by Ed James
“Sounds good. Anything else?”
Vicky put a hand on her hip. “Do you think we should go public with it?”
“Not sure.” Forrester narrowed his eyes. “I’m not against it, per se, but I’ll have to speak to DCI Raven about it.”
Vicky let her hand drop. She didn’t agree but wasn’t going to say so in a briefing. “Okay, so actions, sir?”
Forrester joined her at the board and drew a box for Actions. “Mac, that burglary is pretty much on pause just now, right?”
“Waiting on uniform to get back to us, sir.”
“Fine. You’re managing the street teams. You’ve got Woods, Kirk and Summers plus any uniform you can rustle up. Vicky, can you get the photofit sorted and get the suspects in a room?”
“Will do.”
“Considine, can you get back out to Murison’s and check out this order of tatties? Who placed it, phone number, all that jazz?”
“Sure thing, sir.”
“Right. Dismissed.”
Vicky leaned against the window sill, lost in thought as the officers broke off and returned to their desks.
“Penny for them.” MacDonald stood there, hands in pockets, eyebrow raised.
She got to her feet, smoothing down her black skirt. “Just trying to process everything, that’s all.”
“Looks tough, this. Hard to tell which way’s up. Weird how nobody’s taking credit for it, though.”
“Agreed.”
“Sorry I’ve not introduced myself yet. Got time for a coffee?”
“Definitely.” Vicky felt the nerve twanging again. “Not today, though. Sorry.”
“Sure, sure. Forrester’s shoved me right into the thick of things.”
“Better that than being bored, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Catch you later.” Vicky went back to her desk, face flushed. Diet Coke time.
Considine wheeled his chair over. “You’ll love this, Sarge. Your mate Jenny Morgan’s just got back to me.”
“What is it?”
“She’s found Paul’s phone.”
Chapter Eleven
Here.” Karen pointed across the road, slicing through the Dryburgh Industrial Estate, a variety of units either side.
Vicky pulled in at the end of a line of four cars.
MacDonald and Forrester stood by a burger van, Mac handing some money over.
Vicky got out. “Doesn’t look obvious, does it?”
Karen darted around, still clutching her mobile. “Agreed.”
Vicky headed over. The van had a decent view of the units across the road. “Sir.”
Forrester was squinting at the building. “Which one is it again?”
Karen pointed down the street. “That blue one. Number seventeen.”
A warehouse, reasonably narrow but taller than most others on the estate, save the Jewson round the corner, and surrounded by a heavy-duty fence, currently padlocked shut.
Forrester thumbed behind them. “Got some bolt-cutters on the way.”
Vicky frowned. “You’ve got approval for entry?”
“Aye. Raven gave us the all-clear. Warrant’s been agreed.” Forrester frowned at Karen. “Is his phone still on?”
Karen checked her mobile. “It is. I’m monitoring the tracker web page on my phone now. It’s not moved in the last hour since it was switched on.”
MacDonald handed Forrester a coffee cup from the burger van. “How do you want to play this, sir?”
“Okay.” Forrester took a slurp of coffee, the breeze rippling the surface. “We’ve got no idea what’s in there. I want grid searches done on each floor. MacDonald, you take ground. Vicky, you take the first.”
MacDonald tore the lid off his coffee. “We should be armed, sir.”
Forrester took a sip of coffee, screwing up his face. “Got an Armed Response Unit on standby but I don’t want to use it until we know we need to.”
A meat wagon ploughed along the road, stopping just outside the building, officers piling out, all in full riot gear.
Forrester replaced the lid and dumped his coffee on top of a bin before leading them across the road, the padlock already being cut open. “Vicky, you take DC Woods and four of the uniform upstairs. Mac, you’re with me, we’ll get downstairs secured. I want two officers guarding the exits and the van’s engine on continually.” He surveyed the group, splitting them in three with chops of his hand — four, four, two. “Let’s go.”
The officer with the bolt-cutters ran up to the front door, the padlock taking longer to open than the one on the gate. It snapped open and another officer pushed inside, holding the door open for the rest of them.
Forrester pointed at them in turn. “You pair stay here, okay?”
Vicky followed him inside, her team close behind. The floor was open, with rows of ceiling-height shelves now sitting empty, some forklifts left in the middle of the aisles. She made for a set of stairs to the left, waving her team to follow. As she climbed, she mentally divided the floor into six based on the layout of the ground floor. One each.
Stopping at the top of the stairs, she signalled for her team to wait and stay quiet.
The only sound was a tap dripping somewhere to the right. The place looked empty but it was hard to tell — there was a different layout up here. A series of corridors twisting around, the windows in a side-on wall showing an office or storage room behind, another revealing just more corridor.
Her plan was shot. Vicky gestured to the team, she and Karen forming one group and the other four officers making two pairs. “Split up. Take a third of the floor per group. Meet back here in ten minutes on my mark. Now.” She glanced at Karen. “Come on.”
“I’m coming.”
