Broken Dolls (A Jefferson Winter Thriller)

by James Carol

  ‘Maybe I spoiled myself and got a cab.’

  I shook my head. ‘That doesn’t work. You’re a commuter. You use the Underground every day. It’s what you’re familiar with, and familiarity is what we use to give the illusion of safety. Also, a cab would be expensive and you’re already bummed at wasting your money on an evening out that never happened. Then you’ve got the hassle of flagging a cab down. There’s no way you’re taking a cab.’

  We turned right and started walking towards the Underground station. It wasn’t far, about eight hundred yards. I could see the sign up ahead.

  ‘Now that you’re headed home, you want to get there as quickly as possible, so you’re walking fast, covering the ground. Meanwhile, I’ve now left Mulberry’s and crossed the road to your side. You haven’t seen me yet because you’ve got your head down and all you can think about is getting home. I call out to get your attention. You stop and turn around.’

  Templeton stopped and turned to look behind her.

  ‘What do you see?’ I asked.

  ‘I see you walking towards me.’

  ‘It’s dark and you’ve never seen me before, but you’re not spooked. Why?’

  ‘Because I recognise you. Either you’ve sent me a photograph or you’ve sent me a description.’

  I shook my head. ‘Not a photograph. Way too risky. If the police got hold of a photograph then that would be my fun and games finished when I’ve just got warmed up. A written description is more likely because it can be specific and ambiguous all at the same time. If I tell you what I’m wearing and the colour of my hair and my age, then you’ll recognise me, but I’m really not giving anything away. I still want to see that description, though, so get your computer people to keep digging.’

  ‘They didn’t find anything.’

  ‘They haven’t found anything yet.’ I took a drag on my cigarette and drank my coffee and let the mix of nicotine and caffeine do its thing. ‘So what happens next?’

  ‘You walk up to me. Your body language is relaxed. You’re not a threat.’

  ‘And what’s the first thing I say to you?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  I smiled at that and Templeton smiled back, smug na-na-na-na-na smiles from both of us.

  ‘Which makes me appear even less threatening,’ I said. ‘So I tell you I’m sorry, give you some story about why I’m late, tell you I’m sorry again, and by the time I’ve finished you’re going to think I’m as dangerous as Mother Teresa.’

  ‘And those couple of glasses of wine will be making me feel all warm and fuzzy, so I’m happy to get sucked into the fantasy,’ said Templeton.

  ‘This is your chance to salvage something from the evening, so when I suggest we go grab a drink or a meal, you jump at the offer. I tell you I’m parked close by, let’s go.’

  ‘So where are you parked?’

  ‘Good question.’

  I stood for a second and smoked my cigarette and looked up and down the street. There was a right turn a hundred yards further along and we headed towards it. The street was narrow, with double yellow lines along both sides.

  ‘This is where he parked,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll get someone to check if any parking tickets were issued last night. This part of Kensington, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t get a ticket.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Templeton narrowed her blue eyes. She was almost squinting, but still managed to look sexy. It was a neat trick.

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she said.

  ‘It means it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what you said. But the way you said it makes it sound like it’s a stupid idea.’

  ‘Get someone to check it out,’ I said. ‘So, Rachel Morris climbs into the car and they drive off into the night. What’s wrong with this scenario?’

  ‘Two things. Firstly, the place where Cutting Jack makes contact with Rachel is all wrong. If he was late and parked here, why would he be coming up on Rachel from behind? He should be coming from the front. I know she’s had a couple of drinks but I think she’d notice that one.’

  ‘That’s easy. He waits until she’s gone past this street and then he approaches her. That way they can turn around and head back to the car without Rachel getting spooked. What’s the second thing?’

  ‘He needs to incapacitate Rachel as soon as she gets into the car,’ said Templeton. ‘At some point she’s going to realise something’s wrong, and if he’s driving when that happens that puts him in a vulnerable position. He can’t tie her up and gag her and dump her in the boot because someone would see him. So he drugs her and straps her into the passenger seat. Even if he’s stopped by the police he could claim she was sleeping, or she’d had a few too many drinks, and that would be plausible.’

