my underwear, cold and quivering with fright and nerves.
‘That’ll do,’ he said. Putting the knife on the bed, he threw me down on my back, climbed over me and quickly got one wrist shackled, then the other. My strength was no match for his and though I struggled and scratched and kicked and tried to bite him, he easily overpowered me. Once my hands were secured, he tied cord around each ankle, and secured them to the legs at the base of the bed. Totally vulnerable and exposed, I’d never felt such helpless despair and fear in my life. With the knife in his hand, he climbed on to the bed and came towards me and I remember thinking Just stab me. Get it over with. I felt eerily calm.
After that, everything was pain. Soon, I ceased feeling the blows. My mind disconnected from my body and it was almost as though I was floating above watching this happening to someone else. His perversion was sickening and the only way I could endure it was to take my mind away from that place and float off to oblivion. I tuned out, no longer hearing his grunts and profanities. Time meant nothing and I’ve no idea how long I was in that dreamlike state, hovering above my body, feeling and hearing nothing.
Then, abruptly, it was over and he got up off the bed, panting heavily and wiping sweat and blood from his face. ‘Did you enjoy that, bitch? I did.’ The maniacal grin again.
I slowly, reluctantly, came back to reality. ‘I need to use the bathroom.’ My voice came in a hoarse whisper. I wanted to scrub his filth off me.
‘Not a chance, babe. It’s nearly dark enough now. Time to take your final journey. But first, something for you to think about on the way. He sat on the bed, as if we were about to have a cosy chat, and watched my reaction closely when he began to speak.
‘I’ve not only been watching you, Carol, I’ve been spying on your very lovely daughter... oh, yes, I’ve got great plans for Julia. She’s just like a younger version of you. Perhaps she’ll have the sense to be nicer to me than her mother was.’
I screamed ‘No’ and struggled against my bonds. With the back of his hand, he hit me hard in the face.
‘I like her nice little flat in Leeds. Very cosy. Oh, and what a delectable body she’s got! Don’t you think the young have it all? With their smooth skin and tight little pussies. She has no idea how lovely she is. But, I’ll delight in telling her, as I...’
I became aware of a noise, a haunting, keening sound that came from the depths of despair and realised it was coming from me. He punched me hard in the side of my head. I must have briefly passed out, because the next thing I became aware of was him screaming at me to get dressed. The manacles had been removed, but even so, I struggled to get my clothes on. I was in a daze and shaking so much it was a struggle to pull on my boots. Whimpering noises were coming from me, unbidden. He propelled me down the stairs, half pushed, half dragged me through the kitchen and into the garage.
‘You get to be with your friend again,’ he said, in a chirpy voice. Then, holding my arms in a painful grip, he pushed me head-first into the open boot of the car, scooped my legs up and threw me in. I had a brief glimpse of Pauline’s lifeless face, before he slammed the boot closed and all was dark. The horror was almost more than I could bear.
I felt the car reverse a few metres before coming to a halt again and then I heard the roller-shutter door being closed. He was back in the driving seat and the car was rocking on the uneven road. I was being tossed about, bumping into Pauline’s body, stiff and unyielding now. Oh Pauline... Pauline... I was in a living nightmare, moaning in terror.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Tim Lawrenson was in DCI Patsy Mayne’s office when Gayle got back to the Station and there was a message for her to go straight there. Mayne introduced them and Gayle took a seat.
‘Mr Lawrenson has just arrived. I’ve explained that we need him to clarify certain things. Would you like to proceed?’
‘Mr Lawrenson,’ Gayle said, turning to him, noticing his smart appearance, and aquiline features. ‘You’re a friend of Carol Barrington. Can you tell us, please, why you visited her tenant, Dan Smithson, in South Shields?’ She looked at him, chin tilted up, waiting for his response.
Tim looked puzzled. ‘Can I ask why you’re asking me this? Has something happened?’
‘We can’t tell you anything further at the moment, I’m afraid,’ said Gayle, rather brusquely. ‘Could you just answer the question please?’