Vicky led down the corridor, the windowless grey wall looking like it went right to the back of the building. As they crept forward, a clanking sound joined the dripping tap. She leaned over to Karen and whispered. “What’s that?”
“Dunno. A broken radiator, maybe?”
Vicky made for the sound, coming to another wall, six big windows roughly cut into the plasterwork. A large room sat behind, filled with crates and shelves. “It’s coming from through there.”
Karen tugged at her sleeve. “Can you smell that?”
Vicky sniffed — nothing. Wait, something sweet and tangy. “What is that?”
“I think it’s shit.”
“Let’s split up.” As Karen headed left, Vicky took the right, opening a door and inching forward into the room, the rattling sound getting louder and more insistent with each step. Seemed to be coming from a cage at the back of the room. She almost gagged at the stench. Excrement mixed with ammonia. Urine?
She ran for it, hand clasped over her mouth and nostrils, stopping dead when she saw what was inside — two people lay naked, legs and torsos smeared brown, the base of the cage wet and filthy underneath them. A man and a woman. She couldn’t tell if it was Paul and Rachel.
The man was doing most of the rocking, pushing against the bars with the filthy soles of his feet, face contorted with the effort, getting increasingly agitated. His mouth was taped up but sound came out. “Mmmf!”
Karen appeared and started tugging at the cage. “Oh my God.”
Vicky searched the front of the cage for a catch, a keyhole, anything. “I can’t see a way in.” She circled around the sides for a way in, the metal almost lifting off the ground as the man rocked it harder.
At the back, she froze. “Shit, shit, shit.” There was a note pinned to the cage at the far side.
See? They’re fine. Not so nice, though, is it?
Chapter Twelve
Vicky stood in the corridor of Ninewells hospital, drinking from a can of Diet Coke. She sucked in the nothing smell of the drink and the stench of the cleaning fluid in the hospital,
trying to get rid of the reek from the cage. She could still smell shit.
Karen appeared from Rachel’s room, tugging at her hair. “The doctor’s still in with them.”
“How are they?”
“Not good.” Karen leaned against the wall beside Vicky. “She thinks Paul’s injured himself with all that rocking.”
Vicky took a long drink. “Figures. Took ages for the fire engine to get there.”
Karen walked over to the vending machine and put coins in. “Dr Rankine said she was going to come speak to you when she was finished.”
“Right.” Vicky shook her head. “I can’t believe this. It’s barbaric.”
“Tell me about it.” Karen knelt down to collect her can. “Reckon they’ll go public with this?”
“Just a case of when.”
A small doctor came out into the corridor and took a deep breath, eyes eventually settling on Vicky. “DS Dodds?”
Vicky nodded. “Yes.”
“Dr Alison Rankine.” She offered a hand.
Vicky shook it, looking down at her. “Call me Vicky.”
She looked late thirties and was barely five foot tall, and most of that seemed to be hair, a wild, dark brown frizz creeping down her back. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Even in Dundee?”
“Even in Dundee.”
Vicky smiled. “How are they doing?”
“Well, I’ll start with Rachel. The good news is there aren’t physical injuries, certainly nothing serious. Paul, on the other hand . . . Well. He’s been throwing himself against that cage as much as possible, not that it’s done them any good. He’s got a sprain in his ankle and some bruising on his shoulder.”
“And the bad news?”
“Well, they’re just not in a good way.”
Vicky finished her can. “Can we speak to her yet?”
Rankine nodded. “I’ll clear Rachel to speak to you.”
“What about Paul?”
Rankine looked away. “He’s still not speaking, I’m afraid. I’m not sure if he’s suffered a brain injury or what.” She brushed her thick hair away from her eyes and stared at Karen’s can. “He’s just not talking to us or anyone.”
“Thanks.” Vicky took a deep breath. “Let’s speak to Rachel then.” She entered the room, the third-floor window looking into the garden in the middle of the building, and sat on the seat by the bed. “Mrs Hay?”
Rachel didn’t speak, her eyes moist with tears.
“My name’s DS Vicky Dodds of Police Scotland. DC Woods and I are investigating what’s happened to you. Can you understand me?”
Rachel nodded, fingers screwing a tissue tight. “Are my dogs okay?”
“They’re fine. They ran back home last night. Your husband’s got them.”
Rachel adjusted her position on the bed, the frame crunching as she moved. “Where’s Derek?”
“Your husband’s being brought in just now. You’ll get to see him soon.”
“How’s Paul?”
“He’s not doing so well, I’m afraid. He’s either unable to speak or is refusing to.”
Rachel closed her eyes. “Oh.”
“Mrs Hay, we want to catch whoever did this to you. Do you know who abducted you?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Did you see them?”
“No. They wore masks.” Rachel clicked her fingers, trying to find the words. “Balaclavas.”
“Did you hear their voices?”
Rachel nodded. “They’d done something to them, though. The voices were deep, like when the IRA spoke on the news years ago.”
