by Helen Phifer
‘How long before patrols arrive?’
A voice shouted up. ‘Fifteen minutes, we’re stuck in traffic. Even with the blues on there’s nowhere to go. The roads are gridlocked because of the roadworks.’
Josh swore; he couldn’t wait. Beth could be in there and need medical assistance, so he ran towards the door. The smell was almost overpowering; he’d smelled it many times before: the cloying smell of death which clung to every pore and shred of material you wore, catching in the back of your throat. Reaching out with a gloved hand, he pushed the door. It didn’t move. It was stuck. He turned and waved Barry over.
‘Can you help me shove it open?’
To give the man his dues, he ran over and placed his hands on the door next to Josh, and between the pair of them they shoved it hard and it creaked open. He didn’t have a torch on him, and it took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the small stone crypt.
‘Beth,’ he called out. Turning the torch function on his phone, he shone it around. She wasn’t here. He felt his heart sink. He’d really thought he was going to find her. There were five more to check, though, so it wasn’t completely hopeless. Inside there was a stone tomb in the middle of the floor, and on a shelf along the back wall were the skeletal remains of who he assumed had once resided inside the tomb. They were old, there wasn’t a scrap of body tissue on them. The heavy lid of the tomb didn’t sit quite right; there were fresh marks in the stone where it had been moved. In the light it looked as if it was moving, but he realised it was the flies that were angrily buzzing and crawling all over it trying to find a way in.
He stepped towards the tomb, waving his arms around and clapping. The flies took off in a cloud of blackness and flew out of the door; several hangers-on stayed put, buzzing around the confined space. He put his phone down and bent to push the lid to one side. The smell was unbearable. Barry rushed over to help him and between the pair of them they managed to push it off enough for Josh to shine the light inside it. Picking up his phone, he hadn’t realised just how much his hands were shaking until he shone it through the gap.
Barry let out a gasp next to him. The glassy, dead eyes staring up at them were indeed those of his missing girl. There was a length of material around Annie Potts’s mouth which wouldn’t have made it any easier to breathe. Josh felt a wave of sorrow wash over his entire body; he was too late. He could hear sirens in the distance. Glancing back down into the tomb, he watched as a bluebottle landed on Annie’s nose and began to bury itself inside her nostril. This was too much for Barry, who began to vomit into his hands. He turned and ran outside, falling onto his knees, and spewed hot vomit into the long grass. Josh followed him, the horror almost too much to bear. He’d let her down. Screwed up and now Annie was dead.
So where was Beth?
Seventy-Five
Beth could feel the gentle sway as her body moved slightly. She was on water, on a boat, it seemed. How had she got here? Then she felt the tight band of material inside her mouth cutting into the soft flesh of her cheeks. It all came flooding back to her. The physical pain of betrayal felt like her heart had torn in two. She’d trusted him more than anyone, put her faith in him. Why was he doing this to her and why did he kill the other girl? She tried to move her hands and feet: it was no good – they were tied up tight. Stifling a sob, she knew that crying wasn’t going to help her. She wondered if Josh had got her message. She had no idea what time it was, as it was dark in the cramped space she’d been thrown into. There wasn’t much room to move, even though her knees were slightly bent; if she turned her face to the left or right it was practically touching cold metal. The bastard had used chloroform to render her unconscious. The distinct smell was like no other. He’d known she’d fight him. She guessed that was why he’d chosen to knock her out with chemicals.
As she lay there in the dark she felt more hopeless than she had in years. When Robert had attacked her there had been no time to think about it. It had been a fight to survive, not like this. She was helpless, unable to do a single thing. Her only hope now was in Josh figuring it all out and rushing to save her like he did the last time. He’d been her knight in shining armour once upon a time. A tear rolled down her cheek but she didn’t realise she was crying until it was closely followed by another.
The boat lurched as she heard heavy footsteps on the deck above her. What was he doing? Was it his boat? She tried to scream, but the muffled sounds were pathetic. No one was ever going to hear her over the noise of the engine and the sound of the boat as it sped through the water. Life was cruel, she knew that. Her job as a forensic pathologist had taught her just how cruel it could be – innocent children dying from cancer they had no right to suffer from; teenagers who decided life was too hard and killed themselves before it had even begun. What had made her become such a victim? Why was she so appealing to killers? She was a good person. Panic filled her lungs and she began to thrash around, trying to make as much noise as possible. A loud thud directly above her and then the hatch was lifted. She stopped moving as his huge outline towered over her and made her realise just how futile her attempts were. He could reach in and snap her neck before she could blink if he wanted to.
‘Shut the fuck up, no one can hear you. No one is coming to rescue you, so I suggest you lie there and behave yourself.’
The hatch was slammed back down, and she welcomed the darkness. It was far better to be alone in the dark than have to face him. She tried to concentrate on her breath, to slow everything down. There was a thudding in her head far worse than any headache she’d ever suffered. Closing her eyes, she felt an overwhelming sense of tiredness take over.
