Someone To Save you

by Paul Pilkington

  His statement held in the air as a challenge.

  Sam sensed that Cullen didn’t believe that, but he had to ask the question. ‘And do you think I did that?’

  ‘No, no I don’t,’ he replied, with a certainty that both surprised and heartened Sam. ‘I’ve never really believed you did this,’ he continued. ‘I’ve asked myself countless times whether I was being blinded by who you are, the fact you’re a surgeon, an everyday hero. I’ve wondered whether if you were someone else, someone in another occupation, someone less worthy, I might have been naturally more suspicious. But I don’t think it’s that at all. I just have a very strong feeling that you’re telling the truth, and I trust that feeling.’

  Sam nodded his gratitude before firing off his own challenge. ‘Do you believe this is linked to my sister’s murder?’

  Now Cullen didn’t look so sure. ‘Maybe,’ he said, finally. That he was even entertaining the possibility came as a shock, evidentially to the both of them. Cullen looked around the room again. ‘Any chance of a tea?’

  ‘Of course, sorry, come through.’

  They walked through to the kitchen and Sam prepared two cups while Cullen rested on the breakfast bar. ‘This case has been the most baffling of my career,’ he admitted, as Sam boiled the kettle. ‘Transport police matters aren’t usually so mysterious – plenty of grisly stuff, you know, deaths on the line, assaults, rape, the occasional murder. But nothing like this.’

  Sam popped a tea bag in each cup and poured on the boiling water. ‘But you do think that this might be all connected to what happened to Cathy?’

  ‘At first I thought it was crazy, but I’m coming round to the theory, yes.’

  Sam handed him the tea. ‘What’s changed?’

  Cullen shrugged. ‘You believe there’s a connection.’

  ‘But me believing it didn’t convince you initially,’ Sam said. ‘Why now?’

  ‘You were right about the rail crash,’ he said. ‘Believing that someone had set up that incident was, for me, the most unlikely part of your theory. If we now believe that, the next step is to consider who had the motive to do such a thing. It isn’t a massive jump to conclude that it could be the person who murdered your sister.’ He took a tentative sip from his tea. ‘Have you spoken to Marcus Johnson since his release?’

  ‘You think it could be Marcus?’

  Cullen looked faintly amused. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t think so, no.’

  Cullen registered his surprise. ‘But you said you think the person who murdered your sister did this.’

  ‘I don’t think he killed Cathy.’

  Cullen eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you so sure?’

  ‘Because I’ve met with him, and I don’t believe any more that he did it.’

  ‘You asked him?’

  ‘Yes. I asked him and I believe what he says.’

  ‘But why now? You didn’t believe him before.’

  ‘I never listened,’ Sam said, ‘I didn’t want to listen to what he had to say. I wanted to believe it was over, finished, and I tried to move on. But I think I was wrong.’

  ‘You think you were wrong?’

  ‘I’m as sure as I can be that he didn’t do it.’

  ‘Maybe you should keep your options open,’ he said. ‘Can you think of anyone else who might have the motive?’

  Miles Churchill was the only name that came to mind. ‘This week my colleague Miles Churchill tried to frame me,’ Sam said. ‘He planted drugs in my locker.’

  Cullen was interested. ‘Do you know why he did it?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘We’re going for the same job, so I guess he wanted me out of the way – he wanted to smear me.’

  Cullen let out a long exhale, considering the statement. ‘Do you think he could have done this?’

  Sam considered the possibility. But it was ludicrous surely to believe that Miles Churchill had the resources available to carry out such a complex plot. ‘He stole a pack of drugs from the hospital supplies and planted them in my locker. I don’t think he’d be capable of setting something like this up.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Cullen said, ‘but it doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. I’d still like to speak with him.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I can give you his address.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll also want to talk to Marcus Johnson.’

  ‘He’s away at the moment.’

  ‘Away?’ Cullen asked. ‘Away where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Cullen looked exasperated, then angry. ‘Look, Sam, I really need your help here. Three people linked to this case are dead, and a young girl is missing. And if your theory holds, it’s all connected to you.’

  Cullen reached out and picked up the photo of Sam and Anna that stood on the breakfast bar. It had been taken by the wedding photographers two weeks before the ceremony, as part of a special pre-wedding shoot. Anna had looked especially stunning that night. ‘If this is all some kind of plot directed at you, Sam, then you and your family are at risk.’ He held up the photo to illustrate the point. ‘You and your wife could be in great danger. So if there’s anything else you know that could help, then please tell me.’

  Sam swallowed hard before the admission of Anna’s taking came out. Should he just tell him, here and now? He wanted so much to do it, but the threat of her captor still held too much power to risk it. ‘I really don’t know where Marcus is,’ Sam said, side-stepping his own thoughts. ‘He’s not answering his phone and there’s no-one at his flat.’

  Cullen snorted his disbelief. ‘And you still don’t think he’s got anything to do with this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sam admitted. ‘I really don’t know.’

  Cullen shook his head. ‘When was the last time you spoke with him?’