  ‘That’s pretty much how I see it. So, we’ve got an MO for how he abducts his victims. The next question is how does he stalk them?’

  Templeton sighed. ‘On the internet.’

  ‘It’s the only explanation. Okay, next stop Geek Central. I want to chat with the best computer wizard you’ve got.’

  31

  ‘What did you say?’

  Rachel wanted to hear that voice again because she needed to convince herself the woman on the other side of the locked door wasn’t a figment of her imagination, that she hadn’t dreamt up an imaginary friend to keep her company as she slid into madness. The silence lasted long enough for Rachel to convince herself her imagination was playing tricks, then the woman spoke again.

  ‘I asked if you enjoyed your dinner. I made it myself. It’s my favourite.’

  The woman was talking quietly, almost whispering, and Rachel had to strain to hear. But that didn’t matter because she was real. Rachel suddenly realised something. Whoever this woman was, she wanted to please her. She didn’t just want to know if Rachel liked the food, she wanted her to like it. This wasn’t just any old meal, this was her favourite. The food was average at best, there was only so much you could do with a tin of ravioli, but Rachel wasn’t about to tell her that. If this woman wanted to hear this was the best meal she’d ever eaten, then that’s what she was going to hear.

  ‘It was very nice,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Rachel heard the brightness in the woman’s voice and knew she’d got that one right. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t. The silence that followed this question went on much longer, long enough for Rachel to start beating herself up for pushing too hard, too soon. She strained to hear what was happening on the other side of the heavy door, imagining that if she listened hard enough she would hear the woman breathing, hear the beat of her heart. All she heard was the dull, distant rumble of the heating system.

  ‘Eve,’ the woman said eventually.

  Rachel smiled. Eve. She would use it wherever she could, anything to build the trust between them. That’s what had happened in every hostage movie she’d ever seen. The negotiator would use the bad guy’s name wherever possible. He’d talk calmly and do his best to keep things relaxed and use that name like they were best friends sharing a couple of drinks.

  ‘Hi Eve. My name’s Rachel.’

  ‘I know.’

  Rachel didn’t say anything for a moment. She sensed there was an opportunity here, but wasn’t sure of the best way to play it. The answer came to her in two sudden flashes of insight that hit one after the other.

  ‘Is Adam your brother, Eve?’

  There was another of those long silences. Rachel figured that Eve had learned to be careful what she said around Adam.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Adam’s my brother.’

  Of course he was. Adam and Eve. It was so obvious when she thought about it. Rachel’s first insight had been correct. She hoped her second one was, too.

  ‘He hurt me,’ Rachel said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve asked him not to hurt the girls, but he doesn’t listen. He gets angry.’

  �
�And when he gets angry, he hits you, doesn’t he, Eve?’

  This pause was followed by a rush of words, short staccato sentences filled with misplaced justifications. ‘Sometimes. But he doesn’t mean to. And he only does it because I make him angry. And he’s always sorry afterwards.’

  Rachel smiled. Two for two. She’d been right to play the empathy card. For the first time since she got here she could see a glimmer of hope. It was only the tiniest glimpse but right now she would take whatever she could get.

  ‘I really should go. I shouldn’t be here. Adam would be angry if he knew I was talking to you.’

  Rachel heard a shuffling on the other side of the door and panicked. Eve was getting up, and then she was going to leave, and if Eve left, she would be on her own again. Alone in the dark. Rachel wanted her to stay. She needed her to stay. The loneliness of the situation suddenly hit her and she bit back the tears. She didn’t know anything about Eve, didn’t know how she fitted into this madhouse, but what she did know was that she wasn’t Adam. Adam had shaved her head and reduced her to a number. Talking to Eve reminded her she was still a person, that she was more than a number.

