by Tara Lyons
Katy’s T-shirt quivered as her chest rose and fell. She strained her neck, allowing her eyes to follow Pete around the room. She couldn’t understand him.
“But, years? Pete… it’s only been weeks since –”
He roared laughing and pulled his long, dark hair. Walking over to the dressing table, he muttered something to himself over and over again, but Katy couldn’t turn her head far enough to see what he was doing. A mechanical humming noise filled the air.
“Of course! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” he repeated.
Laughing again, Pete returned to her line of vision. Brandishing hair clippers and a vanity mirror, he roughly attacked his head. Clumps of hair whizzed through the air, falling onto her body, the bed and floor. Katy couldn’t contain her fear any longer and she wailed, not wanting to watch as he turned the tool onto his face, stripping away his black beard. When he was eventually finished, Pete flung his arms apart and beamed at her. Though his appearance was far from immaculate, Katy gasped as she recognised the man behind the disguise.
“Now you see me.”
She bit her lip, attempting to control the erratic sobs and nodded her head repeatedly. They were interrupted by Frankie’s screams, calling her name from the next bedroom. Her eyes widened.
“Let me see my son!” Katy yelled.
Pete sauntered over to the door and firmly closed it. “We’re not finished yet.”
He placed the tools down and lay next to Katy on the bed. Stroking her cheek lightly with one finger, he began singing Adele’s Someone Like You.
“Why are you doing this?” she repeated.
“I was stupid to have let you go all those years ago. If only I hadn’t let you leave me that morning, you would have been mine. We would have been together. Then… a miracle happened, and you walked back into my life.”
Katy frowned, her confusion escalated with his every word. She wanted to kick out, scream, or even understand Pete’s cryptic memories, but the murmur of Frankie’s distant cries kept her from questioning the man.
“Never mind, I’ll find someone like you,” she sang.
Tears shimmered in his eyes. “You do remember… I knew I shouldn’t have played games in London, you must forgive me. The first time you got in my taxi, I should have told you it was me. I was… scared. What if you didn’t remember? What if you rejected me again? I was happy watching you… you intrigue and surprise me every day. But then…” Pete’s upper lip snarled like a dog’s. “Then I saw your husband and how he frightened you that night, and I had to get rid of him.”
Katy glared at him. “You? You put Brad in hospital?”
“Yes! I was late getting to you that night from London… I’m so sorry. After you ran off I followed Brad and took care of him for you. But, then you did it to me again.” His anger was replaced with pain. “You started seeing that loser in the room next door, you even said you’d love to see him again, in front of me… in front of me! Why, Katy? Were you trying to make me jealous?”
“Untie me,” Katy whispered.
Pete sniffed, wiped away the unshed tears and sat up. She could see he was battling with her request and she didn’t want to aggravate him. He drummed his fingers on his chin, scanning her body up and down.
“I just… I mean… how can I show you I remember, if you keep me tied up like this?”
While she continued to hum Adele’s tune, Pete reached down and yanked the rope from her ankles. As Katy’s legs begrudgingly extended, a burning sensation ran down them. He straddled her thighs, released her wrists and sat back to allow her upper body to straighten up. She opened out her arms, desperate to be relieved from the weight of him. He leaned forward and lightly kissed her bare neck. Her jaw tightened as she draped her arms over his back. Her stomach clenched, restraining the tears.
“I was so frightened,” he groaned. “So frightened I’d never find you again. I knew if I followed that dimwit of a husband of yours that he’d eventually lead me back to you.”
Pete slightly lifted himself away from her, his mouth curved into a smile. He rested on one elbow while his other hand trailed down her body, his fingers skimming over her breasts and navel until they reached the cusp of her trousers. Katy screeched. Diving forward she shoved both thumbs into each of his eyes. Pete fell onto his side howling. She thrashed her legs out from under him and, wriggling free, jabbed her knee into his genitals before stumbling towards the door.
Katy sprinted through the dark house, her fingers tracing along the walls until she came to Frankie’s old bedroom. She flicked on the light switch and gasped. Her son was bound to the metal poles of his bunk bed with thick pieces of rope. He squinted through the harshness of the light.
