Deadly Obsession

by DS Butler

  Victoria felt a new stab of panic. What was he going to record? What was he going to do to her?

  Did he make some kind of sex videos?

  She had to get out of here. She flung herself at the door and yanked the handle. It was locked, so she pounded on the door with her fists.

  “Let me out! Let me out of here, now!”

  The door was covered with some kind of fabric-covered panels.

  She heard a movement, a scraping, and turned around, pressing her back against the door. Oh God, he was in the room. Victoria’s eyes scoured the dark corners. Where was he hiding?

  “It’s no good,” a voice said. “The room is soundproofed.”

  Victoria’s knees buckled, and she sank to the floor.

  It wasn’t him.

  The voice belonged to a woman.

  23

  After the briefing with DI Green, Collins sat at his desk, scowling as he sorted through the file on Henryk Blonski, ready to hand over the details to MIT.

  Like Collins, Mackinnon didn’t want to hand the case to anyone else. It felt like defeat, like admitting they didn’t try hard enough.

  Mackinnon peeled back the plastic cover of his cheese sandwich. It was all they had left at the canteen, and the cheese looked more plastic than the cover.

  He’d just taken his first bite, when his mobile rang. Typical. He put the sandwich on his desk and reached into his pocket for his phone. The ring tone sounded very much like Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.”

  Bloody DC Webb.

  He was always messing about with people’s phones. It wasn’t even safe to leave your phone unguarded in a police station with him around. Still, with the Queen ring tone, he supposed he had gotten off lightly, compared to Collins last month. Webb had changed the text language on Collins mobile to Arabic. And changing it back was no simple matter when all the phone menus were in a language you couldn’t understand.

  And at least DC Webb changed the ring tone to a song he liked.

  Mackinnon glanced at the screen. A London number he didn’t recognise flashed on the display.

  “DS Mackinnon.”

  “This is Rachel Cleeves, Detective. I spoke to you this morning. I suppose it is all right to call you on this number, is it? It was on the card you left with my father.”

  “It’s fine,” Mackinnon said. “What can I do to help?”

  “It’s one of my students. She hasn’t shown up to class.” Rachel said the words in a rush as though she’d been holding them in for a while and was relieved to finally say them.

  The back of Mackinnon’s neck tingled. This didn’t feel good at all.

  “What’s the student’s name?” Mackinnon asked.

  “God, I’m being an idiot,” Rachel said. “I’m paranoid, I guess. Your visit this morning made me jump to conclusions. It’s probably nothing, but she isn’t answering her phone either. I’m sorry.” Rachel’s voice sounded really scared.

  “Not at all,” Mackinnon said. “I can drop by in say thirty minutes, and you can give me the details.”

  “No!” Mackinnon heard Rachel’s sharp intake of breath.

  “I mean it’s not a good idea. My mother would kill me if she knew I’d been talking to you. She thinks it’s bad for business. I’ll meet you somewhere. Do you know ZiZi’s? It’s just around the corner from the academy.”

  “Sure. I’ll meet you there.”

  After Mackinnon hung up, he sat at his desk for a moment, staring at the phone. This morning Rachel Cleeves seemed cold and standoffish. The very last person Mackinnon would have expected to volunteer information. What had changed? Was it genuine concern for her student?

  Part of being a detective required him to constantly question everyone’s motivation. Mackinnon never gave anyone the benefit of the doubt. All actions had a sinister motive until proven otherwise. That was a good thing at work. A great thing even. Outside work, it became hard to switch that reasoning off. And more and more these days, Mackinnon found himself doubting everyone.

  Maybe Rachel Cleeves was genuinely upset, or perhaps she had an ulterior motive. There was only one way to find out.

  Mackinnon picked up his mobile and headed out.

  The lunch trade at ZiZi’s had already died away, so he spotted Rachel Cleeves easily. She sat inside the restaurant at one of the wooden tables. She hadn’t taken off her cardigan, despite the warm weather. She had a cup of coffee in front of her, which she stirred constantly. She looked tense, agitated.