  ‘Please don’t go, Eve.’ Rachel heard the desperation in her voice, but didn’t care.

  ‘I guess I can stay for a little while. Adam’s not due back yet.’

  ‘Thank you, Eve.’

  Rachel stared across at the dentist’s chair and lapsed into silence. Bright light reflected off the steel and porcelain. The tiles were hard and cold beneath her, numbing her muscles. How the hell had she ended up here? It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t a bad person. Her thoughts caught up with her, and when she realised how naive they were she almost laughed out loud. Life wasn’t fair, and bad things happened to good people all the time. Karma was bullshit.

  A childhood memory surfaced from her subconscious, something she hadn’t thought about in years, decades even, a long-forgotten memory. She was about five or six, young enough to still believe her father was a superhero. They were at the villa, walking along a beach together, and for once she had her dad all to herself. It was just the two of them. No mum, no annoying brothers. The sand was warm between her toes and the setting sun behind their heads stretched long shadows out in front of them. Her hand was tiny in his rough, callused one. They were talking and laughing, making up stories, and she had never felt so loved, so safe.

  Rachel grabbed on to the memory. She wasn’t in that bright cellar any more, she was in a place where the air smelled of salt and exotic food and heat, a safe time and place where the only monsters she had to worry about were the imaginary ones living under her bed.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Eve. ‘You’ve gone really quiet.’

  The sunlight faded and Rachel was back in the basement. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just thinking, that’s all.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the sunshine,’ said Rachel.

  ‘And that makes you sad.’

  ‘No, it actually makes me happy.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  Before Rachel could stop herself, she was sharing the memory with Eve.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ said Eve. ‘I don’t remember my father.’

  ‘What happened to him, Eve?’

  ‘He died.’

  From the flat, abrupt way Eve answered, Rachel sensed it was time to back off. She’d pushed hard enough for one day and didn’t want to alienate her.

  ‘I should go,’ said Eve.

  ‘Will you come back and talk to me again? It gets so lonely.’

  ‘I’ll try. But I need to be careful. I’ll need to wait until Adam goes out again.’

  ‘Bye, Eve. Thanks for talking to me.’ Rachel paused. ‘And thanks for dinner. I appreciate it.’

  ‘I’ll come back soon. Promise and cross my heart.’

  The lights went out and Rachel made her way over to the mattress, dodging to the left to avoid the chair. She was halfway across the room when the dog flap clattered. She turned and saw the shadowy silhouette of the tray disappear through the hole in the door. Rachel reached the mattress and wrapped the blankets tightly around herself.

  Alone in the dark again.

  Rachel had learned a number of interesting things from talking to Eve, and one important thing.

  The most interesting thing was that Eve was lonely. She craved approval and wanted friendship, and that’s why she’d initiated the conversation. Rachel was more than happy to be Eve’s friend. She would be her Best Friend Forever if it helped her get out of here.

  And the important thing: there were occasions when Adam went out and left Eve alone to guard her.

  Rachel needed to get Eve on her side. If she could somehow persuade the girl to view her as a person rather than a prisoner, she had a much better chance of manipulating her into helping her escape. Rachel let that thought hang there, then told herself she was being ridiculous. What the hell did she think was going to happen here? That if she made nice, Eve would help her escape?

  But it could work. It was a long shot, and she might be letting her fantasies run away her, but what was the alternative? Should she just give up? Resign herself to a fate that ended with a psycho slicing into her brain? There was no decision to be made here, not really. Donald Cole had not raised his daughter to be a quitter.

  32

  Templeton stopped at a door halfway along a subterranean corridor, gave a sharp, staccato rat-a-tat-tat knock, then pushed it open. The room on the other side was small and crammed with computer gear. Servers hummed and clicked, cooling fans spun and whirred. An air-con unit kept the temperature at a comfortable level, not too hot, not too cold.