“Mum?” he croaked, and Katy skidded to her knees, wrapping her arms around him.
“I’m here, sweetie.” She cupped her hands around his small, tear-stained face and kissed his forehead. “You’re safe now.”
Wrestling with the coils of rope, Katy pulled Frankie’s arms free from the constraints. She hushed his cries while quickly examining his face and body for any injuries. Satisfied her son’s cries were from fear and not physical wounds, she once again scooped him up into her arms and left his bedroom. She crept along the hallway to the front door and pulled down the latch to open it. It wouldn’t budge. Katy peered down, but there were no keys in the lock.
“You won’t leave me again!” Pete’s voice boomed behind her.
Katy turned to face the man and Frankie’s arms choked her as they snaked across her neck. She gripped him tightly, hoping he’d understand without words that she wouldn’t let him go. Pete lit up the house and she saw the wildness in his eyes. And the knife in his hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Once the team had regrouped in a briefing room down the hall, Hamilton instructed Fraser and Clarke to confirm the details they had uncovered for Pete Campbell. Information from the DVLA’s records and his current employer, Mr Harvey, verified the suspect’s last known address was in Stratford.
“Ask PC Lakhani to liaise with the patrons in The Tavern,” Hamilton said, delegating Rocky with the duty of communicating with his Welwyn colleagues. “I’m sure they’ll be able to confirm which taxi company Katy Royal used.”
With his MIT colleagues occupied, Hamilton ensured the Armed Response Officers were up to speed with their impending strategy and suspect. Planned armed response vehicles would accompany his team to Campbell’s address, with SCO19 also on standby. However, with Stratford just under an hour’s drive from the station in Charing Cross, Hamilton needed to determine if the man had a second address. Convincing DCI Allen not to distribute Campbell’s image to the press had not been easy, but Hamilton knew the element of surprise was paramount. The last thing he wanted was for them to strike at the wrong home and damage Katy and Frankie Royal’s chances of being rescued.
The task of apprehending the suspect, who could potentially harm a vulnerable child, enticed painful memories of his daughter. Growing up, Maggie had been a sensitive child, more likely to save a stray cat than to make a new friend, and she’d cry at any Christmas advert with emotional music. He wondered if he had encouraged her to have a stronger character, if he had forced her to stop crying at the little things in life, would the bullies have preyed on her less? People are always finding new ways to hurt each other; it’s what they’re good at.
“Gov!” Clarke yelled, wrenching Hamilton from his reflections. “Pete Campbell of Rose Avenue in Stratford was cautioned five years ago, after a complaint from ex-girlfriend, Rita Bishop. No DNA sample was taken or follow-up investigation. We’re trying to get hold of her now.”
“What was the caution?”
Clarke flicked through a thin folder and read from the notes, “Rita Bishop called police from Westfield Shopping Centre claiming the suspect was stalking her. He admitted it, saying it was the first time, and signed an on the spot statement that he wouldn’t do it again.”
“It would have taken a minimum of three
complaints from Miss Bishop to the station before they could do anything to help.” Hamilton sighed heavily.
Disconnecting a call, Fraser spoke to the room. “That was Mrs Bishop, Rita’s mother. Five years ago, her daughter changed her name and moved to France. She confided in her mother that Pete Campbell was aggressive, strangling her to near death during sexual intercourse. When she ended the relationship, he began stalking her and sending dead flowers to her home.”
“So, she emigrated to escape him?” Hamilton stated.
Fraser nodded. “After the altercation in the shopping centre, Rita Bishop had no faith in the police because there was no proof the gifts were from him, and the force couldn’t act. She believed Pete Campbell was going to kill her. Mrs Bishop refused to give me any other information… said we’d have to arrest her before she divulged her daughter’s whereabouts.”
“I’d prefer to arrest Campbell from what I’ve heard so far.”
“I had a thought about what the owner of the hairdressers said, and asked Mrs Bishop if she could describe our suspect.” Fraser paused.
“Let me guess, shaven head, clean face and muscles?”
