Snared

by Ed James

  Vicky leaned forward, the chair tipping up at the back. “Paul, what did they do to you?”

  No reaction.

  “Paul, did they try to make you do something?”

  Moisture formed in his eyes. “My sister.”

  “What happened?”

  Paul’s eyes shot up to Vicky’s. He didn’t speak.

  “You need to tell us, Mr Joyce.”

  He swallowed. “My sister.” Blinking, he flared his nostrils and clenched his teeth. Swallowed again. “My sister.”

  “We want to catch the people who did this to you. Can you help us?”

  Paul opened his cracked lips again and spoke in a whisper. “They tried to force us to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  A tear slid down the side of Paul’s face, hitting his ear.

  “What did they do to you?”

  “They had a thing that gave out electric shocks. Like a cattle prod. They kept zapping me.” Paul bucked with sobs, his raised knees forming a tent with the blankets.

  Rankine took a step forward, her brow creased.

  Vicky held out a hand to pause her. “What did they make you do?”

  Paul’s breathing quickened. “They tried to make us have sex.”

  “Did they succeed?”

  “Of course not.” The bed made a grinding noise as Paul sat up, clasping his fists around his knees. “She’s my sister. They kept prodding that thing into me, like I was a cow or a sheep or something.” He slammed a fist on the bed. “I thought they were going to kill us.”

  “Do you have any idea why this happened?”

  Paul shook his head, eyes locked shut.

  “Sometimes people who do these things pick the most trivial of reasons. Can you think about it for me?”

  He laughed. The sound was cold and devoid of humour. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. I’ve done nothing else.” He let out a deep breath. “I don’t have any enemies. I don’t follow Scottish football, I’m not religious, I’m not gay, I’m not black, I’m not Polish, I’m not racist. I’ve no idea why anyone would attack me like this.”

  “Could they have been targeting Rachel?”

  “That’s the only conclusion I can come to.”

  “What happened when you were attacked?”

  “I got called out on a delivery. Mr Murison told me to do it.”

  “Dryburgh Industrial Estate?”

  “Aye.”

  “Have you been there before?”

  “Once, to get some wood from Jewson when I was doing our attic a few years back, but never to drop tatties off.” Paul pointed to his bandaged head. “See this? They knocked me out. They got me from behind.”

  Rankine adjusted her coat. “His injuries are certainly consistent with a blunt trauma to the head.”

  “When I woke up, I was in an empty room. Not long after, they brought Rachel in and put us in that cage.”

  Vicky stared at the floor. “Did you see anything when you woke up?”

  “Just Rach and the cage. Nothing else. It was dark and the light kept shining at us.”

  “A light?”

  “I think it was from a camera.” Paul shut his eyes, stomped a foot on the bed. “I think they were filming us.”

  Vicky swallowed, the metallic taste of Diet Coke still in her mouth. “What did you see of your attackers?”

  “Nothing. They wore balaclavas and they did that thing with their voices like in that Arrow show on Sky, made them all deep and that.”

  “You say they?”

  “Aye, there were two of them.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Definitely one male.” Paul rubbed his nose. “I’ve no idea about the other one. Didn’t really see them.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Forrester leaned against the whiteboard, yawning as he rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s summarise where we’ve got to, okay?”

  Vicky looked at the other officers. Considine, Karen and MacDonald didn’t say anything.

  Forrester tapped at the large-scale map, circling the Hutton Institute with a finger. “Rachel Hay was abducted near her home in Invergowrie.” His finger switched to Forfar. “Paul Joyce was called out on a delivery to Dryburgh Industrial Estate in Dundee.” He moved down to the north side of the city. “He was attacked here. Next thing we know, Paul’s mobile gets switched on and by the time we get there, whoever switched it on has pissed off.” He scratched the back of his head. “I need some inspiration here.”

  MacDonald got to his feet, the chair rattling backwards. “This is meticulously planned.”

  “Go on.”