  ‘Late yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘And you’ve got no idea why he disappeared?’

  Sam shook his head.

  Cullen mulled that over. ‘I definitely want to speak with Marcus Johnson, as well as your work colleague. The second he contacts you, you contact me, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good.’ Cullen went quiet and Sam could tell in his eyes that there was something else, something that he was wondering whether to tell him.

  ‘You’ve found out the identity of the girl?’ Sam tried.

  Cullen shook his head. ‘We found something else on the audio tape,’ he began. ‘Something quite strange – it was buried underneath the main track, some kind of hidden file. I don’t pretend to know the first thing about this sort of technology, but the guys in the lab are sure that it had been deliberately laid down so that someone with a bit of technical knowledge would find it.’

  Sam frowned. ‘What was it?’

  Cullen went to speak, then checked himself as if wondering whether to take this last chance at keeping the information secret. ‘Does the phrase “Black Wolves” mean anything to you?’

  ‘Black wolves,’ Sam repeated, running the phrase through his mind. ‘No, why?’

  Cullen’s disappointment was evident. ‘The words black wolves were repeated several times throughout the hidden portion of the audio file.’

  This was a key clue, so Sam was frustrated that he couldn’t make any sense of it. He’d remember something like that, surely, but it held no meaning whatsoever. ‘Was it a man’s voice?’

  ‘A male voice, yes, but it had been distorted.’

  Sam thought on that. ‘Black wolves,’ he said again, as if saying the words for a second time might unlock something deep down in the recesses of his memory – something that he should know.

  ‘I think someone was sending you a message, Sam. Are you certain that it doesn’t relate to you in any way?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I can’t think of anything.’

  Cullen looked deflated. ‘Just keep thinking, Sam. Keep thinking.’

  Sam watched from the window as Paul Cullen walked away from view. Part of him desperately wanted to chase him up the road and te
ll him everything. For the next few minutes that thought grew, until he sat staring at the phone, Cullen’s number on screen, his finger ready for pressing the call button.

  Of all the life or death decisions he had taken in the operating theatre, this now was the toughest decision of his life. The call could signal help, and beginning of the end, which would see Anna back safe and well in his arms. But if he believed her captor, it could spell disaster. He stared at Cullen’s number some more.

  And then he pressed the green call button.

  Sam stood, readying himself. But the call went straight through to the answer service. And then, just as he brought the phone down from his ear, deciding not to leave a message, Sam heard a noise from the kitchen. It sounded like the back door.

  He moved tentatively around the corner and through the archway. The room was empty. But then he sensed a presence and before he could react, someone kicked his knees from behind, sending him crashing onto the tiled floor. A powerful, rough hand clamped his mouth as Sam tried to struggle to his feet. Sam twisted to try and see the person holding him, catching a brief glimpse of a balaclava before the person shoved him closer to the ground. ‘Don’t fight, Sam,’ the man said with eerie calm.

  Sam did try to continue his struggle, but now he saw the boots of a second person looming above him. ‘We told you, no police.’

  With Sam now subdued, the second man, also wearing a balaclava, knelt down and spoke inches from his face. ‘No police, Sam. Lift him up.’

  Sam was hauled upright and received a shockingly powerful punch to his lower abdomen that seemed to jolt all the major organs. The pain radiated into every part of his body. A second, equally devastating blow, sent him reeling back to the floor. Gasping for air, Sam clutched at his stomach, rocking for comfort. ‘My wife, where’s…my…wife.’

  A mobile was placed against his ear.

  ‘Sam, please, they said they’ll kill me.’ Anna’s desperate words sent even more of a shock through Sam’s system.

  ‘Anna!’ Sam cried. But the phone had already been snatched away.

  A final kick and he blacked out.

  Part Four

  46

  Sam woke with his cheek flat against the cold kitchen tiles. For a second or two he just lay there, listening to his own breathing, half expecting the men to be waiting above him, ready to administer the next act of violence. But there was no discernable noise coming from the house, and a quick, nervous glance around the kitchen from his floor-level vantage point revealed that there was no-one else in the room. He rose up on his hands and struggled to his feet, grasping out at the nearby chair for support. As he moved, his stomach throbbed, and a wave of pain rippled across his back.

  ‘Anna.’

  Grimacing from the pain he made his way out to the phone, shuffling like a prisoner of war, and dialled Louisa’s number.

  There was no answer.

  ‘Louisa,’ he said, grimacing again as another wave broke across his body. ‘They’re watching the house; they knew Cullen had been here. We can’t tell the police. They came here, but I’m okay. Call me on my mobile as soon as you get this.’

  The phone now replaced, Sam considered his next move. He struggled upstairs, each step seeming twice the height as normal as his body protested. He entered the bedroom and looked out from the window. They were out there, somewhere, watching the house - making sure that he did as he was told. A few people passed by along the pavement, and in the park beyond a couple of dog walkers were playing fetch. One was a youngish looking woman, dressed in jogging attire, the other an older man. Sam watched them both, but there seemed nothing suspicious about either of them. The man spotted the attention, looked for a moment, and then grabbed a stick and launched it again for his pet. Sam scanned the vista some more, trying to spot somewhere that could offer a vantage point for those who were watching him. There was a clump of oak trees off to the left. It was some distance away, but if you had a decent pair of binoculars, it would afford a good view of the property with adequate cover.

