by M A Comley
The other two men laughed.
“Right, so no playtime. Let’s get down to business and finish her off.”
“No, wait, please. I haven’t said anything to anyone about what I saw, I promise.”
“Wait a sec, is that a pig flying past?”
“Honestly, what could I tell them? That I saw three men using a man as a punchbag? You know he’s dead, don’t you?”
“Yep, that was the idea, lady. The same thing is going to happen to you soon too.”
“Why? Why risk having yet another murder hanging over your head? I didn’t see anything. I swear.”
“You can identify us. You been to the cops already?” He took a step closer to intimidate her.
“No, not at all. Like I said, all I saw were three men attacking one man.”
“How does she know the geezer is dead, then?” one of the other men asked.
The leader leaned closer still, his nose almost touching hers. “Yeah, how do you know that?”
“It was on the evening news,” she blurted out, hoping she sounded convincing. Her nerves were in pieces, and she didn’t know if she had the courage to keep portraying a cavalier attitude.
The men all looked at each other and shrugged, then the leader grabbed Donna’s arm and steered her across the litter-and-rubble-strewn area into the derelict warehouse.
Donna gulped down her fear, keeping it in check as much as she could. “Where are you taking me?”
“Der… ain’t it obvious?”
“Why? Please let me go, and I promise not to go to the police about you kidnapping me.”
“You can beg all you want, bitch. Letting you go ain’t high on our agenda right now.”
Damn! I better keep my mouth shut. I’m only going to antagonise him more.
The men laughed as the leader asked for a rope. He tied Donna to one of the steel columns in the building. She shuddered as the wind whipped through the open sides where the walls used to stand.
“Cold?” the leader asked, touching her arm.
Donna flinched and again pleaded for them to release her. “You’ve had your fun. Please let me go now.”
“Hear that, boys? She thinks we’ve had our fun.” He tilted his head back and laughed. “She really is as dumb as she looks.”
The other two men joined in, and Donna wanted to curl up in a ball to protect herself. She cast her eyes around each man, taking in all the details of every scratch and scar on their faces, just in case God looked down on her and somehow got her out of the situation alive. Their sneers warned her that her life was in grave danger. She summoned up a sneeze and sprayed the advancing men. Two of them halted in their tracks.
The leader laughed again. “You guys are wusses. She’s pulling a fast one. Right, who wants to be first?”
Neither of the men spoke, so the leader unzipped his jeans. “Okay, it’s down to me again to get the job done properly. One of you drop her knickers, and the other shove something in her mouth—and I don’t mean your dick, either. She might bite it off. I have a feeling she’s gonna be like a wild animal.”
Tears of frustration and resignation filled Donna’s eyes. For the first time in years, she actually prayed for God’s help when she felt the men tugging at her clothes. She closed her eyes and accepted her fate. In the distance, she heard the crunching of gravel. When she opened her eyes, the three men were running to the rear of the building, hiding like vermin in the dark. She tried desperately to push the rag from her mouth, but it refused to shift. She glanced down at her feet. A foot in front of her was a large piece of rubble. If only she could reach it and kick it across the room—anything to make some noise. Then it dawned on her that the men’s car was in full view. Whoever had turned up would realise someone else was there, wouldn’t they? She looked through the darkness to the rear of the property. The men were either gone or hiding, watching in the dark. Donna tried to reach the stone with her foot, but it was out of reach by mere inches. Shit! Please, give me the strength to raise the alarm. Please.
She tried a second time, this time with her other foot. The stone wobbled when her outstretched toe connected with it, but that was it. There was no way she would be able to take a swing at the object to make an impact.
“Hello? Is anybody there?”
Donna struggled against the rope, however nothing she tried drew attention to herself. She screamed, even though her mouth was packed full with the rag. Her muffled cry sounded loud to her own ear, but the man didn’t come running to her assistance. She tried again, but the leader warned her in a low whisper to be quiet.
Then she saw him. Standing at the entrance of the building was the outline of a man. Donna’s attempts intensified as her desperation peaked.
“Jesus!” The man in his fifties ran towards her. He removed the rag from her mouth.
“Please, call the police. The men are still here. Quickly, before it’s too late.”
“What? Sure, I’ll do that as soon as I’ve untied you, love.”
“No, there’s no time for that. Do it now…”
Footsteps echoed around the building as the gang rushed towards them. The leader grabbed the man by the throat. “And what do you think you’re doing, granddad?”
“Get off me, you bloody lout. What’s going on here?”
The leader swung a fist at the man. He ducked and aimed a clenched fist to the leader’s stomach. The other two men simply looked on as Donna’s rescuer continued to pound the leader as he lay on the ground squirming in pain. “You want some of that too, boys?”
The two gang members ran out of the building.
“Let’s get you untied, Miss.”
“Please, don’t take the risk of those two men coming back. Ring the police for help.”
The man removed the mobile from the pocket of his body warmer. “Damn, no signal.”
“Please, hurry. You’ll need to go back outside.”