Maybe she’d wake up to find this was all a bad dream. Or maybe she’d drift off into a world of darkness, where she would know nothing, there would be no pain, no worry and no fear.
Or maybe Josh would find her. And if he did, she would tell him how much she loved him. No more wasting time or precious years of her life.
Seventy-Six
Josh’s phone rang again and again. He sat in the long grass and reached into his pocket to answer it.
It was a voice he’d never heard before.
‘Is this Detective Sergeant Josh Walker?’
‘Speaking.’
‘My name is Andrew Salt, I’m the governor of Haverigg Prison. We have a bit of a situation going on here that you might be able to help with.’
‘I’m sorry, Andrew, but I’m in the middle of a high-risk missing person’s case. On top of that I’ve just discovered a body – not of the missing person. So, I’m a little tied up.’ He wiped dirt from his palm.
‘This is also life or death. Well, it is for the nurse who currently has a nebuliser tightly wrapped around her throat by one of the patients in our hospital wing.’
Josh felt bad for the nurse, for the governor’s situation, but didn’t have time for this. It wasn’t in his remit in any case; he had no jurisdiction over what went on inside a prison.
‘I don’t know why you think this has something to do with me?’
‘The prisoner is requesting to speak to you; he said it’s a life or death situation and only you will do.’
‘Who is this prisoner? Name?’
‘I believe you know him. Robert Hartshorn.’
At the mention of a name from all those years ago, a name he’d buried along with the memory of finding Beth at the last minute – almost too late – Josh felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
‘I can’t get there, are you familiar with his background?’
‘I am indeed, and he said that he needs to speak to you about someone called Beth.’
‘Can I speak to him on the phone?’
‘Just a minute.’
Josh could hear a muffled conversation in the background and then a raspy voice echoed in his ear.
‘I haven’t got much time; I can’t hold her much longer. I don’t want to hurt her, but I needed to speak to you.’
The voice on the other end began to cough: a deep, rattling cough that made Josh want to cough for him.
‘What’s going on, Robert?’
‘He’s going to take Beth and hurt her, if he hasn’t already. I’ve spent the last few years deeply regretting the hurt and pain that I caused her. I’ve written to her every month telling her this, but she has never replied. I don’t blame her, it was unforgivable.’ He began to cough once more, and this time it took longer for him to gain his composure.
‘His name is Phil Sullivan; he runs a self-defence class that Beth attends. She knows him and trusts him. I also believe he killed the girl you found in the cemetery; he took another one.’
‘How? How do you know all this?’ Josh was suspicious. Robert was a psychopath; how could he trust him where Beth was involved? He’d have read about the case in the paper and guessed Beth would have been involved with the autopsy. He was wasting his time.
‘Because he’s an old friend, and he told me a long time ago that he would. It’s taken him a lot of years to pluck up the courage. He came to see me yesterday—’
‘Yesterday,’ Josh interrupted. The details had only gone into the paper today.
‘And he told me he was going to hurt her. He said he was going to finish what I started. You have to find him and stop him before he does. Please tell Beth I’m sorry for everything, I’m trying to save her.’
Josh wondered if he should tell him, but he said it anyway. ‘It’s too late, she’s gone.’
Then he hung up. He wasn’t giving Robert Hartshorn any more of his precious time. At least they had a name now. If Hartshorn was to be believed. But why would he lie?
Josh passed the name over the airwaves and asked for intelligence checks, address checks and a team to go to Phil Sullivan’s house and put the door through.
He looked at Barry sprawled out in the grass, spewing up his guts. But before he could leave the cemetery and join in with the manhunt, he had to know for sure that Beth wasn’t inside one of the other crypts. It could be a trick. He knew Robert from the days he’d listened to his evidence in court. To his poisonous lies at the interviews, and his pathetic excuse that he’d got the idea from a book.
‘Barry,’ he said. He nodded at the crowbar lying in the grass by his feet.
They’d managed to open three of the doors, there were just two more to go.
Seventy-Seven
He’d wanted to introduce Beth to Annie; it didn’t matter that she was dead. It certainly wouldn’t have mattered to her, she liked dead people, spent her entire working day cutting them up and getting paid for it. It made him wonder if she was a little bit sick inside, too. After all, what sort of person chose that as their job?
He’d found a bottle of the whisky that Bob had hidden away in one of the hatches. He didn’t think they’d have realised the boat was missing yet. He knew Bob tinkered around on it most days, but there had been no sign of him when he’d gone to where they kept it moored at Audrey’s elderly aunt’s house. And there had been no sign of life when he’d checked out the house and grounds, which had left him ample opportunity to throw Beth over his shoulder and carry her onto the boat. Hiding her car had been the most difficult part: he’d had to drive it off the road through the hedging into a field a little further down the road. It wasn’t as if she’d be needing it again, was it?
