He straightened. “I’m not giving up hope yet, love.”
“Be careful.” She tweaked his tie and patted down a ruffled collar.
He found the action comforting, somehow maternal—not that he remembered his mother.
“There’s someone I want you to meet when you get back, so don’t mark that ruggedly handsome face of yours.”
“Honestly Manda, you and your matchmaking.” He tried to scowl, but couldn’t do it justice. “How many times have I told you that ship has sailed? I’m too old and too set in my ways.”
“Nonsense, it’s never too late. You’ll make someone a wonderful—”
“Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in surrender and backed towards the door. “Have it your way. Can’t wait to meet the next one. Who have you got in store this time? Another humus-eating, food-sharing poet?”
He could never be angry with someone who tried hard to make his life better. Manda wouldn’t believe his ticks and compulsions were set firm. She couldn’t believe he’d ever tried to change. Didn’t know that he’d even considered therapy once, but his habits were as much a part of him as were his hands or his eyes.
Without his attention to detail, he wouldn’t be half as good a detective, and without the job, he had nothing but a half-built wreck of a house in the middle of nowhere.
“No, David. You and Robyn have such a lot in common. You’ll get on well. I promise.”
And one day a squadron of porkers will request landing permission at Heathrow.
“Robyn? Right. I’ll look forward to meeting her.”
“Uncle David!”
Jones spun to see Jamie, dressed in a pink onesie, standing at the top of the stairs.
“Ready?” She yelled.
“Okay.”
He held out his arms. She bounded down the stairs and leapt off the third step from the bottom. He caught her mid-flight, as they’d practised so many times, and hugged her tight. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Jones buried his head in her hair and squeezed. She was warm and smelled of baby shampoo.
“Jamie. Why aren’t you in bed?” Manda scolded.
Jamie pulled her head away and made her serious face, with a baby frown and a pout the image of Manda’s.
Jones’ heart lurched.
The little girl studied Jones for a second before speaking. “When can Daddy go back to work, Uncle David? Mummy says he’s getting under her feet and making the place untidy.”
Jones chuckled. “Well now, Poppet, we have to wait until Daddy’s leg is all better, don’t we?” Jones squeezed again.
“Uncle David, you’re hugging too tight.”
“Sorry, darling, but you should be in bed. It’s too early for little girls to be awake. Shall I tuck you back in?” He sneaked an enquiring look at Manda who nodded her approval and added an exasperated smile.
“Yes please, David. She’ll be too tired for school without another two hours.”
“Oh, Mu-um. Please can I stay with the grown-ups? There’s so much noise going on I’ll never get to sleep again.”
Manda crossed her arms and gave that, ‘Oh no you don’t, my lady’ look. Jones climbed the stairs, all the time rubbing Jamie’s back. The little girl’s head slumped to his shoulder and her eyes drooped. He kissed her forehead, laid her in bed, and tucked the duvet under her chin.
“Sleep tight, little one.”
“I love you, Uncle David,” she mumbled, half asleep.
“Love you too, Poppet.”
He took a final look at her sleeping form, locking away the memory, before closing the door softly and descending the stairs. The doorbell chimed as he reached the hallway.
“I’ll get it,” he called, and opened the door to Alex, who carried a shoulder bag. “What are you doing here? Trouble with the French?”
Manda popped her head through the kitchen door and beckoned Alex into the house. “Great, you’re here at last.”
Jones scratched his head. “What the hell’s going on?”
Alex fixed Jones with a steady, cool stare. “You are not going alone to France.”
“But I have to.”
Manda turned on him. “David, this is the best way. Alex speaks French. And what happens if, er … when you find Hollie. Wouldn’t it be better if she sees a friendly female face?”
“You’re in on this too?” Manda and Alex had backed him into a corner, but he did see the logic. “Okay, Alex, but if things go wrong you’ll have to tell the authorities I ordered you to accompany me. Understand?”
Alex nodded and looked away. “Yes, boss.”
Jones didn’t believe her for a second, but knew from the determined set of Alex’s jaw he couldn’t change her mind.
