This is it. You knew the risks, Abbi. This man doesn’t know where to draw the line. He won’t stop until he comes. By which time it will be too late.
Yet by some miracle, he reached orgasm before she passed out. She coughed and spluttered her way back, a dense, fuzzy feeling inside her head. Pinpoints of light glimmered in her eyes. Abbi sucked in the air around her as if it were her last breath, filling her lungs with life. By the time he rolled off and shoved her to one side, she was sobbing and gasping and continuing to splutter.
The man eventually adjusted his clothing and got to his feet. He stood over her, leering and sweating, droplets slipping from his hairline and splashing down upon her bare flesh. Each wet splat felt like a lick of fire. ‘How was it for you?’ he said. He put back his head and giggled like a child. Moments later he let himself out and slammed the door closed behind him, sealing her once more inside what had almost become her tomb.
Des returned ten minutes after escorting the man from the premises. He stood in the doorway and snapped his fingers. ‘Time to scrub yourself clean, you filthy little whore,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you ready for your next owner.’
And my last, Abbi thought bitterly as she struggled to her feet. By whatever means possible.
Forty-Three
Bliss took the call he’d been hoping for before he made it back to Thorpe Wood. It was Bishop telling him that DC Ansari had managed to manipulate the image of the man caught in Abbi Turner’s digital photograph. The logo featured two dogs standing side by side, staring off into the distance like a couple of catalogue models. The text beneath the design read: Bevill’s Leam Kennels.
‘Is that a place or some unfortunate sod’s name?’ Bliss asked. You never could tell these days.
‘It’s a waterway out in the Fens. The kennels are at Pondersbridge. The place closed down in March and hasn’t opened back up again since.’
‘You on your way?’
‘We’re headed out the door as we speak.’
‘We’ll meet you there. I’m steaming up the A1. I can cut off through Holme and Ramsey St Mary’s.’
‘Hold on, the DCI just said something… oh, she says if you get there first, don’t do anything stupid.’
‘As if. Did the name of the kennels give us the name of our suspect?’
‘Yes. Positive ID. Man by the name of Des Knowles is listed as the owner of Bevill’s Leam Kennels, a business handed down to him by his grandfather. We pulled up his driving licence details and the photo on there matches the shots Abbi took. Few years older, few pounds heavier. But it’s him, Jimmy. We have him.’
Bliss took the Sawtry turnoff, which would allow him to cut back over the road he had exited and run alongside it until he reached Glatton Lane. ‘Did you hear from Glen?’
Bishop said nothing for a few seconds. ‘Sorry. Just piling into the motor. You asked about Glen?’
‘Yes. Did he show up? Call in?’
‘We eventually received a call, yeah. Turns out he did precisely what we thought he had done. Located the server, called in a couple of his ERSOU mates, and they went in mob-handed.’
‘Did he learn nothing working alongside us?’
‘You just don’t like the fact he got there ahead of us. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same in his shoes.’
Bliss ignored him. ‘Who or what did he find?’
‘Tiny office space in a block out by the power station. Annual lease. Server cabinet. Two physical servers. A laptop. All hooked up to a power backup and a broadband feed.’
‘But I’m guessing nobody was there when they went in.’
‘You guess right. The office is leased by an offshore company with no obvious connection to Lewis Drake so far as we can tell.’
‘How about to Parkinson?’
‘That’s a different matter entirely. There we might just have a link.’
Bliss clenched a fist. ‘Yes! I knew that horrible bitch had something to do with it.’
His elation was short-lived. ‘Not quite, Jimmy,’ Bishop said. ‘The bank transfers we’re seeing point to Troy Parkinson, not his mother.’
Bliss cursed, turning over this fresh information. Could Nicola have pushed everything through her son’s finances without him knowing? Or perhaps as a silent partner? Anything was possible, not that it mattered right now.
‘I suppose Glen and his ERSOU BFFs are stripping out the kit as we speak.’
‘Yes.’ Bishop sounded less sanguine this time. ‘And making a real song and dance about it, too.’
