by Alex Gray
He’d sussed her pretty quickly for a cop, hadn’t he? Yet there were some moments that Barbara simply could not remember, like that blow to her head as she’d turned away, still pretending to examine the white Mercedes car. Now she was closer to that vehicle than she had ever wanted to be, her body crushed into its boot, legs and arms fastened tightly, duct tape preventing her from crying out. Barbara’s head throbbed as she tried to make out any sounds that could give her a clue as to where she was being held captive, but there were none.
The cold was intense and her body, already rigid from its enforced position in the car boot, was probably suffering from a mild case of hypothermia. Wetting herself wouldn’t help any, either, she thought gloomily. Was she still in the garage then? Not knowing how long she had lain unconscious in the dark made Barbara unsure whether it was still Sunday or not. The lack of any noise from the premises upstairs suggested it could be night-time. She tried to remember if the opening times had been listed anywhere on the front door but thinking only made her head ache and she gave up, concentrating instead on her immediate needs. She wanted desperately to get out of her enforced imprisonment. And her throat ached with thirst. How long ago had she drunk that coffee in the reception area? It was impossible to tell.
For a moment Barbara considered her situation.
Why was she still alive, trussed up like a big fat turkey? The mechanic had bumped off several women with impunity, hadn’t he? So why spare a single policewoman, especially when Barbara had posed a threat to him? Did he imagine that one more corpse would change his life sentence? Perhaps, she thought. Maybe he reckoned that killing a cop would bring down the whole weight of the law upon him.
Cling to that thought, she told herself, blinking away the tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. Don’t give in to despair.
She recalled the intensity of those dark eyes boring into her own. He had known in an instant that the policewoman had identified him.
Would he already have fled the country, she wondered? Or, a more hideous thought, was he going to come back for her?
CHAPTER 38
The school bell rang out and several hundred pairs of feet clattered up stairs and through corridors, filling the class-rooms with a more subdued chatter now that they were in the presence of their form teachers. Maggie Lorimer looked up and smiled as her sixth years trooped in, some of them yawning as they slumped into their places. There was only one week left until half term and this lot looked as though they needed the break. There was going to be a Valentine’s disco for the junior school, something that had elicited a lot of excitement from her first years, but this lot were much too sophisticated for that sort of thing, she thought with a pang as she ticked off their names on her register.
Looking around the room, Maggie saw young men and women, poised to fly off to new beginnings in just a few short months. She’d known most of them as eager twelve-year-olds, kids who had shared so much of their lives with their form teacher, some of them treating her almost as a surrogate mum. Would any of the girls come back to visit once their school days were over? Or would they forget all about Mrs Lorimer and the secrets they had told her, the boys they’d cried over? She didn’t expect the boys to keep in touch. Boys usually didn’t and that was the way it was.
As the bell rang once again for the start of the first lesson, Maggie’s sixth years left the room, some giving her a tired smile and a nod, acknowledging the beginning of another school week. Maggie brightened and smiled back. It was as though they were suddenly aware of her as a person rather than as a teacher. Well, that was life, wasn’t it? The kids came and went, hopefully better equipped to face the big, bad world, and then a new lot would arrive after the summer, kids who were at present the big boys and girls of primary seven but who would be small fry all over again once they’d entered the gates of Muirpark Secondary.
Maggie’s smile deepened. Life wasn’t too bad, was it? Tomorrow she would have the pleasure of surprising her husband for his birthday. Wednesday might see her far more tired and jaded than her sixth years on a Monday morning but it was going to be well worth it to see Bill’s face when the lights went up and he saw all his friends there in the restaurant. She shivered suddenly. He would like it, wouldn’t he? And surely nothing would happen to spoil the evening?
The sound of the boot opening woke Barbara from a confused dream where she was being held underwater. Her eyes flew open, blinking against the artificial light but just at that moment the boot slammed shut and she was confined to darkness once more.