The man rushed to the nearest gap in the building’s façade and raised the phone to his ear. Before he could speak, one of the gang members swiped him around the head with a large iron bar. The older man dropped to the ground. Around the same time, Donna’s heart sank into her stomach.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lorne was eager to get into work the next morning. Though she hadn’t left the station until two in the morning, she was back at her desk by eight, bleary eyed but keen to gather the information about the missing woman. When Pete joined her in the office at eight thirty, he handed her a coffee and sat down opposite her.
He tore open a Chunky Kit Kat and took a large bite. His mouth bulging with the chocolate bar, he asked, “Any news?”
Lorne’s eyes shot daggers into his. “You know I can’t abide you speaking with your mouth full, and the answer to the question I assume you asked is no. Nothing. Can you believe that?”
Pete noisily swallowed his food. “If we’re talking about a gang kidnapping her, then yes, I can believe that none of the teams have laid eyes on her.”
“So, what do we do next?”
Pete shrugged. “Use our contacts on the street.”
“Get onto it, Pete. I’ll ring Mandy, see if she’s heard anything from Donna.”
“One thing first—how did you get on with the pathologist last night?”
“Same old thing. He’ll give us his report when he’s good and ready, and when he’s confident he has an accurate identification.”
“That guy can be such a moron at times. Drives me crazy the way he always does things by the book. I’m surprised he accomplishes anything doing it that way.”
Lorne chuckled. “You crack me up! Ninety-eight percent of the time, we do things by the book, Chunky.”
He winked at her and pointed his finger. “Correct, but it’s the two percent when we break the rules that we invariably crack a case.”
She had to admit his statement was true. “You’ve got me there. Go… Leave me in peace to get on with this crap. Ring a few of the team’s contacts on the street, s
ee what you can find out. Once I’ve finished with the day’s post, I’ll get onto Arnaud again, see if I can catch him in one of his rare good moods.”
“Good luck with that one.” He downed the remains of his coffee and scoffed the rest of the chocolate bar before he stood.
“Pete, do me a favour and get one of the others to check the missing persons report, will you?”
He saluted her and walked out of the room. Lorne opened yet another mind-numbing letter from the head office while she dialled Mandy’s mobile. “Hi, it’s Inspector Simpkins. Any news from Donna yet?”
The woman sighed heavily. “No, nothing. I thought you were ringing me to say you’d found her.” Mandy started to cry.
“Please, stay strong. We’re doing everything we can to find her. The TV news will be running her story throughout the day, every hour on the hour. It was too late to air last night. I’m sure we’ll find her soon. Ring me immediately if she gets in touch, okay?”
“I will. Goodbye, Inspector.”
Lorne ended the call, picked up yet another letter, and tore it open angrily.
Ten minutes later, Pete barged into the office, grinning from ear to ear.
She looked up from her papers. “Come on, spill?”
“Okay, the first news bulletin aired this morning, and we’ve just received an interesting call from one of Donna’s neighbours—he saw her being bundled into a car.”
Lorne sprang forward in her chair. “He what? And he didn’t think to report it to the police?”
“No, he’s gutted. Thought it was a few of her friends messing around.”
“Bloody hell, some people are so dense. Let’s get round there, Pete, see what other details he can share with us face to face. What about missing persons? Anything there?”
“Not at the moment. Maybe we’ll have something when we get back.”
Lorne and Pete returned to Donna’s address and rang her neighbour’s doorbell. He appeared a little worried to see them both standing on his doorstep and grabbed their arms to pull them in off the street without checking their IDs first.
“Mr. Kingston, I’m DI Lorne Simpkins, and this is my partner, DS Pete Childs. You rang the station this morning in regard to Donna Moran’s disappearance. What can you tell us about the incident?”
“Terrible situation. I thought they were her friends. She likes to party, that one. Always got friends coming and going at all times of the day. That’s why I didn’t think anything of it. It was such a shock when her face popped up on my screen this morning. I rang you as soon as I saw it. Have you found her yet?”
“Not yet. Clues have been very thin on the ground until now, sir. Did you recognise the men at all?”
“No, I don’t think so. Three of them, there were.”
“Would you recognise them again in a line-up?”
Mr. Kingston scratched his head. “Maybe! It all happened so quickly.”
“I know it’s a long shot, but did you get the vehicle registration number, by any chance?”
“Let me think.” He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “I’ve got AP at the front, and oh dear, I’m not sure if it’s SLS or SIS at the end. Will that help?”
Lorne and Pete glanced at each other and smiled. She turned back to Mr. Kingston and nodded. “That’s fantastic. Can you tell us what colour the car was?”
“A navy blue or black. A Ford, I think. Not sure which model.”
“You’ve been a terrific help, sir. I’m sure we’ll be able to track the men down in no time at all. Anything else you can think of before we leave?”
“No, I don’t think so, except to apologise for not ringing you sooner. I hope you catch the bastards and bring Donna home safely.”
“We’ll do our best.”
Lorne and Pete said their farewells and rushed back to the station. Pete punched the car’s details into the computer, and within seconds, a result came back. “Bingo.”
“Well? Who’s the owner?”
“David Cambridge.”
“Get the address. We’ll shoot over there. Let me ring Arnaud first.”