Pouring himself a generous measure of whisky, he tipped his head back and downed it in one. The warmth as it burned all the way down the back of his throat felt good. Instantly he felt all the tension begin to drain away, and he knew it was all going to be good. As he sat and stared at the lake he wondered whether he should just drown her and be done with it. No, that wasn’t what he’d envisioned for the formidable Doctor Elizabeth Adams.
He flicked through the book on his lap, turning up the dog-eared page to re-read his favourite paragraph: the bit where the collector shows her the room he’s prepared for her. Robert had understood how words could excite, could lead to new meanings the author never envisaged. He’d wanted to shout out in court at that lawyer who’d had made out Robert had used it as an excuse, a way to get off, like people who claim some kind of insanity to get out of prison. But he was as sane as the next man. The Collector was a masterclass in how to lure a victim into your web. And he’d lured Beth all right. She was stuck like a fly.
The lake seemed quiet now, but there were still people out and about on boats. He could hear the faint music drifting on the breeze from their radios. He looked to the water’s edge and the houses along it, nodding to himself. It was time to take Beth home and finish what Robert had started all those years ago. The police would be out searching for her; though they might have left someone at the house, he doubted it. But he could take care of them. It was secluded and private, exactly the kind of place to end a life.
He lifted the anchor and began steering the boat in the direction of Water’s Edge. He could get her inside, kill her and be off on the boat before the police knew what was happening.
He spotted the house after an hour of cruising up and down that stretch of water, though he’d had to check to make sure it was the right one. From where he was sitting on the deck it looked like it. There was no jetty, but that didn’t matter. He’d wait to see if there was any police activity at the house, then drag her to the shore.
Rooting around, he found a pair of small binoculars. There was someone inside wearing one of those white paper suits they wore on the television, traipsing to and from the house to a van outside. They were on their own, which was interesting. After a while, whoever it was made their way through the house turning off the lights in each room. Then they went to the van and drove off through the gates. That was better. Outside the gates was another police car with a police woman leaning on the bonnet talking to the person in the van. The copper walked across to the gates, pressed some numbers on the keypad and they began to close. Perfect, they were going to leave her house unattended. He supposed if Beth wasn’t there, and they had all the evidence they could find – which he knew was nothing because he’d never set foot inside of the place – what more was there to do? It wouldn’t surprise him if they left the officer out the front though, someone to guard the crime scene. It was a fair distance from the gates to the house. If he was lucky the patio doors would still be unlocked. He’d be able to take her in that way without any trouble.
She was finally going to die. No more second chances for Beth Adams. It was over.
Seventy-Eight
The boat lurched to a halt, throwing Beth to one side. She had spent the best part of the last hour trying to loosen her hands, ignoring the pain in her wrists from the rope burns. The scar on her temple throbbed, a sign she’d survived once before and could survive this, telling herself she was grateful for it because it meant she was still alive. She had woken up from her dreamless sleep to the realisation it was up to her. She was on her own. Josh wouldn’t be able to save her from this. He wouldn’t have a clue where she was. She knew if she wanted to survive – and she did, she truly did – then it was all down to her. A steely determination had filled her insides. What had been the point of the years of self-defence classes if she was going to roll over and play dead? If Phil had had to drug her to get her to this point then he must think she posed a threat. He’d taught her a little too well. She felt liberated knowing that she wasn’t going to lie down and take whatever he threw at her without a fight. No way. She’d spent years living in darkness and solitude, scared to live her life and get close to anyone in case they hurt her again. That wasn’t living. She knew that now. She was just beginning to enjoy life again, so she’d be damned if she was going to let Phil take it all away from her before she’d even got the chance to try. For the first time she was ready to fight to the death, and if he got the better of her, well at least she tried.
Why? The question filled her mind. What had she ever done to him? What had made him hate her so much that he wanted her dead? After everything she’d been through, th
e time he’d spent teaching her how to look after herself – the years she’d trusted him. None of it made any sense. But the pain of betrayal was crushing.
Finally, after much wriggling, there was some movement between the rope and her slender wrists. Not much, but enough that she could work it looser. She had to be smart: she couldn’t slip out of the ropes completely or he’d notice straight away, and she couldn’t fight in this tiny, enclosed space. She needed to be out on the deck to stand a chance. She could hear him moving around above her and knew that he was up to something; any moment now he would open the hatch, she just had to keep calm and bide her time. It had crossed her mind that in order to survive she might have to seriously hurt him, even kill him. She had made her peace with that decision and knew that given the choice between her or him she’d do it without a second thought. Why should he get to spend the rest of his days in a cushy prison cell like Robert? She thought of the unopened letters in the drawer back home. It was time to move on.
Suddenly the hatch was pulled up and she tried not to jump, wanting him to think she still wasn’t fully awake and aware. She kept her eyes shut as his dark shadow reached in and she felt his arms grab under her armpits and drag her out on the deck. After the overpowering smell of diesel in the hold, the fresh smell of the lake outside was refreshing. He threw her onto the deck, and she rolled to keep his attention away from her wrists: they were smarting and bleeding, but she could feel they were close to coming free.
