by Karen Long
“But where the fuck is she?” bellowed Samuelson.
The artist spoke quietly to the canvas. He was aware that Eleanor Raven was still not fully conscious but he knew that the ketamine should be wearing off now and he was eager to get started.
He had carried the unconscious woman from the car and fastened her to a gurney.
“Eleanor,” he whispered. “Eleanor, it’s time for you to wake up now,” he said more loudly, slapping her face.
“She didn’t say anything last night about a meeting with someone?” asked Timms, his voice tinny through the car’s speaker.
Laurence had swung his car around, on hearing that Eleanor hadn’t been seen and wasn’t picking up calls, and was now maneuvering against the traffic. “No, she was due in at seven. Have you called the MEs?”
“Yeah, she aint there. Call me when you get to her apartment ok?” said Timms testily.
“Ok,” said Laurence, disconnecting. He tried her number again but it skipped immediately to answer machine. Pulling into the parking lot he knew she used, he noted that her rented bay was empty. Parking next to it he wondered if there was any point in going up to her room, but he had said he would. He walked round to the passenger seat and let Monster out; it seemed like a good idea to let him pee before returning to the office. The dog bounded out of the car, had a good sniff and then focused his attention on a small area of tarmac. Laurence walked towards the building whistling for Monster but the dog stayed put sniffing enthusiastically. “For fuck’s sake! Monster! Come here!” he yelled tightly, proffering one of the doggie treats he’d been given by Officer Hunt. Monster put his head up briefly and then returned to sniff the ground. Irritated and cold, Laurence took several strides towards the dog and grabbed his collar pulling him away. There were several large spots of blood staining the frosty tarmac. He squatted down to look at them. Alarm bells were beginning to sound. Seeing a traffic cone nearby he placed it over the spots and attaching his lead to the dog began to hurry towards Eleanor’s apartment building. He dialled. “Timms? I’m here. I’ve just found some blood spots on her parking bay but no car.”
Timms took a moment or so as he digested this information. “Sure the car’s not parked anywhere else?”
“Not sure but the lot is pretty empty. I’ll check when I’ve been upstairs.”
“Ok,” responded Timms calmly. “I’m waiting.”
Laurence bounded up the stairs noting that Monster didn’t seem distracted by any other smells.
He approached the door cautiously trying the handle but it was locked. He listened and then knocked. There was no response so he knocked more loudly this time calling her name. A nearby door opened and he swung round to see a small, dishevelled woman carrying an ageing pug in her arms. She smiled vacantly at him.
“Ma’am, my name is Detective Laurence Whitefoot and I’m trying to locate my partner Eleanor Raven. She lives here.” The woman looked at him uncomprehendingly. He moved towards her unsure of how Monster would react to another dog. “Have you seen Miss Raven this morning?”
“This morning?” said the woman. “What a beautiful dog. Is he yours?” she asked.
“Yes Ma’am, he is. I need to know whether you’ve seen Miss Eleanor Raven today? She lives here.”
The woman looked as if she were thinking. “No. No one’s been here.” Suddenly her face lit up, “Her flowers. I have them here for her.” She turned and walked back into her apartment. “Look,” she called to him.
Laurence looped Monster’s lead around the door handle and followed her into her rather cluttered apartment. A large bunch of roses in a crystal vase, were placed on the mantle-piece. Two cards had been placed inside the plastic wrap. Laurence felt a chill run through him as he saw the yin-yang symbol.
“I thought they were for me,” said the woman sadly. “When you see her tell her I’m looking after them.”
Laurence discreetly slipped on a latex glove and pulled out the two cards, one supplied by the florists that delivered them the other a blank embossed only with the logo. He turned to the woman who still clutched the pug. He handed her his card. “It’s very important that if she comes back you call me. Can you do that?” he asked.
She nodded, a worried expression forming.
The Garland Shop was empty when Laurence arrived. “I think Hughes has her,” said Laurence, his voice shaking as he spoke to Timms on his cell.