Phil turned and smiled as Jones and Alex entered the cluttered room that posed as his office. Poorly fitted shelves bent under the weight of books, lever files and other assorted reference material, including past papers for the Inspectors’ exams.
“Alex. Glad you made it,” Phil winked at her and blanked Jones’ angry frown. “You’re both booked on today’s flight to Brest Airport, Finistère. Departs Birmingham International at 07:30, and lands 09:00 local time. Return flight departs tomorrow at 09:00 our time, 10:00 local. We got lucky. The service runs alternate days except weekends.” He checked the clock on his computer screen. “You need to leave in half an hour. And I reserved you a hire car, a Range Rover Defender. I’ve checked Google Earth—”
“What?”
“Satellite imagery, boss.” Phil grinned. “I’ll show you.”
He spun the swivel chair to face the large computer monitor and hit the keys. Jones tried to follow his actions but Phil might as well have been playing a Space Invaders arcade machine. Before long, an image of the Earth appeared on the screen. Phil rolled the dial on his computer mouse and the picture zoomed in to show France, Brittany, and then a country landscape.
A patchwork of green and yellow fields surrounded a small wooded area. A stream meandered through the trees and passed beside a small group of buildings.
“Is one of those Flynn’s cottage?”
“Think so, boss. It’s the only habitation for a few hundred metres. An old farm. About a kilometre from the nearest road. See that track?” Phil pointed to a ribbon of white running from a two-lane tarmac road straight through the fields. The lane turned sharp north, disappeared into the woods, and ended in the clearing occupied by the buildings.
“Yes.”
“Looks rough, that’s why I thought the Defender might come in handy, especially if it rains. That lane’s the only way in or out of the place except on foot.”
“Isolated,” Alex added. “And we will be arriving in wide daylight.”
“Broad daylight,” Phil corrected with a wink.
“Thank you, Philip.” Alex said. “Broad daylight. May be difficult to approach unseen.”
“We’ll take care,” Jones said, needing to regain control. “The track twists and turns at the end before entering the woods. There might be enough cover to hide us some of the way. What’s that grey line near the buildings?”
Phil shrugged. “Not sure. Could be a wall surrounding the woods.”
“Let’s hope it’s tall.”
“You’re sure we shouldn’t notify the locals?” Phil’s worried expression matched the one given by Manda.
“Absolutely not. I saw the French approach to hostage negotiation back in ’96. Won’t go down that route again. At least not until we’ve checked the place out. I’ll tell Charlie to hold off notifying them until we know what’s happening. Alex and I’ll cross into France as civilians.” Jones stretched his aching back. “In any event, speaking to the French authorities face-to-face will be better than going through official channels.” He turned to Alex. “What about your passport?”
“Julie is delivering it to the airport. And you?”
“Always keep an emergency pack in the car. Change of clothes, first aid kit, passport. Used to be a Boy Scout. I’m always prepared.”
He checked his watch again. Time to go. He nodded to Phil on his way out and wondered whether he wasn’t making the worst mistake of his professional life.
7
Friday morning - New Day, New Life
Time since abduction: fifteen hours, five minutes
Ellis drove the big camper due west for over five hours. The horizon lightened behind them and the clear sky promised a wonderful day. He hummed the first few bars of ‘Oh what a beautiful morning’ but kept the volume low. He didn’t want to wake Jenkins who had leaned his seat back as far as it would go and lay open-mouthed, snoring gently beside him. Relaxed and peaceful.
During one stop to check on the Hottie, Flynn threw a blanket over Jenkins. The smile and a ‘thank you’ he received for his trouble made Flynn’s heart soar and shortened the journey by hours.
He stopped the camper every hour, but the Hottie slept the sleep of the innocent, tucked away in her little box. Could the day get any better?
The drone of the camper and the endless straight roads made him drowsy. He needed to stop soon or risk falling asleep.