  “They knew precisely when and where to abduct them. Knew Rachel’s walking pattern. You’d need to monitor her over a few weeks to assess whether she’d follow the same route every day. Quick, too — they jumped Rachel an hour after they got Paul.”

  “Seems a bit risky.”

  “Absolutely.” MacDonald nodded. “DC Considine investigated the order — looks like it could be a lure. Agreed?”

  “Aye, Murison’s stock system wasn’t the best, shall we say.” Considine inspected his notebook. “The order was from a new company on their system. Wasn’t properly set up, just had a mobile number and the address of the unit at the Dryburgh Industrial Estate. I’ve dug into it a bit more. Looks very much like it’s a bogus company.”

  “It’s the fact they asked for Paul by name . . .” Forrester folded his arms. “Did you get anything on the mobile, Stephen?”

  “It’s a burner, sir. Sorry. Pay-as-you-go.”

  “Right.” Forrester rubbed it out on the whiteboard before looking at MacDonald. “Has anything come back from the street teams going round the industrial estate?”

  “Got a sighting of the black car, sir.”

  Vicky joined them at the whiteboard. “Did you get a make or a model?”

  “Guy reckoned it was a Lexus or a Merc.”

  Forrester underlined Black Car on the board before prodding it with the pen. “We need to find this car. Considine, have you finished with the CCTV yet?”

  “Aye, sir. There’s a camera by the building. Just shows Paul going up to the gate. The field of view didn’t cover the entrance. Boy didn’t come back out. His van was unlocked when we searched it.”

  “Who owns the building?”

  Considine flipped back a few pages. “Karen Woods has got a request out with the letting agent, but it’ll be tomorrow before we hear anything concrete from them. Doubt it’ll get us anywhere.”

  Vicky frowned. “You think they were squatting?”

  “I have my suspicions, aye.”

  Vicky nodded — decent effort for once. “Good work, Stephen.”

  Considine shrugged. “Cheers, Sarge.”

  Forrester looked at Vicky. “What happened in this industrial unit?”

  Vicky rubbed her hands together, still feeling dirty from the interviews. “It looks like they were held in a cage. It was welded shut and we had to get the fire service to open it. They didn’t see anything of their captors. It appears they were attempting to force them to have intercourse. Dr Rankine just called me — Rachel definitely hasn’t been raped, so it looks like they were unsuccessful.”

  “Small mercy.” Forrester shut his eyes briefly. “Where are we with any suspects?”

  Vicky checked the Suspects area of the whiteboard, not touched since they’d discovered Paul’s mobile. “I had three earlier. I still want to speak to Rachel’s husband again. The curator of the Living Garden is looking less likely, I’d say. As it stands, the man who bought a dog from her, Gary Black, he’s probably the likeliest.” She smiled at Considine. “Don’t suppose you managed to look into that any further in amongst your whirlwind of activity this afternoon?”

  “I did, actually. Turns out some uniform guys inve
stigated it after the dog was put down. Black called them out. They couldn’t find a crime, so they handed it to Trading Standards and the SSPCA. Neither progressed it past warning Rachel on her future behaviour.”

  Forrester rubbed his forehead. “So you’re saying she’s been breeding and selling dodgy dogs and she’s still allowed to do it?”

  “Aye. If there were any further instances, the SSPCA were going to prosecute. As far as they’re aware, the recent sales have been clean. I don’t know if she’s using a wider breeding stock or what.”

  Forrester stared at the board again. “Forget Rachel for a moment. What about if it’s Paul they’re targeting?”

  Vicky shrugged. “The only possible lead would be his boss, Michael Murison. The instruction to head out there came from him.”

  Forrester stared at Considine. “Do you think he’s a suspect?”

  “I seriously doubt it, sir. He’s got alibis for starters and Paul’s a good mate of his. Checked it with a few people there, plus a bar they go to down the road.”

  “Let’s keep an open mind on it, okay?” Forrester tapped at Notes on the whiteboard. “It seems like there’s some sort of connection to these dogs, right?”