  Sam sat on the edge of the bed, his mind in turmoil. There seemed no way out, no way forward. Whoever these people were, they were organised and violent. But the most shocking thing hadn’t been the violence itself, it was the cold ruthlessness with which they had come into his house and dispensed the punishment. They had taunted him about Anna, without offering any clue as to their intentions.

  But their visit had given him some vital knowledge. Most importantly, that Anna was still alive. Although he’d refused to acknowledge openly that she might not be, the dark thought had lurked under the surface, pricking him every so often. He also now knew for sure that this was not just the work of one lone person. There was a group of people behind this. Sam thought of the name that had been discovered on the audio file.

  Black Wolves.

  And then he ran through what Louisa had told him about those who had been targeting Marcus – it was the same organised, violent approach. Under those balaclavas it could have been the guy who had passed him on the stairs to Marcus’s flat, or the two men Louisa had said had entered the flat and taken away the television.

  Surely this was all connected.

  Marcus was the key.

  Sam called Marcus’s number, but there was still no reply. This time he left a message. ‘Marcus, it’s Sam. If you get this, please, call me back straight away.’

  Sam thought for a few seconds. His options were limited. He could wait in the house, for the next phone call, the next knock at the door, the next attack. But that was what these people wanted. Or he could defy them, and continue what he had been doing. He thought some more, then rose from the bed. He had decided what he was going to do. There was no way he could just play the waiting game. He moved a little quicker now, defying the pain, which had eased slightly. Downstairs he threw back two paracetamol and turned on the television, drawing the curtains just enough to allow the light from the TV to be seen from outside. He then grabbed his keys and left the house by the back door. At the bottom of the garden he peered over the fence into the garden of the house that backed onto them. Alongside the garden ran a path that opened out onto the road that ran parallel to his. It was a useful alternative way out. The men had intended to use their revelation that they were watching him as a way of subduing his activities, but in a way it had the opposite effect. He now knew to be more careful.

  Sam scaled the fence and with some effort hauled himself over, splintering his hands slightly from the fraying wood and hoping that the fence wouldn’t just collapse under his weight. Safely on the other side, he brushed himself down quickly without much fear of detection - the old lady who lived there rarely ventured out of the house. His body protesting some more, he walked briskly down the path, through the latched gate, and emerged onto the road, turning left towards the tube station.

  The moment that Alison Ainsley had been dreading had arrived. Two days ago they had told her that she would begin to participate in the full life of the house. And after God knows how long there, trying to block out the animal-like moans and groans from behind the grubby walls, she knew exactly what that meant. She already felt dirty and without hope, but soon there would be no return. They would take the last thing from her, and she would never get it back.

  The door opened slowly and a girl who she hadn’t seen before entered. She looked a few years older than her. It was normally difficult to judge any of the ages of the various girls who had entered the room to give her food and water during her ordeal. Most had borne the signs of drug abuse – the skeletal facial features, the skin taut against bone, like their body was being stretched and would one day just tear apart. In a few their make-up was so garish to be almost clown-like. This girl however looked healthier, stronger than the others, free of excessive make-up, with a fuller face.

  ‘Hello Alison.’

  Alison edged up the bed and backed up against the wall. She thought about running, her eyes darting around as if a portal to freedom would magically op
en up in the wall. But the door was covered, and she knew that even if she got out, he would be waiting for her. Just like last time.

  The girl moved closer. ‘It’s time, Alison.’

  Alison shook her head and began to cry. ‘Please, leave me alone, please.’

  The girl shook her head. ‘You know I can’t do that.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Alison repeated. She rose from the bed and the girl moved forward quickly to meet her, holding her down by the shoulders. Her grip was firm without being threatening.

  ‘Please,’ she said, looking deep into her eyes, ‘please just do everything I say, and you’ll be alright.’

  Alison didn’t know what that meant. She hardly dared think that it was another attempt to free her, but the girl’s face seemed to convey something that offered that promise.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Just follow me.’

  Alison held back.

  ‘You’ll be alright,’ the girl repeated. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Are you here to save me?’ Alison hardly dared speak the words for fear that the answer would destroy her hope totally.

  ‘Follow me.’

  Alison nodded and followed her across the room, praying that she was walking to freedom, and not a greater horror. But the truth was, whatever her destination, she had no choice but to do as she was told. She might as well have been in chains, such was her enslavement.

  She followed her out onto the landing, and for a moment Alison thought that they were heading for the same store cupboard from which the first failed escape had been launched. But instead the girl took her downstairs.

  Alison’s hopes rose as she scrutinised the girl’s behaviour. She was hurrying, and her nervous glances around corners were the mark of someone who didn’t want to be discovered.