‘He’ll learn eventually.’
‘What, that you don’t shout about it until you know precisely what you have and how it all comes together?’
Bliss grunted. ‘That, and the fact that you should try not to antagonise people along the way. Especially the Thorpe Wood Major Crimes Unit. Still no sign of the Parkinson clan, I assume?’
‘No. But we’re working the streets as hard as we can. In their line of business, you always end up offending somebody. We’re bound to get word sooner or later, Jimmy. All ports and border control have been notified, so if they run, they won’t be going far.’
Bliss wasn’t so sure. ‘I was wondering if dear old Lewis Drake might have an idea where to find them. That slippery old fuck used to keep close tabs on his people. Stands to reason he’d be even more paranoid now he’s banged up in Belmarsh.’
‘I’ll put a call in,’ Bishop said. ‘He might be willing to talk. Especially as we can officially tie the Parkinsons in with Dark Desires.’
‘Worth a try. See you soon.’
Bliss cut the call before his acting boss could issue another warning. Bishop had sent Chandler the address and post code, which she was busy entering into the SatNav. He concentrated on driving the narrow roads, all long and straight once he’d pushed past Holme; same again when he turned left towards Pondersbridge. Behind his stoic mask, he was annoyed by Glen Ashton’s move, but that would have to wait. Olly Bishop’s jibe stung a little – he liked to think he was a bit more of a team player than that. He couldn’t recall putting the NCA or his own ambitions ahead of the local teams he worked with up and down the country during his long stint with the agency. He always understood he and his fellow investigators were there to assist, bringing their specialist knowledge to investigations involving organised crime.
Ahead of the bridge spanning Bevill’s Leam, Bliss noticed a road on his offside that ran alongside the drainage waterway. The SatNav was busy getting confused, so he ignored it. He looked for a road sign, and spotted it squatting behind a metal railing. There was nothing approaching the bridge from the opposite direction, so he barely touched the brake as he threw the pool car to the right. The back end fishtailed a little, but he was able to correct it easily enough.
‘Let’s get there in one piece, Jimmy,’ Chandler pleaded. As was her habit, she had one hand clutching her seat belt.
Bliss allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. ‘It’s been a long time since you complained about my driving. I’d almost come to miss it.’
‘Yes, well, sadly I appear to be the only one who remembers what happened to the last two motors you owned.’
He gave her that. One hoisted from a lake, the next written off after some necessary reckless driving and ramming other vehicles in a traffic jam. Since when, he’d settled for pool cars.
Glassmoor Bank seemed to stretch for miles into the distance, deep into the Fens. To their left the water ran swiftly, its grey colour matching that of the sky above. Along the grassy verge on the opposite side of the road ran a line of overhead cables. The road deserted, Bliss stuck to its centre where there was no camber. He hurtled past a small bungalow, an obvious new build on redeveloped land. Mounds of building sand and pallets of cement remained in the driveway beyond the low red-brick wall out front. Bliss touched eighty before slowing as another crop of buildings came up fast, fronted by a line of trees and wild hedgerow.
Easing off the accelerator, he slowed to a crawl, trying to spot
a sign. He realised it might have been removed following the collapse of the business, but he could make nothing out through the treeline. As he reached the entrance he leaned forward to peer into and along the dirt driveway. The first thing he noticed was a low, cladded mobile home. Further along the track, and barely jutting out as if reluctant to peek, lay a single-storey building with heavy wire mesh panels.
‘That’s a kennel.’ Excitement swept through his veins. He glanced at Chandler, who nodded back at him.
They were here.
And now that they were, Bliss also knew in his heart this was where Abbi Turner was being held.
Forty-Four
When she was told to remain where she was rather than being dragged across to the mobile home, Abbi Turner realised the man she thought of as The Strangler must have returned. He had most likely slipped away to withdraw some extra cash from the closest ATM, or perhaps retrieve it from a stash he kept at home. Either way, Abbi recognised him as soon as he stepped inside, and immediately she drew back against the wall.