  Mackinnon took off his grey suit jacket and hung it on the chair opposite Rachel Cleeves. “Hello,” he said as he sat down.

  “Victoria Trent,” Rachel Cleeves said and dropped her spoon so it clattered against the side of the cup. She swallowed. “That’s her name, Victoria. She’s never missed a class before.”

  Rachel bit down on her bottom lip, and Mackinnon noticed she’d applied lipstick. Her cheeks looked flushed too. In a way that was too uniform to be natural. Why had she dolled herself up?

  He was sure she hadn’t been wearing makeup earlier.

  “Of course, she might just have a touch of flu or something,” Rachel Cleeves put her cold fingers on top of Mackinnon’s hand. “Do you think I’m over reacting?”

  Mackinnon leaned back from the table and pulled his hand away gently.

  “It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Mackinnon said. “Can you give me any more details?”

  Mackinnon waved to a waiter, ordered a black coffee, then listened to Rachel Cleeves as she described Victoria Trent. Rachel passed him a slip of paper. As Mackinnon looked down at the address written in scratchy, small handwriting, he asked, “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “Not that I know of.” Rachel Cleeves shook her head. “I’m being silly, aren’t I? It’s just that when I rang her mobile, I got a message telling me it’s switched off, and after all your questions about Anya...”

  “I’m glad you told me,” Mackinnon said.

  “Really?”

  For the first time, she gave a genuine smile, and her face lit up. She was actually quite attractive when she smiled.

  Mackinnon nodded. “I’ll pop round there now and check it out.”

  24

  The address Rachel Cleeves gave him for Victoria Trent was on the Towers Estate, not far from Jubilee House. Victoria and Anya were practically neighbours. Was that the connection? Was the Star Academy a red herring?

  Mackinnon arrived on the Towers Estate just after four. It was a warm day, and the local kids were playing on the streets with water pistols. Not the small, dribbly little things Mackinnon played with when he was a kid. These were brightly coloured, pump-action monsters. The kids looked like they were having great fun. Mackinnon watched as they darted along the pavement, their parents nowhere to be seen.

  “Watch yourselves, lads,” he said as the smaller of the two boys barrelled into him in his desperate attempt to escape the spray from his friend’s gun.

  Seeing as they were on the Towers Estate, he expected a mouthful of abuse, or a face-full of water in response, but the little boy just grinned up at him, showing off the gap in his front teeth. “Sorry,” he said before charging off down the pavement in pursuit of his friend.

  Mackinnon watched him go and smiled. Those water pistols did look like fun. He wondered, briefly, if Chloe’s daughters would like them, then dismissed it. They were too old for that. Shame, Mackinnon wouldn’t have minded trying one out himself.

  He headed on past Jubilee House. The crime scene had already been processed. And there was no sign that poor Henryk Blonski lost his life here just two days ago. Mackinnon put his hands in his pockets and walked faster. He didn’t want to linger.

  Burgess House, where Victoria Trent lived, was a newer building than Jubilee House. Grey concrete, instead of red brick, and at least five storeys taller.

  According to the address Rachel Cleeves gave him, Victoria Trent lived on the third floor. Grateful he didn’t have to take the lift, Mackinnon headed for the
stairwell. It smelled of bleach, but underneath the chlorine, the stench of rubbish lingered.

  Mackinnon took shallow breaths as he climbed the stairs and thought about Chloe’s daughters. He couldn’t get them water pistols. He knew enough about teenage girls to realise that was a bad idea. Unfortunately, he didn’t know enough to imagine what would be a good idea. A gift might help get them onside. But it might seem as if he were trying to buy their affection.

  Mackinnon reached the third floor and exited the stairwell into the lobby. He glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand. Number thirty-one.

  Straightaway, Mackinnon noticed Victoria Trent’s mail wasn’t pushed completely through the letterbox. That meant she hadn’t been able to collect her post.