As the noise of the engine began Barbara could hear another sound, a grating metallic hum that could only be the garage shutters sliding upwards. Then her whole body was jolted sideways as the car turned and moved off.
Heart thumping, Barbara struggled against her bonds once again, panic lending her renewed strength. If she could only get her hands free, reach the mobile phone that was zipped inside her man-sized coat pocket then maybe someone would come to her rescue.
The big man had secured her wrists with plastic binding tapes, the sort that were used for packing newspapers or for thieves getting into cars, and the more Barbara had struggled against them the deeper they had cut into her flesh. Now she could feel the slipperiness of blood making further struggle useless. Tears began to roll down the policewoman’s face. If she wasn’t so bloody fat, then perhaps she’d have been able to slither out of her bonds. A fleeting memory of Diana’s slim fingers came to her mind and the tears fell hotly against her cheeks. Where was the woman now? Had she been missed over the weekend or had Diana Yeats consigned Barbara to the past as they all did eventually?
‘Tom, where’s Knox?’
‘Don’t know. Haven’t seen her this morning.’
‘But she’s always in early.’
‘Well, you know the drill. Give her a call on her home number,’ Tom Armstrong replied.
‘Right.’
DI Monica Proctor riffled through the pages of personnel files until she came to a small section under K. Picking up the nearest telephone, the DI dialled her colleague’s home number. She listened to the ringtone for a few moments then an automated voice invited her to leave a message.
‘Barbara, DI Proctor here. Are you okay? Call in and let us know if you’re sick, will you? Thanks.’
Monica Proctor put the phone back down, frowning. DC Knox was punctilious about being at her desk before anyone else. Annoying as her over-efficiency could sometimes be, the fact remained that it was quite out of character for the girl not to let her workplace know if she was unwell. Monica studied the paper again. She’d try Barbara’s mobile, just in case there had been some major hold up en route to work. But here again there was no answer and the DI felt a sudden sense of disquiet.
‘Tom, there’s no reply from either her landline or her mobile. I don’t like it,’ Monica said slowly, making DI Armstrong turn in his chair and stare at her.
‘D’you want me to make calls round the local hospitals? She lived alone, didn’t she?’
Monica shrugged. ‘Don’t know. She was one of Mumby’s lot. Don’t know much about her at all.’
‘She’s a car nut,’ DS Martin Gray offered. ‘We went up to see the start of the rally a wee while ago. Don’t know much else about her, except … ’ He bit his lip as he let the rest of his words tail off. Barbara’s sexuality wasn’t a matter for discussion but they had all guessed that the detective constable had no interest in men.
‘Any family or girlfriend we should know about?’ DI Proctor asked briskly.
‘Sorry, can’t help you there. She’s a very private sort of person,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Takes her work terribly seriously. Don’t know if she ever has much time for any fun.’
‘Well, I think we should ring round the hospitals. See if she’s been admitted anywhere in the Glasgow area, maybe start with the Royal Alexandra. That’s the nearest to where she lives, isn’t it?’
As Detective Superintendent Lorimer scrutinised the lat
est memo from the deputy chief constable he shook his head, wondering at the way a simple decision could affect so many people’s lives. Politics had never been his strong suit and he had expected his position of greater authority to carry some sort of weight when it came to deciding the future of his officers. But now that he had been in this job a few weeks, Lorimer could see that he was entirely wrong about that.
What was it that ‘Desiderata’ said? Something about there always being greater and lesser peoples than yourself? He still hadn’t had time to fix his pictures to the wall and the framed prayer sat with all the rest of his stuff in a box behind the office door. He wasn’t a conventionally religious man, Lorimer would admit to anyone who asked, but ‘Desiderata’ had the sort of wisdom that spoke to any sort of heart.
