by Graham Smith
She checked her computer and found that Dr Hewson had sent through his report from Caitlin’s post-mortem. Wading through the medical terminology, she learned that the girl’s trachea had been scorched every bit as much Nick Langley’s.
When the report moved onto the internal organs, it stated that the oesophagus had next to no damage compared to the lungs which had suffered third-degree burns.
Dr Hewson’s notes suggested that he thought the killer had changed from petrol to a gas, and that Caitlin had inhaled large amounts of the burning gas into her lungs, which had caused the extensive burning. Like Nick Langley, traces of Rohypnol had been found in her blood.
Seventy-Three
When Sarah came to she found that she was bound to the metal frame of a bed. Whichever way she tried pulling and twisting, all that happened was the chafing of her skin from the rough nylon ropes. Her head thumped as if she’d had a night on vodka shots, and her mouth was furry and dry. She was also struggling to get her brain to work. She remembered the date with Kevin – that had been fantastic – and getting home afterwards.
How she’d got from home to here was a blank.
She cast her eyes around and found she was in a windowless room illuminated by a bare bulb in an old-fashioned fitting. A single door gave access to the room. The walls were scratched and marked, and when she looked at the scratches a little closer, she saw they were crude attempts to draw various beasts. The biggest one was a great winged creature. Above them pictures of derelict country houses were taped to the wall. She recognised the houses but couldn’t say why she knew them.
When she looked down her body she saw that she was wearing a thin nightgown with spaghetti straps. It wasn’t one of her own. It was cheap and drab, but that wasn’t her greatest concern.
She gave a wriggle on the bed and felt none of the support or friction offered by underwear. Whoever had brought her here must have stripped her and then re-dressed her in the shapeless nightgown.
She opened her mouth to scream and then closed it again. That she hadn’t been gagged told her that her abductor wasn’t worried about her shouting or screaming. Therefore it was probably futile.
Sarah’s first thought was that she might have been raped, but she felt no pains. That fact didn’t mean it hadn’t happened yet though, and didn’t mean it wouldn’t. Screaming might bring help, but it may also bring the person who’d kidnapped her. If he was waiting for her to wake up so he had a live victim, screaming would only inform him that she was ready to be raped.
Sarah knew that rape was about control and power as much as sex. That rapists got off on seeing the terror in their victim’s eyes, that they enjoyed the struggle and the subsequent conquest.
Sarah turned her attention to her bonds. One by one she tried to free her limbs, first one hand and then the other. When she tried pulling her feet free, the only thing she achieved was a tightening of her bindings.
Each of the ropes securing her to the bed was tight enough to keep her spreadeagled, with only an inch or so of movement. No matter how she tried manoeuvring herself, she couldn’t get room to allow her fingers to pick at the knots. When she tried to crane her neck over so she could chew through the ropes she couldn’t get her mouth within a foot of them.
With escape impossible, Sarah went back to examining her surroundings. At the far wall there was a workbench. The area wasn’t well lit, but when she peered at the workbench she saw a few stuffed birds.
The longer she stared at the birds, the more she thought they didn’t look right. That they were missing something.
As soon as Sarah realised the birds were missing their wings, she began to shake. Her limbs thrashed as she tried to free herself by wrenching and riving at her bonds.
All she achieved was a further chafing of her skin where she was tied to the bed.
Sarah went limp and let the tears come. She knew she was going to die; she’d seen the news, heard how the Dragon Master was killing his victims, and how they were displayed in remote ruins; she’d even discussed it with Kevin on their date. And now she was in his clutches.
As she tried to work out how she’d ended up here, her memory began returning and she started to piece together the rest of her morning.
She’d got up early, as was her Saturday-morning routine, and after a call to her mother to see how Nana was, she’d gone out for her weekly run around the back roads surrounding Kendal.
At the halfway point, she’d heard a purring engine and saw the familiar shape of Kevin’s Range Rover. He’d pulled up beside her and flashed that knee-weakening smile of his. ‘When you told me last night that you run this route, I thought I’d surprise you with some refreshments.’
He’d offered her a bottle of lemon-flavoured water. She’d taken the water and chugged some of it back, grateful for his considerate thought even as she worried about her appearance. As pleased as she’d been to see him, she hadn’t wanted him seeing her with messy hair and a perspiration-streaked face.
Her recollection got vague from that point, although she was sure she remembered walking round to the passenger side of his Range Rover.
What had happened from then on was a mystery. She must have been abducted at some point after she’d bade goodbye to Kevin: it was the only explanation she could think of.
As the tears of self-pity and terror rolled down her cheeks, she thought of her nana, alone and frail, waiting to die. Sarah’s thoughts then turned to her mother, and how she would have to deal with the grief of losing not just a parent, but also a child.
Seventy-Four
Thompson strode into the office with Unthank trailing in his wake. Both men looked weary but determined.
Unthank perched himself on the end of her desk. ‘I went back to see Eric and his comb-over. Showed him a picture of the wings. He says they’re from a buzzard.’
