by Ed James
‘Where?’
‘Just outside a village called Minster Lovell.’
Sarah gave him a blank look.
‘It’s in Oxfordshire, Sarah.’ Palmer pulsed her hands. ‘Near Witney.’
‘Was I held there?’
‘I wanted to ask you that.’ Corcoran stood up tall again. ‘You said you were in a cell. Did you see anything to indicate where you were?’
‘You don’t know?’ Sarah’s voice was a weak rasp. Her expression suggested she wanted to shout but couldn’t. ‘You have no idea where he is?’ Her breathing was speeding up, her heart rate pulsing that bit quicker.
‘Hey, hey, hey.’ Palmer smiled and squeezed her fingers again. ‘It’s okay, Sarah. You’re safe now.’
‘But he could come back, he could—’
‘Nobody’s doing anything, Sarah. Okay? You’re safe in here. There are guards posted outside this room. Whoever did this to you can’t get at you any more.’
Sarah’s breathing slowed a touch, but her eyes still scanned the room for threats.
Corcoran stayed back, giving her space and distance. ‘Can you describe him for me?’
‘I told you it was a man.’ Sarah pursed her lips, still frowning. ‘I didn’t see much of him.’
‘You said he was big. Broad-shouldered. Strong.’
‘Right. That’s all I saw. He wore a leather jacket. Black. Like a biker’s jacket.’
‘Have you seen him before in your life?’
Sarah’s eyes stopped their manic dance and locked onto Corcoran. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Did you hear his voice?’
‘No.’
‘Was it someone you knew?’
Sarah pulled her hands away from Palmer and her breathing spiked. She gasped, her face twisting, then let out a deep moan.
Dr Palmer shot over to the door, her glare suggesting that Corcoran should leave.
But instead he gave Sarah a smile. ‘Was it Christopher or Klaus?’
Eyes shut now, lips twitching. ‘I thought it might be Klaus. I thought it could be Chris. But I couldn’t say if it was either of them.’
Dr Yadin stormed into the room. ‘What’s happened?’
Palmer raised her eyebrows at Corcoran. ‘Leave.’
‘Okay.’ He held up his hands and left the room. He pulled the door shut and sucked in the bitter tang of cleaning chemicals.
Palmer could try and make him look like an idiot for that. But all he’d done was ask a basic question, and Sarah’s reaction was telling. In her head, the affair with Klaus was still secret. She’d been locked in a room for over six weeks, starved and tortured, with nothing but her thoughts for company. She didn’t know there was a police investigation into her disappearance, didn’t know there were cops prying into her private life, didn’t know her husband and Klaus were now prime suspects.
Did any of it shed any new light on her ordeal?
Not really.
Corcoran shifted out of the way of a passing gurney. He ran his hand through his hair, down his face, across the sandpaper stubble that badly needed trimming.
‘Aidan?’ DI Thompson was thundering along the corridor, scowling at anyone and everything. ‘What’s happened? Is she—’
‘God, no.’ Corcoran held up his hands. ‘No, she’s fine. Well, not fine fine, it’s just . . .’ He let out a deep breath. ‘How was the news conference?’
‘Waste of time, as per usual.’ Thompson stared into her phone, tutting at texts and emails. ‘But you know the drill, Aidan, we’ve got to go through the motions, make it look blah blah blah. The calls have started already, the usual nutters trying to take credit for it, curtain twitchers trying to get their neighbours into trouble.’ She flashed her eyebrows, then nodded at Sarah’s door. ‘Did you get anything out of her?’
‘We—’
The door opened and Palmer stomped out, tossing her rucksack over her shoulder with a violence she probably wanted to inflict on Corcoran. ‘Inspector, I need a word.’
‘Okay.’ Thompson smiled at her and held out her hand. ‘I presume you’re Dr Palmer?’
She gave a withering look. ‘In private. Please.’
‘I’m kind of short of time here, so if you could cut to the chase?’
Palmer couldn’t look at the source of her irritation. She just stood there, nostrils twitching.
Thompson wasn’t giving any ground, just folded her arms. ‘Okay, so what’s going on here?’
Palmer looked at him now, strong lenses distorting her dark eyes, and snorted. ‘I managed to coax some information out of Sarah.’