Vicky noted it. “Tell us what you remember when you were abducted?”
Rachel took a few seconds to compose herself. “I was walking my dogs just outside of Invergowrie, just past the Hutton Institute, when I was grabbed from behind. I dropped their leads and the dogs ran off.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I thought that was the last time I’d see my babies.”
“How did they abduct you?”
Rachel turned her head to the side and looked out of the window, her jigging leg making the bed rattle. “I remember hearing a car approach. I thought nothing of it — it’s a fairly busy route. There was a noise and they blindfolded me. I didn’t know where we were taken.”
“Were you there before Paul?”
“He was already there. They forced us to strip then locked us in the cage. They welded it shut. I thought we’d die in there. Paul started kicking at it.”
“When did you last see your abductors?”
“I lost track of time. They left us maybe a couple of hours ago. I kept thinking we were going to die.”
“It’s okay. You’re safe now.” Vicky gave her a fake smile. “Do you have any idea why anyone would want to do this to you?”
Rachel rubbed a tear from her cheek. “None whatsoever.”
“What about the dogs you sold with PDE?”
Rachel’s eyes widened as her hands tightened on the tissue. “The Blacks wouldn’t do this to us, would they?”
“You sure about that?”
“We settled everything. It was all amicable at the end.”
“Anybody else spring to mind?”
Rachel shook her head. “I kept thinking it was Paul they were after. He lives out in the countryside. They do this sort of thing out there, don’t they?”
“I’m not so sure. This feels fairly well organised. I wouldn’t assume it’s some country boys having fun.”
“That’s the only conclusion I can draw from this.” Rachel shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened to you in the cage?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We need to know everything if we’re to catch who did this to you.”
Rachel sat staring at her hands, silent. The door opened. Derek Hay ran in and held his wife close.
Vicky nodded at him then backed out of the room.
Chapter Thirteen
Vicky stood by the drinks machine. Another can of Diet Coke would wash the taste away. She took a long swig and headed back to where Forrester and MacDonald stood talking to Dr Rankine.
Forrester spotted her and let the doctor go, pacing over. “Hell of a business, this. There are some sick people out there.”
Vicky tightened her grip on the can, denting the cold aluminium. “Did we get anything on the call made to Murison’s that sent Paul out there?”
MacDonald got out his notebook. “Considine’s up there just now chasing this Murison guy. Reckons the call specifically asked for Paul.”
Vicky furrowed her brow. “That makes sense. They’ve targeted him.”
“Absolutely. Sent to the address we found them at, as well.” MacDonald inspected a page. “Murison reckons the order was placed by someone with an Angus accent, Arbroath or Forfar maybe. Nondescript. Definitely male, could be twenties or early thirties.”
“Was the delivery to a company?”
“Need to check with him.”
“What about his wife?”
“Still in Forfar.” MacDonald patted down his hair. “Family Liaison reckons she’s not in a good way. Relieved, though.”
Forrester folded his arms. “So we’re pretty much nowhere?”
MacDonald put his notebook away. “Maybe. Considine’s getting the phone logs from the company to see if we can get a number.”
Dr Rankine stormed out of the nurses’ station and headed straight for them, clutching a sheet of paper, waving it in front of them. “We found traces of GHB in Paul’s blood test.”
“The date rape drug?”
Rankine nodded. “And Sildenafil citrate. Viagra.”
“Christ.” Vicky’s skin tingled, her mouth now bone dry. “Were they trying to get them to have sex?”
“Not for me to say. I could only tell you if it succeeded. She didn’t consent to a rape kit on the grounds she hadn’t knowingly been raped.”
MacDonald narrowed his eyes. “Mind if I speak to her?”
“I’ve not got a problem with that.”
“Need to get the husband out of there, of course.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Vicky folded her arms and looked at each of them. “Has anyone got any objections to me trying to get something out of him?”
Rankine shrugged. “By all means. We’ll need to monitor his condition, though. If he becomes agitated again, he’ll need to be sedated.”
Vicky raised her eyebrows at Forrester. “Sir?”
“Go for it.”
Chapter Fourteen
Paul Joyce lay in his bed, absolutely still, eyes fixed on a single point on the ceiling.
Vicky glanced at Rankine. “Has he been like this since he got here?”
She nodded. “The nurses cleaned him up, which took a bit of effort. He didn’t move when they were doing it.”
“He didn’t move at all?”
“Not an inch.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Well, he’s displaying symptoms similar to catatonia. I don’t think that’s what he’s suffering from. I’m concerned it’s a brain injury — he could’ve head-butted the cage, for instance.”
Vicky sat in the seat next to him. “Mr Joyce, my name’s DS Vicky Dodds. I’m investigating what happened to you and your sister. I want to help, but I’ll need your co-operation.”
No reaction.
“Paul, you were abducted, weren’t you?”
Nothing.
“Someone kidnapped you.”
No response.
“Whoever kidnapped you took your sister, as well.”
A brief flicker of the eyelids.