‘Not him!’ she cried out, shaking her head wildly. Her eyes implored Des to listen to her desperate appeals. ‘Please, not him. He doesn’t choke and release. He strangles! He digs his thumbs in. He almost killed me last time.’
Des turned to face the other man, eyebrows raised. ‘Is that right?’ Without waiting for a response, he merely nodded and chuckled, slapping the man on the back. ‘Well, you know what the price is for that. If I have to replace her, you’ll owe me big time. Not to mention helping me dispose of the body.’
His matter-of-fact voice chilled Abbi more than the thought of what was about to happen to her. This man she’d considered a friend – a man she’d even imagined might be the one – was nothing more than a callous freak who kept her locked away for others to abuse. He was no better than the criminals who pimped out their whores across the city while leaving them strung out and relying on their tormentors to keep them in their next fix. In fact, he was worse. Those men never showed an ounce of humanity. He had. And he’d fooled her completely with his act.
The man who had paid for her time walked over. He yanked away the crumpled duvet and licked his lips at the sight of her naked body. ‘Open wide, sweetheart,’ he said in a sing-song voice. Then he flexed one hand against the other, cracked his knuckles, and got down to it.
***
Bliss pulled over onto the muddy verge. He went to open the door, but Chandler put out a hand to stop him.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said. ‘Bish and the team are on their way.’
‘I want to have a shufty,’ he said defensively. ‘Get a sense of the place.’
‘This is me you’re talking to.’
‘Pen, he could be doing something to her as we speak. We don’t know if she has hours, minutes or seconds left. We can’t wait. Let’s at least take a look, see what we have.’
Chandler relented and slipped out of the car as quietly as he did. Keeping to the grass as much as possible, the pair loped back towards the entrance and the mobile home, sticking to the side of the path where there was little hard dirt or gravel to shift and give notice of their approach. A break in the hedgerow revealed a wide open space in which sat a blue van and a motorbike. Bliss noticed he was shielded from the mobile home by more thick bushes. He raised a hand telling Chandler to stay where she was, before dashing across to the van to lay a hand on its bonnet.
Cold.
He scuttled over to the motorbike and did the same on its engine case cover. This time he had to pull his hand away sharply. He crouched down, wondering whether the bike belonged to Des Knowles or to a visitor. The presence of somebody else added an unknown factor to Bliss’s simple equation. With the element of surprise, he’d back himself and Chandler over one man, but add another body into the mix and all bets were off. He took a breath and crabbed his way around the line of hedgerow towards the mobile home. He beckoned Chandler to join him, before turning to study their way ahead.
Between their cover and the home itself lay open ground. It was only five or six paces, but it was more than enough if Knowles or his visitor happened to be looking out of a window in that particular direction at the time. Too great a warning, that much was certain. Bliss calmed himself, taking deep breaths. His sense of unease was not about saving his own skin – or Chandler’s, for that matter. Abbi Turner was here, and she was in trouble. He didn’t know how he could be certain, only that he was.
One more deep breath. He popped his head out from behind the hedge and took in what he could before pulling back behind his cover. The home ran lengthways from where he squatted. It was gabled at both ends, its cream exterior weathered and stained. A set of boarded steps led up to the front door at the end closest to Bliss. To its left a single window, frosted glass. He was at an angle to the windows running along the side of the property, limiting his exposure. It was a risk, but less of one than it could have been. Beyond the home lay the kennels, whose chain-link fencing emitted mournful groans as it shifted in the breeze. A chill settled in around him, and he felt the first few drops of moisture in the air.
‘You stay here,’ he whispered over his shoulder. ‘Keep an eye out, just in case I’m spotted. Don’t show yourself unless it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ He felt a puff of air in his ear and could tell it was imbued with anger. ‘I’m not skulking around here while you go and do all the dirty work.’