Beth closed her eyes and digested this news. Not only was the Dragon Master escalating in every sense of the word, he must also be coming to the natural end of his killing cycle, as there were fewer birds she could think of with larger wingspans than a buzzard. Off the top of her head she got albatross, condor and golden eagle, but she couldn’t think of any others.
She made a note to try and find out where stuffed birds could be bought. If she could find someone who’d recently bought a sparrowhawk, buzzard and larger birds as well, she’d have the Dragon Master.
Beth’s attention returned to the notepad on her desk. A Google search had given her a list of twenty-three names beginning with FRANC. From there she’d identified thirty-nine people in the county called Francis, Frances, Francesca or Franco and a baby called Franciszka. Nine of them were either under sixteen or over seventy, which left thirty names: sixteen men and fourteen women.
Of the sixteen men, fifteen were unknown to the police and the sixteenth was only known to them because of his habit of making complaints about his neighbours. None of the fourteen women had a police record, but regardless, O’Dowd had insisted that all thirty were contacted by their local CID teams for preliminary questioning. It was a long shot at best, but with no stronger leads to follow, they had to chase down the ones they had. If it turned out to be another dead end, at least it would be the other teams’ time that was wasted.
Because they had a definite time frame for Caitlin’s murder at Lonsdale Castle, they’d be able to quickly establish whether or not the thirty people whose names fit the acrostic had alibis.
With the search for the killer now ranging countywide, Beth felt more like a coordinator than an investigator. O’Dowd had been in and out of the office as she liaised with the press office and DCI Phinn. Another press conference was scheduled for early afternoon and O’Dowd was to front the briefing once again. To say that the DI was crotchety was an understatement. She’d barked orders, railed against the impossibility of the investigation and exhorted them all to get her the results she needed.
Unthank answered his phone and passed the receiver to Beth. As she listened to the de
sk sergeant from Kendal, Beth scratched the few scant details they had onto her pad.
A young woman had been reported missing by her mother. Her name was Sarah.
Beth almost dismissed the call, but then she remembered that francs were a unit of currency. Surely that wasn’t what this would be about? Nothing in the investigation seemed to connect currency to a killer displaying such personal, violent motives.
But she would still run the call about the missing woman past O’Dowd to see what the DI thought. With the number of victims spiralling, any missing person was at risk.
Seventy-Five
As Beth walked into the showroom, she had a growing sense of unease. She’d met with the missing girl’s mother and hadn’t liked what she’d heard.
Sarah Hardy had called her mother around seven in the morning to enquire after her dying grandmother. She’d then gone for a jog but hadn’t shown up at the grandmother’s house as she’d promised. When her mother had called her to say that her grandmother had taken another turn for the worse she hadn’t got an answer.
That Sarah hadn’t answered her phone was unthinkable as she knew how little time the grandmother had left. This was the point her mother had laboured and Beth had believed her.
This detail, coupled with the fact that Sarah was universally described as a sensible girl who’d landed herself a decent job, led Beth to fear for her safety. People would often be uncontactable, but Sarah had been fully aware of an impending family tragedy. It didn’t make sense that she didn’t have her phone with her, or that she hadn’t been checking it every few minutes.
She introduced herself to a salesman with too much gel in his hair and a smarmy attitude. When his stare moved from her scar to her eyes, she asked him who Sarah was closest to at work.
‘That’d be Veronica.’ He pointed at a woman sitting behind a desk. ‘Is Sarah okay?’
Rather than fob the guy off with a lie or a half-truth, Beth left him to wonder and strode over to Veronica’s desk, where she laid her warrant card in front of the woman and took a seat.
‘I need to ask you a few questions about one of your colleagues.’
‘Why? What’s up?’
‘Sarah Hardy’s mother can’t reach her, so I’m trying to find out where she might be. Do you know anything?’
‘No.’ The shaking of Veronica’s head made her severe bob swing back and forth. ‘She’s off this weekend, and as far as I know, she was going to spend some time with her nana. From what Sarah’s told me, the old girl hasn’t got long left.’
‘That’s why it’s strange her mother can’t get in touch with her. Do you know if she had a boyfriend? Her mother said she was out on a date last night, but it was a first date and all she knew was that Sarah had had a wonderful time and the guy was a perfect gentleman.’
‘Lucky Sarah.’
Beth caught the flash of resentment. She’d seen a picture of Sarah and had noted how good-looking the missing woman was. Veronica wore a thick layer of make-up and she carried at least a couple more stones than her doctor might advise.
While Sarah and Veronica might be friends, Veronica was perhaps aware of more male eyes being drawn to her younger, better-looking and slimmer colleague. That Sarah hadn’t told Veronica about the date also said a lot. Either it was someone she wasn’t too keen on, which wasn’t the impression she got from her mother, or she’d not told Veronica about the guy so as to not rub her colleague’s nose in her good fortune.
She pursued the line of questioning. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘She deserves to meet someone. Besides, she hardly ever goes out these days because of her nana. The nearest she gets to romance is flirting with customers to make the sale. It’s about time she found someone to make her feel special.’
