She'd done it. The metal plate had come free.
Forty-six
Bolt was driving aimlessly down yet another grimy terraced back street when the call came. The clock on his dashboard said 8.07. Only nine minutes since he'd got off the phone to Tina.
So much of a person's life seemed to him to boil down to those single, long, terrifying moments of anticipation when you're given the hugely important news you've been waiting for: the results of medical tests; exam results; a jury's verdict; the location of the man who's holding your daughter.
'Tina,' he said, his voice hoarse, 'what have you got?'
'The phone's still on. The location's been triangulated to an area around a farm called Woodlands in Crews Hill.'
'Where the hell's that?'
'Just north of Enfield, south of the M25.'
She gave him the address and he fed it into the car's sat-nav system. The distance was just over six miles from where he was now. He swung the car round in a rapid three-point turn so that he was heading back towards the main road.
'Thanks, Tina.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I'm going to go and check it out. If it looks like it's a lead, I'll call in straight away.'
'This could put me in huge amounts of trouble, Mike. They're going to know the info's come from me, and you know as well as I do that it's totally illegal to get an unauthorized triangulation.'
'If it comes to nothing, there's no way it'll ever get back to you. You've got my word on that. And if it does lead somewhere, I'll come up with a reason why I found out about Ridgers' location without mentioning your name. I really appreciate this, Tina.'
'I talked to Mo. Christ, I can't believe she could be your daughter.'
There was a silence then, because Bolt didn't really know what to say. Tina ended it by wishing him good luck.
'Call us as soon as you've checked it out,' she added.
'Sure.'
He cut the connection, and accelerated on to the main road, ignoring the blast of the horn from the driver he'd just cut up. All that mattered to him was getting to Scott Ridgers.
Six miles and counting.
Forty-seven
Emma put the bed back in its original position so that it covered the hole in the wall and the brickdust on the floor, and waited in silence with the hood in her hands. Her elbow ached where she'd smacked it on the floor, and she felt sick and thirsty.
The movement upstairs had stopped a few minutes ago, and now she couldn't hear anything. She wondered what to do. The problem was, she might be mobile, but the fact remained that she was still handcuffed and locked in here, and the chain was still attached to her ankle, which was definitely going to slow her down if she did make a run for it. And the silence scared her, because silence was what she associated with the cruel one.
Back later, bitch.
Maybe he was sharpening his knife right now?
But she couldn't just sit there waiting for him to come and kill her. Otherwise all her efforts would be in vain. No, she had to do something. A plan formed in her mind. She'd hide at the top of the steps behind the door, and when he came inside she'd push him down them before he had a chance to spot her. Then she'd make a break for it. It was pretty lame as plans went, but it was the best she could think up at the moment.
She lifted up the ankle chain and started to get up from the bed. And then stopped as the key turned in the lock and the door opened.
She was too late.
Hurriedly, she got back on the bed and let the chain slip to the floor. Her hands were shaking and she felt fear running up her spine. Was this it? The last seconds of her life, in a dingy, cold basement miles from home?
Silence.
She made no move to put on the hood as she stared towards the staircase.
The light came on, and she squinted against its brightness.
'Emma,' came a voice from the top of the steps, 'it's me.'
She felt a surge of excitement. It was the smelly one. She was going to be OK.
'Hi,' she said quietly. 'I'm here.'
'Put your hood on, honey. OK? It's almost time to go home.'
She did as she was told, hardly able to believe her luck.
'Am I honestly going home?'
'That's right,' he answered in that wheezy voice of his. 'It's over. Your mum paid the money so you don't have to stay here any more.'
She heard him come close. Smelled him, too, the BO so strong now it made her gag beneath the hood. He put something down on the floor by the bed and she thought she heard water sloshing.
'Am I going to go now?'
'Very soon. We'll just get you ready. Then there'll be a little journey, and that'll be it. Back home to your mum. First I'm going to give you a little wash, though. So you're all nice and clean.'
She felt a wet sponge on her left arm. It made her feel cold and itchy. He ran it slowly up and down before starting on the other one.
'Bet that feels good, doesn't it?'
'You don't need to do this. I can wait until I'm home.'
'I want to do it.'
He moved her arms to one side and lifted up her T-shirt, rubbing the sponge on her tummy in small circles. Water dripped down towards the top of her skirt, and she heard him swallow. It was a really horrible sound, like something a frog would make.
'What are you doing?' she whispered.
'Just washing you, darling,' he replied, lifting her T-shirt higher. Swallowing a second time.
That was when she realized with a sickening feeling that the nightmare hadn't ended after all.
Forty-eight
The driveway that led down to Woodlands Farm was situated on a quiet wooded road half a mile south of the M25, a simple wooden sign attached to a beech tree announcing its presence. There were no other houses in the immediate vicinity, making Bolt think that it would be an ideal place to hold someone without arousing suspicion.
The tension coursed through him. Scott Ridgers had motive; he'd worked at Andrea's place and then disappeared at the same time that Emma had gone missing. And as a fully fledged city boy, why else would he be out here in the back of beyond?