“Shall I chase up the missing persons too?” Pete shouted after her.
“Yep, let’s see if we can advance everything in one go.” Lorne sat on the edge of her desk and dialled the pathology department. Jacques Arnaud answered immediately. “Hi, it’s Lorne Simpkins. Any ID for us to go on yet, doc?” She tried to keep the tension and nervousness out of her voice.
“Not yet, no. How do you want things to progress from here?”
“Gosh, I don’t know. His face is too battered to consider showing a post-mortem pic on TV. We’ll have to leave it for now. We’ve got a possible hit on the person who carried out the attack. I’ll get back to you later if we find him. Maybe he’ll be willing to tell us who the victim was, although I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.”
“Very well,” Arnaud said before abruptly hanging up.
Lorne threw the phone back onto its cradle and called Arnaud a few choice names under her breath before she grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair and went to find Pete again.
“Right, we have a possible hit on the missing persons’ side of things too, boss. A Craig Wilson. He lives close to the alley where he was found.”
“Excellent. Do we know who reported him missing?”
Pete nodded. “His wife. Apparently, he went out with a friend, stayed out all night and never returned home.”
“Strange, especially for a married man to behave that way. Was it a regular occurrence?”
“No idea. I only got the bare facts.”
“Never mind. We’ll soon find out. Let’s follow the car angle first and then drop in on Mrs. Wilson.”
They left the station and arrived at the run-down high-rise estate within twenty minutes. “Crap, I bet by the time we get back, the car will be stripped of its wheels.”
“Have some faith in the human race, Pete.”
“We’ll see,” he grumbled, walking behind her up the graffiti-strewn and urine-soaked stairs.
“Hey, don’t ever have a go at me for not showing you a good time, partner.”
“Sometimes you’re totally full of shit, boss.”
Lorne chuckled and continued to ascend the stairs to the fifth floor. They both leaned over the balcony and sucked in a lungful of fresh air when they reached the top.
“How the heck do folk live in this dump?”
“I have no idea. Maybe we should place a call to the council when we get back, see if we can ask them to clean up the communal areas.”
“I bet I know what their response will be to that request. I’m thinking this place gets cleaned but reverts to being a shithole within hours.”
“You’re probably right. What number are we looking for?”
“Fifty-eight.”
Lorne located the flat and knocked on the door. Neither of them was surprised that the door remained shut.
Pete tutted. “We can’t exactly leave a card, can we?”
“Let’s try next door, make sure we’ve got the right address.” Lorne again knocked on the door.
A woman answered, holding a baby boy on her hip. The child had jam smeared on his chubby face, and his hands and feet were filthy, as if he’d been playing in mud.
Lorne struggled to figure out how that was possible when the woman lived five flights up. “We’re trying to locate David Cambridge. He doesn’t appear to be in. Can you tell us where he works?”
“Who the heck are you talking about? There’s no one of that name living here, lady.”
“Oh, I see. Our records show that he lives next door.”
The woman roared with laughter. “Really? Are you talking about Zippo? You wait till I see him next. David Cambridge—what a bloody name.”
“So his nickname is Zippo. Thanks for that piece of information. How about where he works? Any idea about that?”
“Nah, he don’t work. He’s bone idle. Never worked a day in his life, that one. Always
on the piss with his two mates. No idea where they get their money from, but then the police are always at his door about some crime or other. Is that what you is? Coppers?”
“Yes, we’re from the Met Police. I don’t suppose you can tell us the name of his two friends?”
“Nope. Tend to keep me head low when I hear them around. They’re nasty pieces of shit, they are.”
“Thanks, you’ve been really helpful.”
The woman slammed the door shut.
“Where to now?”
“Maybe we should have run his name through the system to see what kind of record he had before coming straight here. I’ll ring the team, get one of them to source the info for us while we go and see Wilson’s wife.”
“Screwed up again. Sorry, boss.”
“Stop with the recriminations. It was a toss-up between coming here first and looking into his background. I’d plump for this route every time, Pete.”
She rang the station as they walked back down the filthy steps.
Dejected, Pete flung himself in the passenger seat beside her.
Lorne tapped him on the knee. “Stop that.”
“All right. Kinda kicking myself in the butt right now, all the same.”
Years of experience working with her partner told her that it was better to change the subject to get his mind off his mistake. “You think Arsenal will win the league this year?”
“No way. Not if Wenger keeps selling his best players. They’re bloody woeful at the moment.”
Lorne could tell she’d only ended up worsening his mood. “I’ve told the team to put out a search for Cambridge’s car.”
“Shouldn’t you get in touch with the TV station to ask the public to keep an eye out for it too?”
“Good idea. Remind me to do that when we park.”
Lorne rang the TV station the second she pulled up outside Wilson’s home. The girl on reception said she would pass it on to the TV news producer as a matter of urgency.
The house was a semi-detached Edwardian. The front garden consisted of a gravelled area that was sparsely planted with different shapes and sizes of grasses. A worried-looking blonde woman opened the door.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson?”
“Yes.” Her hand clutched her chest. “My God, have you found him?”