Tim looked worried, but gave a clear account of Carol asking him to check out her tenant after becoming worried about a photograph she’d found on her late husband’s phone.
‘I knew the photo was of Terry Archer, one of the hiking group, but Carol was adamant it was her tenant. I thought she was being paranoid, but I agreed to check him out just to put her mind at rest.’ His direct gaze was upon Gayle.
‘What happened when you got there?’ the DCI interjected.
‘I posed as her newly-appointed agent when Dan Smithson came to the door. He was not Terry Archer. I could see some resemblance; the same dark, wiry hair. We chatted for a few minutes about the condition of the property. I found him quite a charming fellow. Then I left. I went to see Carol and told her she was mistaken.’
‘Would you please look at this photograph.’ said Gayle, putting the photograph from Carol’s file, on the table. ‘Do you know this man?’
Tim looked carefully at the chubby face and reddish hair before shaking his head. ‘No. I’ve never seen this man before.’
‘Mr Lawrenson, could you have been mistaken about Terry Archer not being Dan Smithson?’ Gayle asked.
‘Absolutely not,’ Tim said briskly, looking directly at her with his intelligent, blue eyes. ‘I got to know Terry Archer very well during the time he was a member of the hiking club. It was not Terry who answered the door.’
‘Thank you, Mr Lawrenson. You’ve been very helpful. We may need to speak with you again. If we do, we’ll be in touch.’ DCI Mayne rose to her feet.
‘Has something happened to Carol?’ asked Tim, frowning. ‘Please, you have to tell me.’
‘I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to disclose anything at the moment, sir. We’ll be in touch.’
‘But... is she alright? Why are you asking these questions?’ he demanded, his habitual controlled manner deserting him.
‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing further we can tell you at present.’
‘Bollocks. Surely you can tell me if Carol is alright?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t give you any information at the moment,’ DCI Mayne said, firmly. Relenting a little, she added, ‘When we’re in a position to give out further information, we’ll be in touch with you.’
‘Come on,’ he pleaded, ‘you can’t leave me worried sick like this. You must be able to tell me what’s happened. I’m not leaving here until you do.’ He resumed his seat and crossed his arms.
‘Look,’ said Gayle, ‘we know how worried you are. But you must understand that there are circumstances in which we are not at liberty to give out any information. - when an investigation is at a sensitive and critical stage. As an ex officer, I’m sure you’ll understand.’
‘We will let you know, as soon as we are at liberty to disclose information,’ said the DCI. ‘That’s a promise.’
After Tim left, still very unsettled and unhappy, the DCI and Gayle discussed the interview.
‘I think the photograph in Carol’s file of the chubby red-haired man, was put there to mislead us. Green could have placed it there when he broke in to plant surveillance equipment,’ offered Gayle.
‘What’s your view as to why Lawrenson is certain Dan Smithson is not Terry Archer?’ asked the DCI.
‘I can only think that it wasn’t Dan Smithson who answered the door. He c
ould have sent someone else to the door, knowing Lawrenson would recognise him and his cover would be blown. I think we should check if a Terry Archer travelled to Barbados.’
‘We’ll make a fully-fledged detective out of you yet, DC Jones,’ said Patsy. ‘I think your theories could be spot on.’ She held the door open. ‘I know you’re up for promotion. I’ll put in a good word for you.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Time for the briefing.’
Just before Detective Superintendent, Mike Jensen, entered and addressed the hastily-assembled team of twenty, Gayle had a quick word with DCI Brown, suggesting he check on Terry Archer entering Barbados,
‘Right,’ the DS began, ‘we now believe that Carol Barrington and her friend, Pauline Bradley have been abducted, from a flat in South Shields, and at least one of them is possibly injured. Let me sum up the situation so far. Some of you know from the initial briefing that Carol Barrington was attacked and critically injured on November 29 last year, in her holiday home in Barbados. At first, she had no memory of the attack, but then got flashbacks that indicated her assailant knew her and was English. The Barbados police have now ruled out everyone interviewed so far in Barbados. Two of their officers are over here, continuing enquiries.’ He turned to where the two were sitting. ‘This is DCI Louis Brown, and DI James Phillips. We’re working together on this case, for now.
