Scared to Death (A Detective Kay Hunter novel)

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘That’s it,’ exclaimed Kay. She turned to Sharp. ‘Can you hold Eli while we check this out?’ She blinked. ‘Sorry – boss?’

  He nodded. ‘Do it. Municipal plans for the drains and sewers in the area where Eli’s van has been seen. Look for access covers, culverts. Relay the information to the teams out there. Hurry.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kay took off at a jog.

  ‘And Gavin?’

  They both stopped and turned.

  ‘Well done,’ said Sharp. ‘Now, both of you. Go.’

  Kay took the stairs up to the next floor two at a time, cursed under her breath as her toe caught on the top step, and regained her balance before running down the corridor and into the incident room.

  Gavin arrived seconds later, and hurried over to his desk.

  Kay brought Carys up to speed. ‘Those abandoned buildings – narrow it down to ones that could have large drains, or tunnels. Somewhere he can keep her near water.’

  ‘The council has plans for the sewers and drains in that area on their website portal,’ Gavin said, punching a series of letters and numbers on his computer keyboard to access the site. ‘Hang on, I’ll pull them up on the screen over there.’

  Kay paced in front of the wall, the blank white square of the projector’s beam taunting her. She glanced over her shoulder as Barnes joined her.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Kay took a split second to decide whether to tell him, and then jerked her thumb towards Gavin. ‘Eli made a comment that makes us think he’s keeping her somewhere close to water. Gavin hit on the fact that he’s probably hiding her in a sewer or drain – it makes sense,’ she added, ‘given he held Melanie in a drain, but this time he’s using nature to carry out his wishes.’

  She shivered as her eyes fell on the damp rooftops beyond the window. ‘If Emma’s being held in a culvert or sewer, the water’s going to rise quickly after all the rain we’ve had the past forty-eight hours. We need to find her, and fast.’

  ‘Here you go,’ called out Gavin.

  The white square on the wall was replaced with a map of the south-west of the town, setting out the criss-cross pattern of sewers and drains that had been constructed over the years.

  ‘Here,’ said Carys. ‘Where all the paper mills used to be, out past Tovil. Some were demolished, others are being redeveloped.’

  Kay checked her notes. ‘It tallies with where Coombs saw Eli’s van, and it’s close enough to where he was arrested.’ She pointed at Gavin. ‘Get the search teams over there. Now.’

  ‘On to it.’

  ‘I’m going,’ said Barnes.

  Kay spun around. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m going out there,’ said Barnes, swiping his car keys from his desk. ‘I can’t sit here while they’re looking for her. I need to be there.’ He jabbed a finger at her. ‘The minute you find out anything else, you phone me, you hear?’

  FIFTY-NINE

  Emma coughed and rubbed the side of her face against her shoulder once more.

  The water level had reached her chest, distinct waves lapping at her body as the bindings to her wrists remained intact, despite her efforts to loosen them.

  She’d changed tactics a while ago, and had started to work on the gag that had been tied around her head to cover her mouth. If she could get the gag off, she reasoned she could use her teeth to tear at the bindings on her wrists and escape.

  She had no idea how long it had been, but the time taken for the water to rise from her thighs to her stomach couldn’t have been longer than an hour.

  The flow was faster, too – as it passed, the water had a distinct current to it, flowing from her left to her right.

  She growled under her breath, and tried once more.

  If there was a current, maybe it led somewhere.

  Or maybe she should turn left.

  But that was the way the man had gone when he’d left her. What if he was waiting for her?

  Was that part of his sick game?

  She shuddered.

  She screwed up her face as a fresh wave hit her, and tried not to think of what might be floating in it.

  The camping light still maintained its yellow beam, and gave her a clear view of her surroundings.

  She blinked.

  The red light above the camera lens flickered.

  Emma held her breath.

  The man hadn’t been back for ages – was it a day since she’d last seen him, or longer?

  She craned her neck, and tried to see behind the camera. It had been fixed to a pipe on the opposite wall with black electrical tape, but no leads protruded from it.

  Her heart leapt.

  The battery was running out.

  If she could escape, he wouldn’t know.

  She froze, and the light flickered once more.

  She breathed out, scared that he would come back now, would somehow wade through all that water, and change the battery.

  She strained her ears, but only the sound of rushing water reached her from the left hand side of the tunnel.

  She turned back to the camera.

  Had the red light dimmed?

  She cocked her head to one side, rubbed at the gag with her arm, and felt the material give. Her eyes fell on the white marker stick opposite.

  There wasn’t much space left between the present water level and the top of it, with only a foot in height remaining.

  She rubbed harder at the gag.

  It gave way suddenly, the material loosening under her right ear, and she frantically pushed it aside with her shoulder, her breath escaping in gasps.

  At that moment, the red light went out.

  A cry escaped her lips, and she turned her head towards the way out, the water coursing past her at a steady speed.

  The bindings on her left wrist appeared weaker, so she used her teeth and began to nibble away at the material. She tugged and pulled until she’d managed to loosen the knot, and eventually managed to create a big enough space for her to pull her hand through and free it.