  Mackinnon rang the doorbell and listened. He heard the cheerful jingle and waited. After a few moments, there was still no response, so he rapped on the door with his knuckles and called out Victoria’s name, identifying himself as police.

  Still no answer.

  Mackinnon crouched down near the letterbox and put his face close to the opening. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a deep breath through his nose.

  Then he sighed with relief. No smell of decay. He stood straight and raised his fist to knock one last time.

  Then he froze.

  He just remembered what Belinda Cleeves had said this morning. One little word that made a world of difference. She said, “They.”

  She said, “They go off to the cruise ships.”

  Mackinnon fumbled for his phone, and Collins answered on the second ring.

  “Jesus, Nick,” Mackinnon said. “I don’t think Anya Blonski was the first Star Academy girl to go missing.”

  25

  It took a moment for Collins to process what Mackinnon was driving at.

  “I was thinking back to our conversation with Belinda Cleeves,” Mackinnon said, “And I remembered that she said, ‘they’.”

  “What?”

  “She said they go to the cruise ships.”

  “Yeah, rather than work at their craft. So?”

  “They as in plural, Nick. They as in more than one girl have left the Star Academy under similar circumstances.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t think…? I mean, girls must leave of their own accord all the time.”

  “Maybe, but I want to be sure.”

  Mackinnon told Collins he would go back to the academy and get a list of all the girls who left for the cruise ships. He was probably overanalysing this, seeing evil possibilities that might not be real. Maybe. But in his opinion, it was better to be cautious.

  “I’ll speak to Rachel Cleeves,” Mackinnon said, pulling a hand over his ear to block out the noise of a bus accelerating away from the curb.

  “Oh, yes,” Collins said. “Reckon she’d be keen to get some one-on-one time with you.” Collins’ dirty laugh echoed through the phone. Mackinnon imagined Collins winking as he spoke.

  “I just meant she seemed more helpful than the rest of the Cleeves family. More willing to talk.”

  “You’re probably right,” Collins said “I reckon she fancies you. So she’d be more likely to hand over the names.”

  “No.” Mackinnon said. “It’s because she’s worried about the missing girls, not because she fancies me.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, why didn’t she ring me then? I gave her my card.”

  “You sound almost jealous, Nick.”

  “What?” Collins snorted “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m married and I– “

  “I’ve got to get on. You can tell me all about your theories when I get back to the station with the list.” Mackinnon hung up without waiting for a reply.

  ***

  “You shouldn’t have drunk that water,” the female voice said.

  Victoria inched towards the familiar voice. It was coming from a corner of the room deep in shadow.

  “Anya?”

  There was a pause.

  “Yes.” Anya crawled forward, and Victoria shrank back away from her.

  Anya’s face was bruised and bloody. On her shoulder, there was a large, angry, red mark, which looked like a burn.

  “What happened to your arm?” Victoria asked.

  Victoria followed Anya’s gaze. She stared at the long metal contraption, with a forked end, propped up against the wall.

  “What’s that?” Victoria asked, even though she didn’t really want to hear the answer.

  “A cattle prod. He uses it if we don’t want to take part in his games.”

  Victoria shivered and noticed Anya’s hands were tied together with blue, nylon rope. “I’ll untie you. We’ll get out of here, together. There’s two of us now,” she said, forcing her voice to sound confident.

  “There were two of us before,” Anya muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

  They were silent for a few moments, then Anya frowned and nodded at Victoria’s forearm. “What happened? Did he do that to you?”

  Victoria fought the impulse to cover herself. What did it matter now anyway? She looked down at the small, circular, red marks on her arm.

  “No, he didn’t. They’re old scars.”

  Scars from another lifetime, Victoria thought. She closed her eyes and saw her stepfather closing in on her, a cigarette in his hand, a twisted grin on his mouth. She would never forget the look of pleasure in his eyes as he pressed the glowing end onto her smooth, eight-year-old skin for the first time.

  She pulled her arm away from Anya gently and tugged down her sleeve. She couldn’t think about that now. She needed to concentrate on finding a way out of this situation.