This wasn’t the answer Beth was expecting, but it told her more than the words themselves. Maybe Veronica wasn’t jealous of her colleague’s genetic advantage? Perhaps she just pitied Sarah’s lonely existence and wanted her to be happy.
‘You said that she’d flirt with customers. Do you think that any of them took it the wrong way and expected more?’
Veronica pulled a face and twiddled a paperclip between her fingers. ‘Not that I know of. It’s something you soon learn; you can flirt a little, but not too much. If you go too far and the guy’s wife or girlfriend is around, there’s no way you’re going to make the sale. Her flirting was subtle, understated. Tell you what though, Sarah was complaining about a guy who was in a few times this week.’
‘Really?’ Beth felt her pulse quicken. ‘What was the score with him?’
‘He was this old guy. A tyre kicker of the highest order, if you know what I mean.’ Beth nodded to indicate that she knew a tyre kicker was a customer who’d go through the whole sales rigmarole despite having little intention to buy. ‘He creeped Sarah out. She told me he seemed far more interested in her than the car. Said he’d spent far more time looking at her than at the car.’
‘Do you know if he was looking at her face or was he perving over her body?’
‘Both. He’d take sneaky looks when he thought she wouldn’t notice, but instead of being like most guys and stopping when he’d been caught out, he kept right on doing it.’
Beth had received her share of male attention in the past and knew exactly what Veronica was talking about. It was an instinctive thing. If a woman wore something revealing, a lot of men wouldn’t just glance her way, they’d allow their eyes to linger for a second or two longer. But almost all women knew instinctively that there was an invisible line between what was a lingering look and something creepier.
‘I don’t suppose you know his name and where he lives?’
‘I don’t. But I can find out.’ Veronica moved to another desk and rooted in the drawer until her hand pulled out some paperwork. She rifled through it until she found what she was looking for. ‘Here we are. He’s called Harry Quirke.’
‘Harry Quirke?’
Beth turned and ran out of the showroom. Harry Quirke was one of the people they’d interviewed about Angus Keane’s death. That his name had come up regarding Sarah’s disappearance had to be way more than a coincidence. It wasn’t like he was called Dave Smith or another common name; he had to be the same Harry Quirke.
Beth even remembered the way he’d looked at her too. It wasn’t just that he was paying attention to her, it was the way he’d swept his eyes over her face and body as though he was committing her to memory.
Whether or not Harry Quirke was the Dragon Master, Beth feared for Sarah if she was in his clutches.
Seventy-Six
The keys jangled in the hand of the man who used a false name. His other hand held a bottle of water he’d laced with Rohypnol and a powerful sedative.
When he got through the door he descended the stairs towards the cellar where he’d spent so much of his childhood hiding from his mother. He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and looked towards the bed.
Sarah’s face was full of relief when she saw him. ‘Kevin? Oh thank God you’re here. Quick, untie me. How did you know where to find me?’
He didn’t speak. Instead he unscrewed the top from the water bottle and put it to her lips. She drained the bottle in several gulps.
‘Please, Kevin. Untie me now.’
‘I’m not Kevin. Not really. Kevin is just a name I use when dealing with my darling tributes. My real name is different, but some people have decided to call me the Dragon Master. I like that. It’s fitting.’
‘Kevin, stop dicking around and untie me. Please.’
‘I’ve told you, Sarah. I’m the Dragon Master. How do you think I knew you were here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When I met you earlier, you took a drink of water I’d laced with Rohypnol. I talked to you until it took effect and then you did exactly what I told you to do.’
‘You mean I just walked down here myself?’
‘Exactly. You stripped off when I told you to, put that
gown on when I told you to and, best of all, you lay down and let me tie you to the bed. You were giggling as I tied the knots.’
‘You bastard.’
‘Sticks and stones, Sarah, sticks and stones.’
Sarah’s eyes widened with realisation and horror. ‘The water you just gave me. That was drugged too, wasn’t it?’
‘You could say that. I couldn’t possibly comment.’ He could feel the smile on his lips and hear it in his voice. In spite of himself, he was enjoying talking to her. The fear in her eyes was a wonderful thing to behold.
Sarah’s voice held incredulity and terror in equal measure. ‘Why are you doing this to me? You’re not really the Dragon Master, are you?’
‘I’m doing it to you because your name fits. That’s the only reason you’ve been chosen as a tribute. You will be given the honour of being kissed by fire. Your breath will flame bright and you’ll earn your place in history.’
‘No, Kevin, or whatever you’re called. No. This is wrong. Please don’t do this to me. We went on a date last night. Remember it? It was lovely. You don’t have to do this. I can be so much more than that to you. Let me join you, help you.’
‘Do be quiet, Sarah. I know you’re grasping at the proverbial straws, but you need to shush, to save your strength for your moment of glory. You’re going to become a darling tribute to a fearsome dragon who spurned my love so often I grew to hate her.’
Sarah flinched as he caressed her chin.
‘There’s nothing you can do or say that will change my mind. Your fate is sealed.’
When he looked at Sarah’s face there was no response other than a blank look as she fell victim to the drugs he’d put into the water bottle.