“Based on what fucking evidence?” replied Timms tersely.
“A card came with flowers that weren’t delivered to her. It had a yin-yang symbol on it,” Laurence replied, tapping a small bell to summon attention.
Timms was silent, as if thinking.
“Morning sir, may I help you?” said a small, friendly woman as she glided in from the back of the shop carrying secateurs and several blocks of oasis.
“Are you listening to me?” spat Laurence into the phone.
The woman waited patiently.
“I’ll mobilise the troops. The second you get a lead you call me, or Wadesky,” said Timms.
Laurence switched off his phone and introduced himself explaining what he required from her. It took her moments to run through her visa receipts. “The name of the gentleman who ordered the flowers was Mr Magnus Redman.”
Eleanor needed to vomit. The pain in her chest and stomach was unbearable but she was lying on her back and couldn’t move. She tried to move her head but a strap had been wound tightly around her forehead and movement was impossible. She concentrated on tamping down the sensation but her head was spinning and when she opened her eyes she could see strange shadows moving in waves along her peripheral vision. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a voice. Why was she lying down? She couldn’t remember why she wasn’t in her own bed. A wave of fear and nausea shook her. She was in danger and the voice she could hear was the source of that danger. With an involuntary spasm a fountain of red vomit sprayed her face, chest and belly. Instantly she felt better, more alert.
“Noooo!” screamed the dangerous voice. “Don’t do that!”
Eleanor closed her eyes instinctively as she saw the fist fly out and hammer down onto her chest. The second blow hit a rib and she felt it crack under the barrage. She opened her mouth and screamed.
“Mr Magnus Redman?”
The man stood up from his desk and nodded cautiously. “I’m Detective Laurence Whitefoot and I believe you know my colleague Eleanor Raven?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “What is this regarding?” he asked, stepping lightly past Laurence and discreetly closing the door to his office. “I am acquainted with Eleanor Raven yes.”
“What I am about to ask you is extremely personal but your answer may have a direct bearing on the safety of Detective Raven,” Laurence asked slowly.
“A detective?” asked Magnus Redman with a look of confusion. “I hadn’t realised…” He faltered.
“She’s disappeared Mr Redman and I think you can help me,” interrupted Laurence.
Redman paused and stroked his chin as if contemplating his next line. “How well do you know your colleague Detective Whitefoot?”
Laurence was beginning to feel that he knew absolutely nothing. “I’m learning but that may take too long. I need to ensure her safety.”
Redman nodded, . “Eleanor is a very special lady. She understands her sexual needs and satisfies them with…” He paused and withdrew a piece of paper from his desk drawer, sliding it slowly across the table. “… Deliberate caution. I responded to that and arranged, in good faith, an event that might be liberating and satisfying.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Laurence.
“Perhaps you will when you read this.” He nodded to the page.
Laurence picked it up and began to read. “Caleb,” he said quietly. “That’s her safe word?”
“These are the rules that Eleanor presents to a consensual partner when she has arranged an encounter.”
Laurence felt sick. He skim-read the ‘rules’ and then placed t
he sheet on the table between them. “Are you saying that Detective Raven arranged a sado-masochism session with you?” He heard his voice tremble.
“No, I am saying that Eleanor Raven, the private individual did. She organised a meeting in a hotel room; we had a mutually satisfying experience but there was no penetration involved.” Magnus Redman leaned closer to Laurence. “You know far more than Eleanor was ever willing to tell you and under any other circumstance I would not have betrayed her trust with another human being but I think I understand why she needs help.” Redman shifted his position and looked intently at Laurence. He spoke slowly and deliberately, “I had collected a card from a club called Xxxstacy advertising a kidnapping service. Having met Eleanor I felt that this might be of interest to her so I called the number and left a message. I received an impersonal but professional message telling me to leave five thousand dollars behind the bar of another club called As You Like It. This I did but after reading the headline in the Sun I realised I had made a terrible mistake and went immediately to the club and found that the money was still there. I assumed, naively I conclude by your presence here today, that this indicated that Eleanor would be safe. I am mortified that this is not the case.”