  She turned her attention to the bindings on her right wrist, but the lack of circulation in her left hand made her movements clumsy. She couldn’t feel what she was doing. She cried out in frustration, and then realised she would work quicker using her teeth once more.

  It only took minutes to finally free the last of the bindings, and she stood for a moment rubbing her wrists and hands. Pins and needles shot through her veins and arteries, and she gritted her teeth in agony before shaking her hands to try to speed up the process.

  As the numbness in her limbs subsided, she sloshed her way across the narrow tunnel to where the camping lantern had been placed alongside the camera, unhitched it, and swung it in front of her as she tried to get her bearings.

  The ceiling curved at the end of the tunnel, and beyond her position, to the outer limits of the lamp’s beam, she could see that it narrowed, the design forcing the water into a smaller space, obliterating the air pocket between the water surface and the ceiling.

  She realised with despair that there would be no air left in the tunnel if she tried to swim away.

  She was out of time.

  SIXTY

  Kay leaned forward, her nose only inches from the monitor, her jaw set while she tried to block out the sound of the rain drumming on the roof above her head.

  She’d have done everything in her power to bring Melanie’s killer to justice, but now Eli Matthews had made it personal.

  She thought back to the teenager she’d met only a few days before, the girl’s distress at losing a friend to such a sadistic murderer.

  Yes, the girl was a bully, but she didn’t deserve to die.

  And not like this.

  Everyone made mistakes in their lives, and Kay thought back to her own days at school. Her own bullies had damaged her confidence, affected her choices – right down to the exam subjects she chose at school, simply so she could avoid the constant tirade from the group of girls and their
ringleader.

  But, she’d healed. In time.

  And if one of those girls had ever been in trouble, she knew in her heart she would have done everything in her power to help them.

  The plans on the screen blurred, and she shook her head.

  They had to find Emma.

  She couldn’t imagine what Barnes was going through right now. Or Emma’s mother.

  Her phone vibrated at her elbow, the movement jiggling it across the polished surface of the laminated desktop before she reached out and grabbed it.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, her eyes on the monitor.

  ‘It’s Grey,’ said an excited voice. ‘Got something for you, I think.’

  ‘Okay, go on.’

  ‘The purchase order for the CCTV equipment – the one you got from the courier depot.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘There’s some stuff on here that doesn’t make sense.’

  Kay stood, and began to pace the carpet by her desk. ‘In what way?’

  ‘There’s the replacement lens and some parts to house the lens at the top of the order, but there are three items on here that have nothing to do with the CCTV system. Well, not any CCTV system I’ve seen.’

  ‘What could they be used for?’

  ‘Home video recording.’

  Kay stopped in the middle of the room, causing Debbie to almost collide with her. Kay held up her hand in silent apology.

  ‘What are the parts?’

  Grey read them out.

  ‘Are you sure they can’t be used in CCTV system?’

  ‘Pretty sure. Certainly not for the system at the depot.’

  ‘That’s great, Grey.’

  She ended the call, and slung her jacket over her shoulders.

  ‘Carys – you’re with me.’

  ‘Sarge.’

  Kay grabbed the purchase order they’d been given, took a photocopy of it, and shoved it into her bag as Carys joined her, a set of car keys in her hand.

  ‘Where to, Sarge?’

  ‘County Deliveries’ depot. I want a word with Colin Broadheath.’

  SIXTY-ONE

  Ian Barnes wiped a tear from his cheek, and turned in the hope none of the uniform officers who were traipsing across the construction site beside him would see.

  They’d been told, of course, and he’d done his best to ignore the glances of pity that were stolen as the team assembled at the assigned meeting point to begin the search.

  He gripped his mobile phone in his left hand, willing it to ring, for someone to tell him where his daughter was.

  The rain had stopped fifteen minutes ago, but the water would take several hours to run off, drain away, and the sound of the last drops rushing through gutters and downpipes reached his ears as he rounded the corner of the next building.

  The team had managed to triangulate a call made from Eli’s mobile phone to this place, a deserted apartment block that lay unfinished, fenced off from trespassers and backing on to a field that gently sloped towards the main road a mile away.

  He shuddered as he recalled the history of the site.

  One of the uniformed officers had searched for it on his smartphone while they were organising teams to walk out across the site, and had told them it had once been the site of an old mill.

  He’d gone on to recite the history of the new construction, including the work that had stopped once the labyrinth of Victorian-era drains and sewers rendered the place useless.

  Barnes fought down the urge to panic, even though he knew it was a fruitless exercise. He knew Eli’s game. He knew the man would get a kick out of him dropping from a heart attack out of fright, just like Tony Richards, or drive him to suicide like Guy Nelson, but he’d be damned if he’d give the freak the satisfaction.

  He gritted his teeth.

  As he stomped across the cracked concrete of the deserted site, he caught up with one of the uniformed officers.

  Her eyes spoke volumes, and simply reiterated what he knew every one of them must be thinking.