From Carol Barrington’s former husband, who is currently in custody, we have a partial number plate and a description of the car possibly being used by the abductor. It’s still being traced.
This morning, DC Gayle Jones, the FLO on this case, went to see Carol Barrington,’ he turned to Gayle, ‘Can you tell us what happened, Gayle?’
‘Sir. Carol Barrington rang me at nine this morning to tell me she needed to visit a tenant in South Shields and was taking her friend, Pauline Bradley with her. She indicated their photographs on the white board behind her. As a precaution, I arranged for a couple of the South Shields lads to accompany her.’
Gayle went on to detail her conversation with Fiona, and produced the phone with the photograph. ‘I recognised this man as Justin Green, someone I interviewed five years ago in connection with a rape and murder in the Wimbledon area. He had a cast iron alibi and therefore wasn’t in the frame. But my hunch at the time was that he was somehow connected. He was a lecturer at University College London and the victim was one of his students. She’d gone home to her flat near the college, where she was badly beaten and raped. She died soon after being taken to hospital. Mid-case, I moved up to Newcastle and had no further involvement, but I know the perpetrator was never found.’ She had their full attention.
‘Any questions so far?’ the Super asked. When they shook their heads, Gayle went on to summarise the events of the day, then continued.
‘Fresh bloodstains were found in the kitchen of Dan Smithson’s flat, out of sight behind the island. Forensics say there has been an attempt to clean up the blood; traces have been found over a large patch of floor. The assailant missed the bits we found. Samples were analysed and compared to Carol and Pauline’s medical records for blood type. The blood is possibly that of Pauline Bradley. Neither of the women have returned home, or been seen since they left Jesmond at around nine this morning.’
‘Just to clarify things,’ interrupted DI Kris Hunter. ‘You’re saying you believe Dan Smithson, the tenant, is Justin Green, who also uses the pseudonym Terry Archer?’
‘Yes, that’s right. He used the name Terry Archer to join the hiking group, possibly to dispose of Carol’s husband who died in a climbing accident last year, but this is supposition at this stage.
We got the Met to check their records of the attack in Wimbledon, five years earlier, looking for any information on Justin Green, but because he was never an active suspect, there was little information on file, and no photographs. A check on the address he’d given at the time, showed he’d long since moved on and no-one could be found who knew of his whereabouts. They promised to trace his family and give us the details as soon as possible.’
Superintendent Jensen got to his feet. ‘It’s imperative we find this Justin Green as soon as possible. I’ll deal with the media on this; no other information is to be given out. This has to be tightly controlled. Right everyone, we need to find this man, and fast. Let’s get to work.’ He assigned some of the team to the job of delving into records, checking on NI databases, credit cards, trying to pick up Justin Green’s trail and that of his aliases. Others were despatched to South Shields to do more house to house enquiries; CCTV footage was to be checked, around the area of the incident and wider, looking for Carol Barrington’s car. Saul Harrison was to be shown the photograph to see if he recognised him as the man he claimed was watching Carol, and to see if he could recall any further details of the car.
‘Gayle, as soon as the information’s come through from the Met, I’d like you to follow up with Justin Green’s family. Take Georgia with you.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She turned to DC Georgia Green, a bright girl who had only been with the department for six months but was already showing promise. Before she had a chance to speak, the Office Manager, Wendy, interrupted.
‘The Met have just emailed the details. There’s a mother, and a brother, both living in London,’ she handed Gayle a note of the details.
‘Thanks Wendy. Can you get someone to book our flights as soon as possible, please, and we’ll need to stay in London overnight. Book us an early flight back tomorrow?’