He sighed, wondering when he ought to call a staff meeting. They were all up to high doh right now, preparing for the surveillance operation tomorrow night. It wasn’t the time to drop a bombshell like this in their midst, was it? In less than two months all of them would be deployed into different divisions throughout Strathclyde, with the options of selecting a post in another force if it could be managed. Joyce Rogers had warned him that the squad might be disbanded within the year but even she had admitted a degree of surprise at the news when he’d called her this morning.
It’s been taken out of our hands, Lorimer, she’d told him. All to do with streamlining. It’s the in word, apparently. Lorimer had been only slightly mollified to hear the disgust in her voice.
So, here he was on this Monday morning, with the notification that the officers who had worked their butts off in recent weeks were to come off whatever case they were working on and leave Pitt Street in a measly eight weeks’ time. Only Rita Livingstone would be kept here, intelligence being an integral part of the setup at headquarters.
And he hadn’t come anywhere near solving this damned case, he thought, clenching his teeth together.
‘Sir?’
Lorimer turned as the door was knocked and as he caught sight of DI Proctor, his hand slipped the memo under another set of papers.
‘It’s about DC Knox, sir,’ his DI began.
Barbara lay as still as the motion from the car allowed, her teeth gnawing against the duct tape. Breathing was becoming more difficult, especially as the smell of exhaust fumes mingled with the stink from her own urine was beginning to make her feel nauseous. She had managed to grip a bit of the tape between her teeth and could feel an edge of something as she chewed. Her tongue probed, examining and then she experienced a small moment of triumph as it penetrated the tape completely.
Blowing her breath out through the tiny hole felt like a major achievement. But there was still so much to do, she thought, moving her wrists feebly against their bonds. Her head ached and Barbara knew she must be dehydrated by now. How long was it a human could carry on without water? She cursed softly, thinking of the last drink she’d had back at the garage.
It was only a matter of time before her various organs began to shut down, the policewoman knew. But the car was still on the move, Badica at its wheel, so perhaps her fate was to be decided sooner than that.
The sound of her mobile ringing in the inside pocket of her coat made Barbara freeze for an instant. Would he hear the ringtone? Guess that someone was trying to locate her? She held her breath as the noise of the engine and the rattle as the car passed over yet another pot hole drowned out the sound of her phone. For a moment her thoughts raced. If this was Monday morning then perhaps she had already been missed? Maybe at this very moment officers were out combing the countryside for her.
As the car turned a sharp bend Barbara sensed that they were climbing upwards into hill country, her body rolling back against the edge of the boot. She had tried to make out whereabouts they were going after the car had left the confines of the garage but it had been hopeless. Stops and starts that might have signalled traffic lights, the thunderous noise of lorries (on a motorway?) and the whine of vehicles passing them by had given way to the sound of the Mercedes’ engine note alone and Barbara guessed that they had left the city behind.
When the car stopped abruptly, she felt her whole body being jolted against the sides of the boot. Then she heard the sound of footsteps on gravel and at last the boot door was raised and a sudden light flooded onto her face.
Barbara squeezed her eyes shut, too terrified to look at the man who bent over her.
With an exclamation of disgust he pulled her roughly from the boot, hauling her by the binding tapes so that she cried out as they bit further into the flesh around her wrists.
Then her feet were being dragged along the ground and Barbara felt the freezing air around her and heard the incongruous note of a robin shrilling nearby.
As her head hit the frozen ground Barbara thought for a moment that he was going to leave her there. But the thought was short lived as blow after blow rained down on her unresisting body.
She heard the sickening crunch of metal on bone as something struck her bare wrists but the gasping moan was drowned out by her attacker’s sudden yell.
She couldn’t understand the language but there was no mistaking the tone of venom.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the man’s boot made contact with her back and then she was rolling down and down, pain coursing through every bit of her body as she thudded over tussocks of frosty grass and sharp stones that bruised her face and hands.
The thorn tree that broke her fall was halfway down a steep gully so full of litter that the policewoman’s body would look like just more rubbish left by fly-tippers.