At eight-fifteen, Ellis yawned and rubbed tired eyes. He needed a final stop to rest and check the package again. A grumbling stomach told him a spot of breakfast wouldn’t go amiss either. He tapped the indicator stalk and cut right onto the slip road to L’Aire de Lamballe, a municipal picnic area adjoining the picturesque coastal high road. In France, he never took the Autoroute. The morning sun at his back, orange and friendly, gladdened his heart. The empty rest stop welcomed him in.
He drove to a quiet spot as far from the rest-room facilities as possible and parked in the shade of a stand of Chestnut trees. His heart rate spiked as the moaning, thumping, and muffled squealing from the living area grew louder. Here was the start of the new adventure.
“Excellent,” he murmured.
Jenkins stretched, lowered the blanket, and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Lord knew how he coped with the contact lenses, they must have caused agony. “Sort her out. She’ll do herself a mischief, and that’s our job.”
Ellis drew the curtains behind him and turned to face the noise.
The seat cushions bounced under the force of the Hottie’s intensifying blows. The gagged screams rose in volume. She’d tire soon enough, but he didn’t want her hurt. Not yet.
Ellis knew what it was like to wake up bound, gagged, and in the dark. It happened to him many times when Dad punished him for wetting the bed, or answering back, or simply for being alive.
The Hottie would be grateful to him for letting her see daylight. He had the same feelings towards Dad back then.
Let the mind-games continue.
He pulled the seat cushion, clothes, and the panel away. The Hottie squeezed her eyes shut against the bright morning light and froze. He dipped his head into the trunk, and stopped an inch from her face. The fear in her eyes made his heart sing, but the smell of urine had ripened overnight and he wrinkled his nose.
“Keep your fucking noise down, bitch,” he whispered, knowing the lack of volume would be more terrifying than a screamed threat. “Can’t hardly hear myself think.”
The Hottie’s eyes narrowed and the tiny pupils shot out hate.
Wonderful, there’s some fight left.
Ellis stroked the Hottie’s hair. She pulled away but the bonds and the neck brace restricted movement.
“Quiet, little one. Calm.” His hand moved towards her chest. Hottie squealed and twisted, but he pushed her shoulder against the base of the box, her potential coffin. He pinched her earlobe with his free hand. “Don’t misbehave, or it’ll be much worse for you.”
The girl screamed through her nose and bucked under his hands, but he kept the pressure until she stopped moving. Tears ran down her cheeks and puddled in her ears.
“That’s better. Stop struggling and I’ll stop hurting. Deal?”
The Hottie didn’t answer. He slapped her face. “I asked you a question,” he hissed. “Do we have a deal?”
The Hottie’s head jerked in a restricted nod.
Ellis released his grip and paused for a moment to see his prize again in all her part-naked glory. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Do you need the bathroom, my sweet?”
She frowned, apparently confused by his change of approach.
“I won’t ask again,” he said a little louder.
She blinked tears away and nodded.
Ellis took a switchblade from his pocket and waved it under her wide eyes. She followed the blade the same way she followed his hand aboard the ferry.
His heart raced at the fear he saw. This was too, too good.
“I’m going to cut you free now so you can use the toilet. You can have a shower too, but only if you promise to be quiet. Can you do that? Don’t move a muscle until I tell you, okay?”
The Hottie let out a low whimper. Ellis grinned and cut the tape holding the gag in place. The girl yelped as he ripped the sticky tape from her lips. A small split oozed blood. He removed the neck brace.
Two more cuts released the rope at her hands and feet, but she didn’t move.
“Good girl. You’ll be stiff from lying in the box all night, so take your time, and go clean yourself.” He gave her the gift of his most captivating smile. Such a lucky Hottie. “I want you nice and fresh for when we get to our new home. And don’t try opening the window in the shower-room. It’s sealed and Perspex doesn’t break.”
Ellis offered his hand, but Hottie didn’t take it so he snaked it into the box and yanked her out by the wrists. Such a well-built creature, he needed both hands to drag her upright and prop her against the side of the van.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she pleaded, her voice a coarse whisper.
He slapped her hard across the face again.