  “I agree.” Vicky held up a photocopy. “‘Not so nice, is it?’ I’d say someone’s trying to send Rachel a message.”

  “Think it’s this Gary Black boy?”

  “Could be. Other than the fact he’s got his money back and he donated the cash to an animal charity, he’s still got a motive.” Vicky drew a ring around his name. “He’s been doing some research into it and he could’ve got angrier with them.”

  “Interesting.” Forrester clicked his tongue. “Has any terror group claimed ownership? PETA or anything like that?”

  “The letters were unsigned, sir, and I’m not aware of any phone calls or anything like that.”

  “We should speak to the National Crime Agency about this, Vicky. We may be dealing with a group we’ve never heard of.”

  “Had experience with the NCA myself. SOCA, formerly.” MacDonald shrugged. “Happy to help.”

  “Done.” Forrester wrote Mac — NCA on the Actions list. “Anything else, Vicky?”

  “I’d like to bring in an IT analyst, if that’s okay.”

  Forrester scowled. “Why?”

  “Given there’s a possibility of a terror angle, we need to scour the internet. Some group might’ve already taken credit and we just don’t know. Someone might’ve been mouthy on Facebook or Twitter. Besides, Paul Joyce said there was a camera involved.”

  “They were filming them?”

  “Aye.”

  “Bloody hell.” Forrester pinched his nose. “I’ll see what I can do about an analyst, okay? Probably only got budget for tomorrow.” Forrester scanned the room. “Is there anything else we can get on with?”

  “I think it’s a waiting game, sir.” Vicky grimaced. “We’ve got detectives and uniformed officers going round the various locations. We might get something tomorrow, we might not.”

  Forrester put the pen back. “Right. I’ll need to give DCI Raven an update on this. I want a briefing at nine tomorrow but I expect you all to be in earlier, okay?” He marched towards the corridor.

  MacDonald turned to Vicky. “Didn’t get that coffee, did we?”

  “It’s been a day from hell. Probably nothing compared to what you’re used to in Glasgow.”

  “Don’t know — rescuing two kidnap victims is a pretty good result.”

  “I’m not sure we really rescued them, though. The mobile led us there. They’d have known we’d be monitoring it.” Vicky stood up. “Let’s get that coffee tomorrow, okay?”

  MacDonald patted her shoulder. “Look forward to it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Vicky entered the Spar on Barry Road in Carnoustie, wandering around the small shop looking for inspiration. It still had a sickly sweet smell from the bakery section, mixing with the smell of off oranges. She reached into the fridge and picked up a bottle of South African Chardonnay.

  “Still tanning the wine, I see?” Liz stood next to her, a grin on her face.

  Vicky tilted her head at Liz’s basket, where three bottles of red nestled underneath a bag of bagels. “You can hardly talk.”

  “Still, I’m not a police officer.”

  “We’re not all alcoholics, you know.” Vicky laughed. “Haven’t seen you in a few weeks, Liz. How’s it going?”

  “You know how it is.” Liz rubbed a hand down Vicky’s arm, a frown etched on her forehead. “How are you coping?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I mean really. Bottles of wine aren’t the answer.”

  Vicky sighed, looking around the shop for prying ears — the closest was a man in a dress shirt and tracksuit bottoms checking out the strong cider, holding a can at arm’s reach, glasses over his white hair. “I’m still finding it tough.”

  “You can always talk to me, you know?”

  “I know. Thanks for that.” Vicky nodded, shifting the weight of the basket to the other hand. “I’m still trying to do that ‘don’t take your work home with you’ thing.”

  “It’s not easy.”

  “Nope.” Vicky nibbled at her bottom lip, rolling the flesh between her teeth. “Just so many things to juggle on my own.”

  A grin crept across Liz’s face, eyebrows flicking up and down a couple of times. “Dave’s got a new best mate. Our new neighbour. They’re getting on really well.”

  Vicky didn’t like the insinuation. “Are you suggesting anything, Lizzie?”