  Poor bastard.

  He nodded, and moved past. He couldn’t talk right now, couldn’t pretend that he was okay, that he was holding up, that he still had hope they’d find Emma.

  His mind returned to happier times. When Emma had been born, he and Sarah had been over the moon, and so had his uniformed colleagues at the time.

  During a very drunk session after a shift to celebrate the new-born girl, his sergeant had weaved his way over, thrust another drink into his hand, and patted him on the back.

  ‘Only real men have girls,’ he’d grinned, a proud father of three.

  Sarah had been devastated when the doctors told here there’d be no more children. Barnes had been too, but more so at his wife’s sadness than the thought that he’d never have a son.

  It had all been fine while Emma was a toddler. Of course, his shifts played havoc with her bedtime routine, and sometimes he’d arrive home so late, he’d only been able to peer around the corner of the bedroom door at the sleeping form of his little girl. But there had been weekends away on the coast, longer holidays in Wales and Devon, where he’d taught her to build sandcastles, play hide and seek, and build dams across streams. It was inevitable that he’d show her things he’d hoped to show a son one day, but she thrived on the adventure and never cried when she stumbled.

  Then, when she started secondary school, he had chosen to pursue his ambition of becoming a detective, and somehow it had all gone wrong.

  It had started with Sarah making snide remarks about his staying late at work. He’d never dream of having an affair, but that was what he found himself being accused of, despite his protestations.

  And in time, Emma learned to mimic her mother. He’d return home to find his wife in front of the television, her hand on the remote control as she studiously ignored him, while Emma glared at him across her homework spread out on the kitchen table while he reheated his dinner.

  Over the ensuing years, things had become worse, until one day, he found he didn’t want to go home any more.

  The divorce had been quick, and bitter.

  And, he realised, it had affected his judgement during the course of the investigation. Why the hell hadn’t he told Hunter that Emma was his daughter?

  He clenched his fists. He’d do anything to find his girl.

  His head snapped to the left as one of the uniformed officers held her radio to her ear, the static crackling in the air between them. He pushed his earpiece into place, and then his shoulders sagged.

  Another building cleared, another search area confirmed to have no sighting of Emma.

  He pulled out the earpiece, and raised his gaze to the grey clouds that scuttled across the bleak sky.

  He’d never been a religious man, but as he watched the storm pass over the hills and towards the main road, he made a pact.

  I’ll quit. Just give me my daughter back, and I’ll quit.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Kay opened the door of the car before Carys had time to use the handbrake, and hurried towards the front of the depot, the footsteps of her colleague in her wake.

  She burst through the glass reception doors, approached the desk, and held up her badge.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Colin Broadheath,’ she said. ‘Now, please.’

  The wide-eyed receptionist nodded, and adjusted her headset before passing on the message in hushed tones.

  Carys joined her as the receptionist finished the call.

  ‘He’ll be with you in a moment,’ said the receptionist, and gestured to her left. ‘Would you like to wait in the meeting room?’

  Kay nodded, and led the way into a small waiting area to the open door to the right of the reception desk.

  The walls had been painted white, once, with an array of large photographs framed and hung on three of the four walls.

  Carys hovered near the door as Kay circled the room a second time.

  Footsteps approached, and she stopped as Colin Broadheath
appeared.

  The man looked even more rundown than the last time Kay had seen him, and she glared at him as he leered at Carys before turning his attention to her.

  ‘Detective Hunter. How lovely to see you again.’

  Kay unfolded the copy purchase order, and held it out to him.

  ‘Mr Broadheath, please explain the purpose of ordering the last three items on this list,’ she said.

  He glanced over his shoulder as a mobile phone began to ring, then back to Kay.

  Carys pulled her phone out of the bag, held up her hand to Kay, and stepped back into the reception area to take the call.

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’ said Broadheath.

  Kay tapped her finger on the document in the man’s hand.

  ‘I’d like to know why the last three items on this list were ordered by you.’

  The man frowned, pulled a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket, and perched them on his nose.

  ‘I have no idea,’ he said, and held out the paper to Kay.

  She didn’t take it.

  ‘You’re going to have to do better than that, Mr Broadheath. The top two items are the parts you ordered for the broken CCTV camera that overlooks the van parking bay. The other three parts you ordered here have no relationship at all to the CCTV system. Therefore, I’d like to know why you ordered them.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said.

  Kay raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Look,’ he said, his tone one of exasperation. He pointed to the top right-hand corner of the purchase order.

  Kay moved closer, and tried not inhale the man’s odour. ‘What am I looking at?’

  ‘This number here, that’s my code. Identifies me as the person who placed the order, okay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We use an Enterprise Resource Planning system for procurement here.’ His finger moved up the page. ‘This number belongs to the person who requisitioned the items. The person requested via the ERP system that I order these items for them.’

  ‘Whose number is that?’

  He removed his glasses, and handed back the purchase order.

  ‘Bob Rogers.’

  SIXTY-THREE

  ‘Sarge? An urgent word?’