“I didn’t say you could talk, bitch! Now get in the shower. You stink. And hurry, we don’t have all fuckin’ morning.”
She turned and dived into the shower. He enjoyed the view. He’d be the first man to fuck her—and the last. She wouldn’t enjoy the experience, but Jenkins and he most definitely would.
Jenkins would stare. He never fucked any of them and left that part to Ellis. Jenkins directed the action and did the cutting, or as he preferred to call it—the editing. Ellis chuckled at the inside joke and prepared breakfast.
From behind a gap in the curtains, Jenkins grinned and nodded his glorious approval.
It was a struggle, but David Jones resisted the urge to pull on a pair of latex gloves—he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Budget airline seating made him shudder. In the hygiene stakes, they were only one step up from public buses. The dirt and grime was overwhelming, and the body odour suffusing the recirculated air, was overpowering.
On the seventy-five minute flight, he suffered the usual audio bombardment of adverts for food, drink, perfumes, lottery tickets, and jewellery. He wondered what bright spark in the airline’s sales team believed that travellers on cut-price flights would want to buy costume jewellery.
He spent much of the flight trying to make sure the snotty, bouncing toddler in the next seat didn’t wipe his nose on Jones’ jacket sleeve. He managed a scant few minute’s nap between announcements for the next must-have travel necessity. What the hell was a ‘pouch bag’ and who needed one?
Jones prepared himself for the descent into Brest Airport by closing his eyes and trying to imagine himself in the a tidy, calm place—his bedroom. It sparkled. White and spotless. Everything had its place. Nobody else’s clutter messed with the lines.
That’s it Jones. Keep calm.
In the seat on his right, Alex, a regular air traveller, slept through the whole trip with head back and mouth open. A thin trail of saliva formed at the side of her mouth. Jones’ eyes were drawn to the frothy white bubbles and it took all his will power not to wipe the dribble away with a tissue. At least it was better than looking at the snot-faced lad on his left.
Once again, he debated the logic of
bringing her.
A couple of years from retirement, Jones didn’t fear the professional fall-out, but the same didn’t apply to Alex. She accompanied him out of a sense of loyalty. If things went horribly wrong, her career would be in the toilet. Yet there she was at his side, risking everything to help.
No doubt about it, he needed her language skills and Hollie needed her kinship, if they found the girl alive. But Jones couldn’t help worrying he’d jeopardised the career of a valuable officer on little more than a hunch and a deep-seated mistrust of a foreign police force. He didn’t have to imagine Siân’s reaction to his inherent distrust of rural and foreign police forces. In so many words, she’d called him arrogant. They’d had a similar conversation the day he arrived in South Wales for his summer secondment.
9th June, 1975, the day they met. A Monday. The date was branded into his memory. She’d collected him from Carmarthen railway station and driven him to the regional police headquarters to meet his temporary boss, Inspector Gareth Hughes. Jones had taken one look at the under-resourced, pokey country police station—a converted vicarage—and hadn’t been able to keep the disappointment off his face.
Constable Siân Savage had seen right through his pretentions from the word ‘go’.
“Davey Jones,” she’d said, eyes shining in the light of the noonday sun, “get your nose out of the air, boy. We can’t all work in the big city. Country forces, despite our lack of funding and manpower, have their uses, and their compensations.” She smiled as she scolded him.
Her bright smile did it for a twenty-one year-old Constable David Jones. He’d fallen for her hook, line, and police radio. They’d spent the summer together, working hard, playing harder. Happy, tragic days. Days he wouldn’t have missed for worlds. Despite the ending.
A glance out the cabin window showed a rugged granite coastline that turned into lush green meadows and dark woodland, seamed with tarmac roads. It looked beautiful, but he hadn’t come for the views.
Finistère, the knobbly bit on the western tip of Brittany. He’d never visited this part of France, and didn’t know what to expect. The last time he dealt with French authorities he got by with a few phrases of the language and the locals’ ability to speak English, but that had been in cosmopolitan Paris. He doubted the same held true in the rural backwaters of Finistère.
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