‘Doc, we need to find who did this to Sarah. What have you got for me?’
‘This is far too early to tell and—’
‘I need to know what kind of person we should be looking for.’
Palmer let her bag slip to the floor and leaned back against the wall, pressing her head against the white paint, eyes closed, forehead twitching.
Thompson cleared her throat. ‘Doc?’
Palmer opened her eyes with another withering look. ‘It appears likely that whoever did this designed this whole experience for Sarah’s suffering. The gag, no food, the water bottles . . .’ She seemed to shiver. ‘Someone has starved Sarah, both nutritionally and emotionally.’ She frowned again, at Corcoran this time. ‘Though not intellectually, curiously enough. The books on philosophy were . . . Hmm. An interesting touch, would you say?’
‘Someone’s forcing a university degree on her?’ Thompson folded her arms. ‘What the hell is she talking about?’
Corcoran nodded. ‘There were some moral philosophy books on the desk, presumably for Sarah to read and mull over something she’d done.’
Palmer locked eyes with Corcoran and he could see they were on the same page. ‘Philosophy textbooks – and moral philosophy at that – would imply there’s a message here, something he wants her to digest and understand and reflect on and admit and potentially make reparations towards.’
‘Meaning her husband?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘We discussed this earlier and I don’t think we’ve heard anything that changes it.’ Corcoran got a nod from Palmer. ‘Alana, it’s unlikely Christopher is our guy.’
‘I need more suspects, not less . . .’
‘Fewer.’ Palmer picked up her rucksack. ‘And I agree with DS Corcoran’s statement. I don’t think her husband has done this.’ She fiddled with the zip, making the metal rattle. ‘My initial read of the perpetrator clashes with what I’ve seen and heard of Christopher Langton.’ She stopped fiddling. ‘Wouldn’t her husband want Sarah to know who was torturing her? Wouldn’t he want her to die? And why would he release her?’
Thompson didn’t have an answer.
Palmer dumped her bag again. ‘Whoever did this is someone who knows Sarah’s life intimately. Someone who followed her home and trapped her like that. It’s possible they’ve been torturing Christopher as much as Sarah. All the worry and concern and fear and hope of a missing spouse. I’ve seen the toll it’s taken on him from photos.’
Thompson inhaled. ‘Aidan, do you agree? Is he in the clear?’
‘This isn’t about being in the clear or not.’ Corcoran noticed another twitch on Palmer’s forehead. ‘It’s about probability. What Dr Palmer’s saying is, I think, that we’re close to eliminating him.’
Thompson’s phone rang. She checked the display but didn’t answer it.
Palmer gave Corcoran another look. ‘When your colleague here asked about who could do this, Sarah visibly panicked.’
‘So, is it Klaus?’
‘It’s possible. She mentioned him and her husband.’ Palmer shut her eyes. ‘But, as with her husband, Klaus would likely want Sarah to know who was doing this and, having gone to all the hassle of abducting her, he’d probably kill her as well. He wouldn’t want the risk of discovery, either, meaning that after he’d punished Sarah, he’d hide the body somewhere.’ She opened her eyes and scanned both of them. �
��From what Sarah told us, whoever did this took great pains to avoid any interactions with her. Any time he was in her room, she was asleep, probably drugged. He imparted no message to her, didn’t even say read X page of Y book. There was nothing for her to learn from this experience.’
Palmer sighed. ‘And letting Sarah go is a colossal risk. There’s a care and precision in everything around her abduction, but they’re not omniscient. Someone could’ve witnessed her abduction. There could be something Sarah saw or heard or even smelled in her cell that could lead us to them. Some tiny detail, maybe some forensic trace, but something that would give us an edge over him. Releasing her is a huge gamble and I’m not sure what the pay-off is.’
Thompson stood there, hands on hips, tapping her fingers. ‘I need results.’
‘Fine. I need space to work and think.’ Palmer glanced at Corcoran. ‘And I need him kept at arm’s reach. He was far too aggressive in there.’
‘Aidan?’
Corcoran shook his head. ‘I simply asked Sarah a question. She reacted badly.’