Her head pounding, Barbara heard the car door slam somewhere in the distance then the noise of the Mercedes’ engine became quieter and quieter until it disappeared completely. As she lay there, pinned against the trunk of the tree, her eyes closed against the cold skies.
The vagrant robin called fretfully from a neighbouring bush but there was no listening ear to hear his song.
‘Where the hell is she?’ DI Proctor cursed under her breath. The telephone call to Mr and Mrs Knox had not helped in the slightest and had only caused Barbara’s mother to become alarmed for her daughter’s safety.
‘Any luck?’ Tom Armstrong leaned against the door jamb, his brow furrowed in concern.
‘Nope. And still no reply from her landline or her mobile. Think we’ll have to put her door in by the looks of it. Her folks don’t have a spare key and didn’t know of any neighbour who would have one.’
‘Want me to call Mill Street, see if they can spare a couple of their heavies?’
Monica shook her head. ‘No. Lorimer wants this kept in-house for now. Besides, I’d like to go over there myself. See if she’s okay.’
‘Right. Give me a minute to see if Duncan’s around. Between the pair of us we’ll break the door down, no bother,’ Armstrong assured her.
A small woman carrying heavy shopping bags and coughing badly was trudging up the flight of stairs in front of the three officers as they entered the block of flats where Barbara lived. Monica looked questioningly at the men. Should they ask the wee wifie if she knew DC Knox? Armstrong caught her look but shook his head and they fell back a little against the first turn of the stairs to let the woman get ahead of them and into her own flat. Monica sighed. This was a delicate affair: if Barbara was unwell and inside her flat she’d be affronted if they caused a fuss. The noise of a door being put in would echo loudly in the frosty air and no doubt bring neighbours running.
‘Okay,’ Sutherland whispered. ‘Next floor up and to the right.’
Barbara’s door was a plain wooden one with a brass knob, and on the wall to the left was a clear plastic nameplate with KNOX in plain bold lettering just below a doorbell.
Monica put out one gloved hand, pressed the bell and let it ring out. A peremptory rapping on the door itself proved just as fruitless and Armstrong took a couple of steps back, positioning the ramrod for maximum impact.
Whumph!
&nbs
p; The sound of splintering wood echoed through the stone landing as the door sagged backwards.
‘Good God in Govan! It’s like a bit of matchwood,’ Armstrong declared, stepping into the hallway and examining the twisted hinges.
Monica pushed her way past him and went from room to room, calling Barbara’s name. There was no reply. Monica moved quickly now, her eyes frantically taking in any clue as to where their missing colleague might be.
‘Nobody here,’ she said at last.
‘Come through to the lounge a wee minute,’ Sutherland called. See what our pal’s been up to.’
Monica walked back into the main room, wondering what mischief Sutherland was intent on. What had he found? Some sex toys, perhaps? It was common knowledge that he had harboured a bit of a grudge against the woman, not least because of her sexuality.
‘Here,’ he said, waving a sheaf of papers as Monica approached. ‘These shouldn’t be out of HQ. Not under any circumstances.’
Monica snatched the papers from him and immediately recognised them as printouts from their case. ‘Good Lord!’ she exclaimed, reading page after page of highly sensitive information. ‘What the hell’s she been doing?’
CHAPTER 39
The clouds that covered the stars drifted across the heavens, a freshening breeze bringing a hint of moisture in the air. As the first drops fell to earth they splashed against last year’s fallen leaves, creating tiny puddles in crevices hollowed out by the roots of the tree.
Barbara opened her eyes, feeling the raindrops on her face. Thrusting out her tongue between the lines of duct tape that she had already chewed away, she held them as they fell, swallowing painfully. She had no idea how long it might have been since he had left her there like a useless piece of garbage, but darkness had already fallen and the cold was making her body stiffen. Was that her fate, then? To die here in this filthy hollow? Was there any point in tasting these precious drops or was her body simply obeying a primitive need?