“Are you for fucking real?” yelled Laurence to Redman’s surprise. “Mortified? She could be dead, tortured, and ready to be strung up in a tree as a fucking art installation! And you’re mortified? These rules…” he said, waving the sheet in front of Redman’s face, “…don’t apply to Lee Hughes. He has his own agenda!”
Redman looked at him calmly. Laurence thrust a card onto the table. “You think of anything that will help me find her you call me understand? And Mr Redman you can expect further contact regarding this matter.”
Redman nodded sagely, his fingertips touching as if in prayer. Laurence grabbed the sheet of rules and headed for the door.
“That is mine,” said Redman calmly.
Laurence turned to him his voice low and dangerous. “We’re playing by my rules now.”
“Mo! I need you to meet me outside of the office,” said Laurence desperately as he swerved through the traffic.
“You found something out?” gasped Mo.
“Yeah, but I need to talk to you first. It’s important.”
“Wadesky’s going to the ME’s I’ll catch a lift and meet you in D’Angelo’s in fifteen.”
Laurence gratefully drank his coffee and wondered how and where to start.
“Spit it out Whitefoot!” said Mo nervously.
“You told me Eleanor’s worst enemy was herself.”
Mo stared at him his jaw clamped tightly shut. “What do you know?”
“She arranged a sado-masochistic session with some guy she’d never met before. He thought she’d like to experience a sexy kidnapping so he called Hughes, left the money and when he realised he’d arranged a murder went and picked up his money and assumed all was ok. The jerk didn’t feel the necessity to warn her of what might happen,” blurted Laurence.
Mo was silent, his brow heavily furrowed.
“What do I do? I hold back this information and we don’t get her in time maybe I’ll have contributed to her death. That’s what the investigation will reveal. We get her and everyone in the squad knows. She’s fucked.”
Mo wiped his brow with a handkerchief before he spoke, “You talk to Timms about this and it goes to no one else.”
“What? The biggest fucking goon in the squad and I trust him?”
Mo shook his head. “You need to read people and fast. You trust him.”
Laurence looked at Mo with disbelief as he staggered to his feet.
“Drink up we need to go,” Mo said.
“You are fucking kidding me!” hissed Timms, crunching the soda can left on Wadesky’s desk with an angry fist. A spray of orange liquid hit the neat pile of papers. “She did that! Is she fucking sentient?”
Laurence was livid. He had doubted Mo’s decision to tell Timms about Magnus Redman and now this confirmed it. He gave Mo a cold hard stare.
“Fuck!” yelled Timms flinging the can at the murder board. Several carefully pinned photographs fluttered wetly to the floor. A couple of officers scowled at Timms from the edges of the room and Monster let out a yelp of disapproval from under the desk.
Timms rubbed his forehead vigorously. “Ok, think… you got everything you can from this fuck Redman?” he asked Laurence quietly.
Laurence nodded. “Pretty sure I did.”
“I’ve sent forensics down to type the blood from Raven’s parking lot. Her car’s on a priority find and I’ve sent Smith round to do a search of her apartment. This other stuff aint material to the investigation so we ignore it ok?” Timms looked at Laurence who nodded.
“He won’t keep her alive for long. How do we buy time?” asked Laurence.
“The only thing we have is the exhumation. The Sun ran it this morning implying a six pm start. We drag it forward,” he replied.
“How will he know? If he’s read the paper he’ll read six and even if we could get the story run in the evening edition there wouldn’t be a notification out till five,” said Laurence frustrated. “And the ME’s office said that the van and equipment would only be available…”
“We set up now!” growled Timms. “We get Susan Cheung and her buddies over to the cemetery now and I want armed response units behind every headstone,” said Timms grabbing the phone.