‘I’ve not got time for this.’ Thompson pointed at Corcoran. ‘He’s an experienced officer. You’re an experienced criminal psychologist. You’re on the same side, okay? Now, if I need to bang your heads together, I will. Work together on this. We need to find who did this to Sarah, not get into petty arguments.’
‘Petty?’ Palmer snorted again. ‘Inspector, I’ve been doing this for ten years and—’
‘Do we have a problem here?’
Another snort. ‘I need some space and time to pull together a profile on the attacker.’
‘Fine by me.’ Thompson clapped Corcoran on the shoulder. ‘But I need you to help us find who did this to that poor woman. I don’t care how many assumptions and caveats you need to cover your arse, but I’d like something by the close of play today. Okay?’
Palmer threw up her hands. ‘Fine.’
‘Good. Now, Aidan, I’m absolutely Hank Marvin so I’ll see you in the cafeteria.’ Another clap on his shoulder and she waddled off, staring at her phone.
Corcoran didn’t follow, instead focusing on Palmer. She couldn’t look at him. ‘I want to clear the air.’
Palmer raised her thin eyebrows. ‘Why, because your boss hauled you over the coals?’
‘You haven’t seen anything.’ Corcoran couldn’t help but laugh. ‘If we’re working together, we need to trust each other. If you think I went over the score there, then I’m sorry. I’ll let you take the lead in these situations.’
‘I’m not getting into any more of these situations, Sergeant. I was here to help assess Sarah and now I’ve got to pull together a profile based on scant information. Police.’ The word was a snarl.
‘I sympathise, doc, I really do, but—’
His phone rang. Unknown number.
‘Should that be on in here?’
‘I need to be contactable.’ Corcoran put it to his ear. ‘Hello?’ He walked off with a wave, ignoring her glower.
‘Is that DS Corcoran?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Okay. It’s Sergeant Nigel Haverford, Warwickshire police.’
Corcoran stopped in the corridor. Thompson was up ahead, hammering something out on her mobile. ‘How can I help?’
‘Listen, I saw the news conference this morning on that Witney woman case? Just tried calling DI Thompson but she’s not picking up. You’re listed as the secondary contact on HOLMES.’
‘Am I?’
‘I think I might have another case related to yours.’
Which was police code for palming off a foul-smelling case on to a major investigation with a budget and resources.
Corcoran spun round and saw Palmer scribbling in a notebook. ‘Okay . . .’
Haverford coughed. ‘Couple of my lads were called to a church in Rugby this morning. Young lad stumbled in, delirious and violent. Tried arresting him, but he’s hostile, incoherent, you name it. We’ve got him in hospital.’
Corcoran sighed. ‘I’m very pleased for you.’
‘No need to be like that, mate. I’m trying to help you here.’
‘So get to the punchline. I need a good laugh.’
‘This guy said someone kidnapped him and locked him in a cell.’
Sixteen
[Palmer, 11:28]
Corcoran hugged the tail of a bus, swearing under his breath, then shot out into the oncoming lane, only to jerk the wheel back for another car to whiz past. ‘Come on, come on, come on.’
‘Can you just—’ Palmer grabbed the handle above the door, jaw clamped tight. ‘You don’t need to—’
Corcoran hared past the bus, pushing Palmer back into her seat. The speedo hit seventy, eighty, then ninety. Up ahead, a car hurtled towards them, flashing its lights.
‘Aidan!’
He yanked the wheel and pulled back into his lane. Calm and collected.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Palmer punched the dashboard. ‘You almost got us killed!’
‘Of course I didn’t.’ Corcoran slowed back to sixty. ‘You’ve been quiet.’
Palmer picked up her bag, hugging it tight like it would protect her from a head-on collision. ‘I’ve been terrified, actually.’
‘I’d rather you thought about the case.’
‘Given half a chance . . .’ Palmer looked down at the notebook splayed on her lap, both pages covered in scribbles even she’d struggle to decipher. ‘I’ve been praying your phone call has nothing to do with Sarah’s abduction.’
The briefest glance from him. ‘Me too.’
‘Back at the hospital, you said you wanted to clear the air?’
‘Right.’ He focused on the road, eyes locked tight like he did this sort of manic driving all the time. ‘We haven’t got off on the right foot and I don’t want any bad blood between us.’