Not wishing to announce his presence, Bolt drove thirty yards further along the road before pulling up on the verge and manoeuvring his car as far into the trees as it would go. He killed the lights and got out. Through the darkness created by the thick concentration of trees, he thought he could just make out lights, but it was difficult to tell. According to the sat-nav, Woodlands Farm was set back at least a hundred yards from the road.
Knowing how short time was, he moved swiftly, making for the driveway. His plan was to approach from the front as quietly as possible and recce the place. If there was no sign of Ridgers, he'd break in. He'd taken the law into his own hands enough times today to worry about doing it again, and it was possible that his actions had already cost him his job.
The advantage, however, was that he now had nothing to lose.
Forty-nine
Emma knew what was coming. The dirty, stinking pervert wanted to have sex with her. Was going to have sex with her if she didn't do something about it.
A gloved hand touched her knee, and she gagged beneath the hood.
She had an idea. It was her only chance.
'Can you undo the handcuffs?' she asked, trying to make her voice sound as if she might be interested in what he was about to do to her. 'Then maybe we can . . .' She let the words trail off.
'You're not teasing me, are you?' he said, seriously. 'I don't like girls who tease me. I've had too much of that recently.'
'No, course not. I've done it before, you know.'
He chuckled. 'Ooh, you are a naughty girl, aren't you? I think maybe we can make things a bit more comfortable for you.'
He stopped sponging her and she heard him fiddling around for the key. She tensed as he found it and unlocked the cuffs, slipping them off. She heard him stand up, then the sound of a zipper being pulled.
Now! N
ow! Now! a voice in her head screamed.
She pulled off the hood and jumped up from the bed in one movement, kneeing him in the groin as hard as she could. He gasped in pain and staggered backwards, clutching himself with both hands.
For the first time, she got a look at him. He was dressed in jeans and a dirty white T-shirt, and his face was covered by a balaclava. Tattoos adorned his arms.
Picking up the chain, she ran past him, dodging beneath a flailing arm as he tried to grab her.
'You little cow!' he bellowed, lurching after her, still holding on to his balls.
She took the steps two at a time, the chain still in her hand. Her limbs felt stiff and painful from the sudden burst of exercise, but adrenalin drove her on because she knew that if he caught her, this time he'd kill her for sure. He hadn't locked the door from the inside, and she yanked it open and ran out, slamming it behind her.
She was in a hallway. A door ahead led through to a living room, one to the right looked like it led outside. She turned hard right, ran across the hall and grabbed the handle. It turned, but the door didn't open. Panic flooded through her.
Behind her, the cellar door flew open and banged hard against the wall as he came stumbling out after her.
There was a second handle. Tucking the chain beneath her arm, she turned the two of them simultaneously, and this time the door opened.
A gloved hand snatched at her collar, but she kept going, hearing it rip as he lost his grip, and then she was out into the night, breathing in fresh air for the first time in days. There was a gate and fence ahead, beyond them trees. The gate was shut. She knew he'd catch her if she ran towards it, so she darted left, running along the front of the house, past an outbuilding, making for a field with long grass up ahead.
She could hear his footsteps on the gravel behind her, and the sound of his heavy breathing. He was only feet away now. Pure fear drove her on, the sure knowledge of what he'd do if he caught her making her legs pump far faster than she'd ever thought they were capable of. She'd never been much of a runner, and at school she'd hated athletics, even though her Games teacher, Miss Floyd, always said that she had the perfect build for it, being slim and small-chested. And now, finally, when it really mattered, she was proving Miss Floyd right.
His breathing got fainter as she began to open up some distance between them. She was running into the long grass now, and she felt a surge of elation which lasted no more than a second. As she pumped her arms to speed herself up, the movement tightened the chain and caused her to trip up and lose her footing. She fell forwards, the uneven, stony ground charging up to meet her, and her hands hit it palms first.
Desperately she scrambled to her feet, but it was too late. With a roar of triumph, he came down hard on her back, knocking the wind out of her in an agonizing rush.
'Oh God!'
'He can't help you now, you little tease!'
He laughed as he sat astride her and twisted her round roughly so that she was facing him, his knees digging into her upper arms. She stared into his balaclava-clad face, saw dark eyes glinting excitedly through the slits, and felt terror surge through her as his gloved hands fiddled impatiently with the zipper on his jeans, pulling them open.
He grabbed her wrist and thrust her hand towards his groin, pulling her upright as he did so. 'Feel me,' he hissed, and she cried out as the hand made contact. But he'd moved as well and his knee was no longer pinning her free arm. Taking her chance, with the free hand she scrabbled around in the grass until she found a sharp piece of flint half the size of her palm. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was all she had. Operating entirely on instinct now, she drove it into the side of his head and dragged the sharp edge down the side of his balaclava.
He yelped in pain and smacked her hand away, letting go of the other one at the same time, but Emma pressed her advantage, ramming the flint into the top of his thigh, only centimetres from his balls. Cursing, he jumped off her, keen to get out of the way before she did any more damage, and she saw her opportunity. Scrambling to her feet, she took off again, the chain trailing loosely behind her as she made for the tree line, not daring to look back.