This time he turned to face her. ‘Pen, that’s not what I meant. I need you out here covering my arse. Give me a few minutes, watch my back. When the others get here, show them which way I’ve gone. If it turns to shit, then come and get me by all means, but I reckon it’s better that we both don’t walk out there into the unknown.’
Bliss didn’t wait for her to respond; he knew it would only lead to further disagreement, for which they had no time. Instead, he moved. After sidling around the hedge, he crouch-ran over to the steps. He stood in limbo with one foot on the first tread, listening for some response to the groan of wood that had betrayed him. It felt like his own heartbeat might announce his presence, so loud was its pulse in his ears. But he heard no rapid movement inside to suggest he had been either spotted or overheard. Encouraged, he eased up the steps. Wrapping his fingers around the door handle, he gradually levered it downwards. It moved silently, and when he leaned in the door opened with a gentle sigh.
He peered into the home’s living room. A man sat alone in an armchair, both feet raised up on an upholstered stool, watching some panel show with an open can of beer in his hand. The chair he was in faced away from Bliss, who took the opportunity to move away from him to check the two bedrooms and the galley kitchen. Abbi was not here, but she had to be close by. The motorbike had recently been used, but that did not mean it belonged to Des Knowles. In that instant, his fear for Abbi and his abhorrence at what might be happening to her took over.
***
The man liked his sex rough. He squeezed her breasts so tight the pain made her gasp. His teeth nipped at her flesh, barely less than a bite. He thrust himself in and out of her without drawing any obvious pleasure from the movements. This came as no surprise to Abbi. Men like this one felt little or nothing from the sexual act itself. If not for the asphyxiation, he might go on forever without ejaculating, so desensitised was he to the mere mechanics of copulation.
She had felt that unintentional euphoria on many previous occasions, the biological response to oxygen deprivation acting as a stimulant. It was weird and creepy, but she understood the allure. However, she had never been able to fully comprehend the kind of high the asphyxiators themselves drew from choking others. Certainly it was no biological imperative. No, theirs was a psychological need that only power over life and death could satisfy. And if they timed their climax to perfection, the rapture on their faces was like nothing she had ever seen before.
Keeping her eyes squeezed closed while he sucked on her shoulder and grunted with each thrust, Abbi wait
ed for the moment when he would ease himself up off his elbows, draw himself into a squatting position, drag her back into his groin and shift his hands from her breasts to her throat. When it happened, she tried to let her mind wander as the pressure increased. Back to a time when she felt free and life was still full of so many possibilities.
She had to go back to when she was eleven or twelve. That was when a change came upon her that she was never able to fully appreciate, manage, or overcome. A period during which friends became enemies and vice versa, while her parents reeked of desperation and a lack of unity, allowing her to play each off the other. She had become ugly inside, tormented, with a distorted view of the world and those who inhabited it – especially those to whom she had once been so close. It was as if the moment her body began to transform, her psychological makeup altered to the rhythm of her puberty. A rampant toxicity spilled over into every single aspect of her life, dominating her will and leaving her with no desire to escape its clutches.
Abbi’s eyes sprang open when the man’s hands shifted again, wresting her out of her stupor. This time his thick fingers wrapped around her neck and his thumbs began digging deep into her throat. Unkempt nails pierced her flesh, drawing thin ribbons of blood. Still he maintained his rhythmic thrusting, in and out, in and out… But as his grip tightened, so his physical grunts became moans of pleasure. His eyes gleamed like distant stars as they had before, only this time instead of pleading with him to stop, Abbi smiled up at him. Then she began to laugh hysterically. And finally she called out, urging him on, begging him to squeeze harder and not to stop until he had drained her lungs.
***
‘Where is she?’ Bliss demanded for a third time.
At first, Knowles claimed not to know who or what Bliss was talking about. That earned him a backhander across the cheek. When he repeated his denial, Bliss clubbed the man on the bridge of his nose with the meaty part of his fist. Through watering eyes and a mouth puckered in pain, Knowles shook his head from side to side and pleaded with Bliss to let him go.
The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8) Page 32