‘You’re acting like I’m harming your case. But I’m here to help, that’s it. We’ve got different approaches, that’s all. Let me do my job, Aidan.’
Corcoran flinched at the mention of his name. He indicated right, signposted for Hospital of St Cross, and slowed to a halt. The car idled, the traffic still passing in a flurry. ‘I know your type, all theoretical and scientific.’ He almost spat the word. ‘And you don’t like being in the line of fire.’
She tried to laugh it off, but he could probably see doubt in her eyes. ‘You’re a piece of—SHIIIIIT!’
Corcoran shot across the front of a work van into the hospital car park.
Palmer slammed her hands against the dashboard.
The van just cleared the back of Corcoran’s car and he kept on through the car park. He pulled into a space and reached onto the back seat for something. ‘Let’s just see what’s what, shall we?’ He placed a ‘Police’ sign on the dashboard and opened his door. It took a good few seconds for him to get out of the car, manoeuvring his body through some weird angles.
Palmer got out much quicker. ‘Should you be on duty with a damaged hip?’
Corcoran marched off without a reply.
[11:45]
Palmer found Corcoran speaking to a tallish man with a bushy moustache in full police uniform, and a coffee-skinned doctor in a business suit cut from a similar cloth to her own.
‘This is Dr Marie Palmer, our criminal psychologist. This is the consultant, Ms Isobel Hayden.’
Hayden shook Palmer’s hand with a broad smile. ‘A pleasure.’ A warm, smoky voice. ‘Let’s walk and talk.’ She set off at a brisk pace, fast enough to make Corcoran grimace. ‘I’ll be frank here. There are no clear signs as to what’s wrong with Howard.’
‘Just Howard?’ Corcoran was struggling to breathe as he kept up with her. ‘You’ve not got a surname?’
‘Listen, all we know is he’s called Howard. He kept shouting it at the police and the paramedics who brought him in. The emotional trauma he seems to have suffered . . . He’s . . . broken, that’s all I can say.’
Palmer kept pace with Hayden, even with those heels biting her ankles. ‘Wh
at do you know about him?’
‘That’s it. A name. He won’t speak.’
‘Won’t or can’t?’
‘Wish I knew.’ Hayden’s mouth twitched as she walked. ‘Physically he’s in good shape. Muscular. Army fit.’ She stormed through a door marked ‘Accident and Emergency’ and set off along a wide corridor. Through a side door, a male nurse bandaged a female patient’s arm. Hayden stopped outside another room. ‘Here he is.’
Corcoran stepped forward.
‘Aidan.’ Palmer blocked his path and spoke in a whisper. ‘I’m trained for this. Like we agreed, let me do my job, you can do yours. And this is probably not connected. Right?’
‘Right.’ Corcoran ran a hand across his stubbly chin. ‘I’ll just watch.’
Hayden showed Palmer into the room. ‘Jane, give us a minute?’
The nurse slipped off, letting Palmer get a view of the patient.
Howard looked worse than Hayden had suggested. Physically he did seem okay, buff even, but he looked tired and confused, deep bags around his eyes. Mouth twitching, nostrils flaring. Then he barked out a loud laugh, scattering round the room like machine-gun fire. Short, percussive, but absolutely no humour in it. His head sank low against his chest and he started rocking slightly. He was crying now.
Palmer stayed standing but kept a distance. ‘Howard?’
He looked up, eyes swivelling in his head. ‘Isn’t life a dream?’
A chill crawled up Palmer’s spine. ‘What?’
But she’d lost him. Howard stared into his lap again, lips twitching, head nodding.
‘Howard, my name is Dr Marie Palmer.’
His lips kept moving and spat out some noise. Maybe words, or maybe just more gibberish.
‘You told the officers who found you that you were in a cell?’
‘Cell, cage.’ Howard was breathing faster, just like Sarah had been. ‘He makes everything okay.’
‘Who does?’
Veins bulged in Howard’s thick neck. ‘It’s time to play!’ He screwed his face tight, then drilled his gaze into her skull like she should know what he meant.
‘It’s going to be okay.’ Palmer stepped closer, hands raised to placate him. ‘Howard, you said you were in a cell?’