DCI Louis Brown answered his mobile. He listened in silence before thanking the caller and announcing ‘Terry Archer flew to Barbados on the twenty-sixth of November and returned on fourth of December.’
‘Yess,’ cried Gayle, I was right.’ It felt good to be vindicated, but she took no pleasure from knowing that Carol and Pauline were without doubt in grave danger.
‘Good work, Gayle.’ Praise indeed, from the Super.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Wendy got them on the five o’clock flight to Heathrow, meaning they had to leave straight away. Once on board, Georgia kept up her incessant chatter, with bits of office gossip and rather lurid details of her sex life with her current boyfriend.
After a while, Gayle tuned out. She thought back to the unresolved case involving the attack and murder of the student, and her gut feeling that Justin Green was involved. At the time, she was living with her partner of three years, and they were happy, or so she thought.
As a rookie PC then, she was finding the case quite harrowing. One day she was sent home early with a particularly severe migraine.
She walked in on her partner, on his knees on the rug in front of the log burner. with another woman. They were so engrossed, they didn’t even realise she was there until she screamed at them. Yelling with hurt and rage, she kicked him between his legs and, when he rolled away clutching his balls in agony, started kicking the woman in the head and body. She was out of her mind, infuriated beyond belief.
The woman turned out to be a DCI in the Met. Gayle had seriously assaulted a senior officer, causing actual bodily harm. In the end, they came to an understanding. Gayle would immediately put in for a transfer, out of the area. In return, the DCI would not press charges. This had the double advantage of saving both the DCI’s marriage and Gayle’s career.
‘So you screw my partner behind my back, and I’m the one who has to leave?’ Gayle had said, bitterly. But she knew when she was beaten, and left London soon afterwards for Newcastle, where she moved back in with her mother.
The worst part for her was leaving in the middle of such a serious investigation. Now, she had a chance to finish the job. She wanted, more than anything in the world, to find Green before he could kill again. She tuned back into the present with a jolt, as the wheels of the aircraft thudded on to the tarmac.
Once they’d disembarked, she switched on her phone and received an update from the office on how the team was progressing. It wasn’t encouraging. She explained t
o Georgia as they walked.
‘The car that Saul Harrison saw, the dark blue BMW, has been traced to a car hire firm. They confirmed it was rented by a Terry Archer, but so far there’s no trace of it. There’s no record of any car registered to either Justin Green or Dan Smithson.’ They reached Arrivals, and headed for the BA desk, where the Met had left a set of keys to a car they’d arranged to put at their disposal.
Gayle continued. ‘The uniformed officers despatched to South Shields reported nothing unusual seen by any of the neighbours interviewed so far. There was no CCTV to the rear of the flats - which was presumably where he must have had a car ready to take Carol away. It would have been easy for him to bundle someone into the car, unseen, if it was parked in the yard, especially as there was no-one in the flat above to witness anything.’
‘What about the front of the building? Any cameras there?’ asked Georgia, as they headed for the car park.
‘The cameras at the front only picked up the rear of Carol’s car, but the rest of the car was obscured by trees. The team said it was frustrating to see it being driven off within ten minutes of being parked there, with no clear view of the driver.’
‘Assuming Green took the car, I wonder what he did with it. And where were Carol and Pauline at that time? They must have been left in the flat when he disposed of the car, if the rear doors and boot were visible in the cctv footage?’ Georgia said.
‘I wonder if he’d already killed them? Or disabled them in some way?’ Gayle speculated. ‘The team are examining traffic camera footage in the vicinity of the flat to see if the car’s journey can be tracked.’
‘And presumably hoping to catch his route back to the flat.’ Georgia added.
They found the car and Gayle wasted no time in heading for Wimbledon to see Justin Green’s elderly mother, Maud Wilkinson. She lived in a nursing home, which they eventually found, hidden away down a side street off Wimbledon Common. Gayle was grateful to whoever had invented satellite navigation systems. Without it, she thought they’d have had great difficulty finding The Cedars, in the dark.
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