  “No!” Liz rested her basket on the floor. “Well, maybe I am. We were going to go out with him on Saturday . . .”

  Vicky put her free hand to her hip. “So you’re suggesting a double date, right?”

  “No! . . . Well, aye.” Liz reached into the chiller for a bottle of Prosecco. “How about it?”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He’s really nice. He’s a teacher.” Liz raised an eyebrow as she put the bottle back. “You’d like him.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “We’re going up to the Ferry for a curry then maybe go for a couple of drinks afterwards.”

  Vicky laughed. “You’ve still got a downer on Carnoustie, right?”

  “Oh, come on. The Ferry’s a lot better. So, how about it?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Liz’s forehead wrinkled. “I do worry about you still being single at your age.”

  Vicky scowled at her — what was it with everyone today? “I’m hardly decrepit, am I?” She took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay?”

  “You do that.”

  Vicky checked her watch. “I’ll need to shoot off. Got to pick up Bella.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Vicky knocked on her parents’ front door, looking back along Bruce Drive as she waited. The old street looked the same, except for the absence of children — the parents of her youth were now the grandparents of the present. How many of her old friends were as reliant on their parents as she was?

  Her mum opened the door. She wore black trousers and a short-sleeved top with blue and white hoops. Her hair was still long, though trimmed on the top. “Good evening, Victoria. Nice of you to finally show up.”

  “I’m not late, Mum. Besides, I’ve got a big case on just now.”

  “I see.”

  “How’s Bella been today?”

  “Fine, I suppose. I do worry about the pair of you. She barely gets to see you. If it wasn’t for us, you’d be in real trouble. You need to get yourself a man, Victoria.”

  Vicky took a step back onto the paving slabs lining the front lawn. “Is this my day for getting unsolicited advice about what to do with my life?”

  “I’m just saying.” Mum folded her arms, loose skin
hanging from her upper arms. “You know best, don’t you?”

  Vicky pressed her teeth together. “Has Bella had her tea?”

  “I gave her a plate of soup when she got in but you know what they’re like at that age.”

  “Okay.”

  Mum reached to the ledge in the porch. “Here’s a DVD from your brother. Said you’d like it.”

  “I told him to stop doing that for me.” Vicky took the disc. Breaking Bad series 4 was written in black marker. “Is he still up?”

  Mum put her hands in her pockets. “He’s gone to bed.”

  “Well, I’ll speak to him on Sunday, I suppose.”

  “You’ll thank him, I hope. He doesn’t do much these days. Giving people CDs and DVDs really helps him.”

  “Shame he’s pirating them off the internet.”

  Mum ignored the comment. “Your father’s going to put up those shelves for you on Saturday.”

  “Is he in?”

  “He’s away playing snooker with Eric.” Mum descended to the bottom step, resting a hand on Vicky’s shoulder. “Victoria, what are we going to do with you? You really need a man, you know that?”

  Vicky stared at the hand stroking her arm. “I’m fine, Mum. We’re fine.”

  Bella came bouncing out of the door, easily side-stepping her grandmother, grabbing Vicky by the waist, burying her head in her mother’s midriff, wide eyes and cheeky cheeks looking up. “Mummy!”

  Vicky picked her up, resting the wriggly little legs against her hip. “Oh, you’re almost too heavy to be carried, my girl.” She kissed her on the head before spinning her around. “How’s my baby?”

  “Granny made me tablet!”

  Vicky put Bella down, rolling her eyes at her mother. “Mum, I told you not to give her that stuff.”

  “I don’t remember you complaining when you were her age.”

  “With the number of fillings I’ve got, I wish I’d hated the stuff.”

  Bella tugged at Vicky’s coat. “What’s for tea, Mummy?”

  “Cheesy pasta, your favourite.” Vicky smiled at her mum. “I’ll need to drop her off tomorrow at half seven. Got to get in early.”

  Mum climbed back up to the top step. “That’s fine, I suppose.”