  “Henryk is looking for you,” Victoria said and saw hope flare briefly in Anya’s eyes. “He’s spoken to the police, told them you’re missing. It won’t be long before they find us.”

  Anya squeezed her eyes shut. “Henryk…” A small, solitary tear wound its way down her cheek.

  “He came to see me,” Victoria said. “He was really worried. He knew something was wrong.” Victoria squeezed Anya’s hand. “Your brother is a good man.”

  Anya began to cry, and Victoria hugged her tightly.

  “It’s all right. They’ll find us,” Victoria whispered.

  But that only made Anya sob harder.

  Victoria was starting to feel dizzy. “I don’t feel well.”

  Her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool.

  “It’s the water,” Anya said. “He drugs it. But sometimes, it is better to sleep.”

  No! Victoria didn’t want to sleep. She had to stay awake and keep her wits sharp.

  She reached for the blue, nylon rope looped around Anya’s wrists. “I’ll untie you. When he comes back, we can make a run for it.”

  Anya yanked her hands away. “Don’t bother. He’ll only re-tie the rope and make it tighter next time. Anyway, you won’t be able to run anywhere. You’ll be asleep soon.”

  Victoria shook her head, but she couldn’t reply. Her tongue felt too thick, and she didn’t have the energy to form the right words. Why didn’t Anya want to help plan their escape?

  Victoria swallowed. She felt nauseous and groggy. She leaned over and rested her head on Anya’s lap.

  She felt the muscles in Anya’s legs tense at the contact, but Victoria was too tired to care.

  26

  When Mackinnon arrived back at the Star Academy, the same receptionist, Pippa Adams, sat at the desk. She had clearly finished filing her nails ages ago. Now, she painted them, carefully stroking the tiny brush along each one, leaving them a shiny burgundy.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Mackinnon said.

  “Oh!” the receptionist’s head snapped up, and her hand jumped, smearing polish along the entire length of her index finger. “Damn.” She wiped away the excess polish with a tissue, then smiled apologetically at Mackinnon.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, flapping her hands about like a bird with wounded wings. “How
can I help?”

  “I’d like to speak to Rachel Cleeves, please. Could you call her and tell her I’m here?”

  The receptionist picked up the telephone handset gingerly, careful not to smudge her polish.

  Less than a minute later, Rachel came clattering down the stairs. Her mousy hair had escaped from her French plait, and her eyes were wide open.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked in a horrified whisper.

  “I need to ask a favour,” Mackinnon said.

  “Not here,” Rachel said and started to push Mackinnon to the door. “Outside.”

  Mackinnon was a foot taller and several stone heavier than Rachel Cleeves, and at first, he stood his ground, irritated by her reaction. Then he spotted the receptionist eyeing them curiously, saw Rachel’s desperate look at the CCTV camera above the reception desk, and thought it might be a good idea to talk to her without an audience.

  As they stepped outside, into the warmth of the afternoon, Rachel Cleeves turned on Mackinnon, furious. “What were you thinking? I told you not to come here, my mother will be livid.”

  Mackinnon stared at her for a moment, stunned. She really was terrified of Belinda Cleeves. At thirty-five-years-old, Rachel Cleeves lived and worked with her family. Would she ever manage to escape her domineering mother?

  “I need your help, Rachel,” Mackinnon said. “When I spoke to your mother this morning, she mentioned other girls who left the Star Academy to work on the cruise ships.”

  Rachel shrugged, then glanced back to the academy entrance to make sure she wasn’t being watched.

  “Have other girls left the academy recently?” Mackinnon asked.

  Rachel shrugged. “Some, I guess.”

  “I’ll need a list of names and contact details of those students. Can you get that for me?”

  Rachel’s eyes opened wide, then she blinked rapidly. “Why? Do you think…” She shook her head. “No, I can’t. I don’t know how to get the files. I don’t have access to the students’ records.”

  “It’s important,” Mackinnon said. “I hope nothing has happened to these girls, but I have to make sure.”