She hit the trees at a sprint, branches crunching underfoot as she was swallowed up by the darkness, tearing through brambles, ignoring the pain as they scratched and clawed her, just wanting to keep running, to get as far away from him as possible. Faster and faster, almost blind now in her desire to keep going.
She fell headfirst, landing on a bed of leaves. She could still hear him but it sounded as if he was some distance away. He hadn't seen or heard her fall, she was sure of that. Part of her wanted to jump back up and keep going, but a bigger part told her that it was best to stay put, hidden. Slowly, very slowly, trying to control her breathing, she inched forward on her stomach, pushing herself under a thick holly bush until she'd got her whole body underneath it, the jagged leaves scraping against her head and back.
She could feel his heavy footfalls getting closer. Step by slow step. She'd never been so scared in her whole life and it took all her willpower just to stop herself from crying out. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip.
'You've cut me, you little cow,' he hissed, his voice carrying through the darkness. 'And after all I've done for you as well. I kept you alive, and you do this.'
Another footstep. Almost next to her now. She forced her eyes open, and had to stifle a scream. He was right by the holly bush, his black Caterpillar boot only feet away from her face, a hulking black shadow blocking out the moonlight as he sniffed the air like some kind of predator.
She stayed utterly still, frozen to the spot, not even daring to breathe. Waiting. Hoping. Praying that he wouldn't discover her.
Please. I just want to go home. See my mum. End this nightmare.
He seemed to stand there for ever, and she felt her lungs tightening, crying out for air.
Move. Move, please. I can't hold it in much longer.
And then suddenly he did, the footfalls starting again as he skirted the holly bush and began to move away.
She shut her eyes and thanked God, exhaling as silently as she could and slowly taking in much needed air. Kept listening, telling herself that she only had to lie there another few minutes and everything would be all right. He'd give up his search, and she'd make a run for the nearest road. Get help. Go home.
She never heard the movement behind her, just caught a reek of stale sweat. And then the chain that was attached to her ankle was suddenly round her neck, choking her, and a triumphant voice was whispering in her ear, 'Found you.'
Fifty
Bolt walked slowly down the track as it ran in a curve through the woodland and then straightened as the tree line ended and an old two-storey cottage in need of a lick of paint appeared in front of him, nestled between two ramshackle outbuildings. There were lights on downstairs and the double-gates that led to the front of the house were wide open. A dark-coloured Range Rover was parked in the driveway.
He moved off the driveway and on to the long grass lining it so that his movements didn't trigger any lights, and approached the gates quietly using the darkness as cover.
But as he reached them he heard the sound of footsteps on gravel coming from somewhere up ahead. His view of whoever it was was blocked by the Range Rover as he crouched down behind the fence so that he couldn't be seen.
Then he heard it. A strangled sob, definitely female. He felt a ferocious jolt of emotion that almost knocked him off his feet as he realized that it was almost certainly coming from Emma.
This was confirmed in the next few seconds when she came into view, barely a silhouette in the gloom and smaller than he'd imagined, staring straight ahead. But it was definitely Emma, just as Bolt knew that the man dragging her by the length of chain round her neck was Scott Ridgers. He might have been wearing a balaclava, but that didn't matter. It was him.
Bastard.
Ridgers had a small-bladed knife in his free hand which he kept close to Emm
a's side to ensure she didn't struggle. Even in the darkness, Bolt could see the terrified expression on her face, and he felt the rage build within him. But there were at least twenty yards between them, which would give Ridgers far too much time to react if Bolt charged him. He was going to have to be patient, look for an opportunity.
Then Ridgers said something to Emma that chilled Bolt's blood: 'We're going to have some fun now, baby.'
Emma managed a strangled sob, and Bolt had to shut his eyes and hold on to the fence for support.
When he opened them again, they'd reached the front door. He watched as Ridgers pushed it open and shoved Emma inside, following her in without looking round.
And chuckling. The bastard was actually chuckling.
He also made the biggest mistake of his life. He didn't shut the door behind him.
Bolt took a deep breath. Moving as quietly and swiftly as he could, he followed them into the house.
Fifty-one
The chain round her neck was choking Emma so badly she could hardly breathe as he dragged her through the hallway. The cellar door was still open and he pushed her towards it.
Oh God, she couldn't go back in there again, not having come so close to freedom. And she knew that if she went back in, this time she definitely wouldn't be coming back out. Not alive, anyway. She went limp in his arms, and he cursed.
'Come on, move it,' he snapped, angry now, pressing the blade of a penknife he'd produced earlier against her ribs.
She stayed limp, and started to make horrible choking sounds, as if she was dying.
'If you're fooling me about . . .'
He let her drop to her knees and loosened the chain a little.
'Water,' she gasped.
'All right,' he said, hauling her to her feet and manhandling her through the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. 'You can have some water. Then we'll have some—'
He suddenly stopped as they reached the kitchen door and he switched on the light. She felt him go tense.
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