Laurence looked at the murder board. The photographs of Lee’s victims formed an obscene montage. Under the women’s bodies were the photographs of Ellis and Paget, their smiling departmental poses in full uniform a stark contrast to the bloodied remains left propped in the park. The photographs dislodged by Timms’ hurled can left an empty square in the line, just sufficient room to display the ones of Eleanor Raven when they found her he thought angrily.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Samuelson stood in front of the murder board and looked at the anxious faces. Jaws were set and no detective was seated. He cleared his throat, “It is our belief that Detective Eleanor Raven was abducted by Lee Hughes somewhere in the region of six thirty to seven thirty this morning. An altercation took place in the parking lot used by Raven and blood spots were discovered by Whitefoot at eight am. No evidence of a struggle was found in her apartment and her car and keys are missing.” Samuelson allowed a pause for expletives before starting again, “Detectives Timms and Whitefoot will be in charge of this investigation,” he nodded to Timms who turned to speak.
“We don’t know how long Hughes keeps his victims alive but neither Cassandra Willis nor Lydia Greystein were alive twelve hours after being kidnapped. It’s nine thirty now and that means Raven could theoretically survive till six pm.” A loud groan ran through the assembled officers. “There’s a plausible area that he may be using and Wadesky and Johnson will assign each team a patch. We are running with the exhumation of Carin Hughes and will be bringing in a strategic response team to protect the area. You find anything, anything! You call it in. The clock’s ticking and we aint letting this bastard take one of ours again. Questions?”
“How’d we know Hughes has got Raven?” asked Smith from the back of the room.
Timms met his eye. “Trustworthy tip off.”
Smith wrinkled his brow. “Care to elaborate?”
Timms stared at him for a moment or two. “No.”
No one in the room moved. Timms raised his voice, “Raven’s tough and if anyone is going to survive she is. Now we go and bring her home.”
Eleanor had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last hour or so. Every time she felt her senses begin to close in Hughes would connect the two electrodes and send a pulse of electricity through the bottom of her feet. At some point she had received a blow to the side of her head and was finding it difficult to think clearly. A wet patch was making her hair stick to her face and neck and she imagined that it was because her ear was bleeding. At first she’d heard a grunting sound emanating from her mout
h but now she was making a high pitched mewling. This sound was irritating Hughes and he had begun to yell obscenities at her until she quietened.
“When will this stop?” she whispered, her voice croaking.
Hughes looked at her quizzically. “When you’re ready,” he answered calmly.
“Ready for what?”
“Your destiny,” he answered simply. “Your face will tell me when it’s time for your presentation.”
He leaned over her, tenderly pushing a strand of hair from her face. “You will bring such wonder and inspiration into the world. When you have passed you will choose your talent and raise his work to a higher level. He will become an artist because you will guide his pen, his brush, his mind.”
“Like Carin does for you?” she said with all the warmth she could muster.
He stared in disbelief at her. “You understand? You know what Carin can do?”
“She gives you ideas about… your art,” she said carefully, her teeth chattering.
Hughes tipped his head to one side and peered at her suspiciously. She could only see his face by straining her forehead against the leather strap that held her tightly to the gurney. Hughes was listening and Eleanor knew this might be the only chance she would get to influence the outcome of the next couple of hours. She had to work quickly and intuitively to manipulate him into keeping her alive long enough for either a suitable escape plan to be concocted or for Laurence and the team to work out where she was. But where the hell was she? She remembered little about the events leading to her being brought here. The room she was in was dark and extremely cold; the sort of cold that only long-empty buildings acquired. The only source of light, as far as she could tell, came from a pair of hurricane lamps.
“Tell me about my destiny,” she said trying to keep the note of desperation out of her voice.
He paused unsure of whether she was genuine or just trying to postpone the inevitable. “You will pass through the pain of existence and then be elevated to the status of muse,” he said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“Is that why you chose Lydia and Cassandra?”