  Two wizards worked the terminals, one male, one female. They turned from their screens in unison, like they were being operated off the same wires, and checked us out. Neither adhered to the computer geek stereotype. They weren’t wearing ripped jeans or stained four-day-old T-shirts or thick bottle-bottom glasses, and they didn’t have Jabba the Hutt physiques. Both were slim and in their early thirties and well turned out. They looked like lawyers or accountants.

  The girl wizard was Indian, pretty with wide almond eyes and a way of looking at you like she knew something you didn’t. She was wearing an engagement ring but no wedding band. The boy wizard had ginger hair and a permanent blush. No rings, but his Tag Heuer appeared genuine.

  ‘Meet Alex Irvine and Sumati Chatterjee,’ said Templeton.

  ‘Hi,’ they said in unison.

  Given their names and appearance, I expected them to have accents. They didn’t. They sounded like they’d been shipped in straight from Oxford or Cambridge, or the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

  ‘So, which one of you is the best?’ I asked.

  ‘I am.’ They weren’t quite in sync this time. Sumati won by a nose. They turned to look at each other, then launched into a full-blown argument. I leant back against the door to watch and Templeton sidled up next to me. She was standing close enough for me to catch small scent clouds of her perfume.

  ‘You did that on purpose,’ she whispered.

  ‘Of course I did. They might not look like computer geeks, but looks can be deceptive. You don’t have to peel away too many layers before their true nature comes to light. So, who has the biggest collection of Star Wars memorabilia?’

  ‘That’ll be Sumati. Except it’s not Star Wars she’s into, she’s a Trekkie.’

  ‘Does she speak Klingon?’

  Templeton shrugged. ‘How the hell should I know?’

  ‘BIjatlh ’e’ yImev!’ I shouted.

  Sumati stopped in mid-rant and stared at me like I was an alien. Templeton was staring too. ‘I’ve got a real good memory,’ I whispered to her. ‘It’s great for quizzes, and exams, and for surprising complete strangers.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Sumati. ‘BIjatlh ’e’ yImev is fine if you’re telling one person to shut up.’

  ‘But if you’re talking to more than one person it would be more correct to say
sujatlh ’e’ yImev. Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wanted to make sure I’d got your attention.’ I turned to Alex. ‘It looks like you lost this one. I’m going to go with Sumati.’

  ‘Because she speaks Klingon?’

  ‘No, because she’s a woman who can obviously more than hold her own in a male-dominated profession, which means she’s got to be at least ten times smarter than you are.’

  ‘So what can I do for you, Mr Winter?’ asked Sumati.

  ‘I guess this is the point where I ask how you know my name so you can prove how smart you are.’

  She grinned. ‘The internet.’

  ‘That figures. You know which case I’m working?’

  ‘Of course. The Cutting Jack case.’

  ‘Our principal unsub is stalking his victims on the internet. I need you to take a look at their computers, see what you can find.’

  ‘We’ve already done that. We didn’t find anything.’

  ‘That’s because you didn’t look hard enough. Go back and have another look, and this time work from the assumption that he might be smarter than you guys rather than some dumb schmuck who can barely navigate his way around Internet Explorer. Start with Rachel Morris’s computers since she’s the latest victim. You won’t have had a chance to look at them yet, so you’ll be able to approach them with fresh eyes. Look hard enough and you will find something. I guarantee it.’

  ‘And I guess you want this done by yesterday.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  Templeton opened the door.

  ‘Your Klingon,’ said Sumati. ‘I’m impressed, but you need to work on your pronunciation.’

  ‘Qapla’.’ This time I really hammered those guttural syllables.

  ‘Better,’ she said.

  Templeton pulled the door shut and we headed back along the corridor to the elevator.

  ‘I take it that meant “screw you”,’ she said. ‘At any rate, that’s what it sounded like. It certainly didn’t sound like you were wishing her a long life filled with health, wealth and happiness.’