She clicked her fingers. “You got it, boss.”
Hamilton’s hand roamed over the sheets of information on the table in front of him. He scooped up the DVLA records for Pete Campbell.
“Well, our suspect is no fool. His driving licence was updated five months ago, with an image of him looking somewhat… shaggy, full beard and long dark hair. How much notice do people take of their taxi drivers?”
“I do, boss, but then it’s in my nature to. Do any of us ever really shut down when we leave the station?” Fraser asked.
“No, I don’t suppose we do. But, ordinary people, busy getting from one place to the next? Worrying about their jobs, their families and what they’re having for dinner; could they give us a description of the cabbie who drove them from the bar to their home last month?”
“Plus, with the car and driver recognition information on the app, which is now used by so many companies, including Embassy Taxis…”
“Pete Campbell would have had to change his appearance in case Katy Royal recognised him from London,” Hamilton finished.
He formed a picture of the suspect in his mind and it lead to one place – a place of certainty. Katy and Frankie had been kidnapped from the hospital by their regular taxi driver. With the appeal quiet, he only hoped his team hadn’t found their murderer too late.
“Sir, I’ve just had a word with PC Lakhani,” Rocky said. “The Tavern only use one taxi company, so it was easy to track down who hired Pete Campbell. It’s a local firm, with no trending technology. Anyway, the owner said Campbell gave him a story about moving to Welwyn with his wife and child, and was in the process of looking for a property.”
“Did he give us an address?”
“That’s the thing… Campbell supplied him with the address of a Premier Inn when he accepted the job, and hasn’t changed it since. Apparently, his wife hadn’t found their forever home yet.”
“What else do we know about Campbell’s address in Stratford?”
“He owns it, gov,” Clarke said. “He was the sole beneficiary of his father’s estate. Campbell’s an only child, the mother died when he was young, and he received the house and a dry-cleaning business, the latter of which he sold in 2012.”
Hamilton considered the suspect’s story, and all the facts they’d uncovered in the last hour. It was time to make a decision. Although he didn’t know if the Royals were still alive, he clung to hope.
“The other crime scenes have focused on an element of intimacy, taking place in the women’s beds. The attacker wouldn’t change tactics and use a hotel. This is personal,” Hamilton mused aloud. “But, as a precaution I want PC Lakhani to check it out for us. Rocky, get them to do a recce of the room Campbell used at the Premier Inn. Clarke, get in touch with Stratford. I want the station briefed of our arrival and alerted for back-up if need be. The rest of you, time to make your way to the vehicles. I want blues on until we’re within a one-mile radius of Pete Campbell’s home address, and then silence. At this time of night, we should be able to get there within half an hour. Let’s just hope we’re not too late.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Mummy!” Frankie screamed as he fell to the floor.
Pete yanked a handful of Katy’s hair and dragged her along the hallway. She gripped her son’s hand, as he shuffled on his knees behind her.
“Please, stop this!” she yelled.
Finding herself returned to Frankie’s room, a mixture of anger and desperation boiled inside Katy. Hot tears fell silently down her cheeks, prompted more from wrath than fear. How could this man enter her home and terrify her son? When he finally released his hold on her, Katy grabbed her son’s large electronic raptor robot and swung it into Pete’s face.
“Run, Frankie! Into your old hideout,” Katy screamed, repeating herself when the boy hesitated for a few seconds.
The toy had only stunned Pete, yet with her son safely out of the room, the adrenalin surged through Katy’s body. She darted away on the balls of her feet, but he was faster, punching her in the face. Katy dropped to the floor, her vision blurred, and she yelped as Pete grabbed her arms and heaved her on top of Frankie’s lower bunk bed.
“You bitch,” he roared. “I thought you loved me.”
“I don’t know you,” Katy screamed.
Pete flinched. Stepping back a few inches, he retrieved the knife from the floor. Light shone in from the hall, but Katy’s left eye was already refusing to open from the assault.
“I thought we had something special. That night… that night we spent together.”
“No! You’ve got it wro –”
The force of Pete’s kick crashed into Katy’s ribcage before she could finish the sentence. She fell sideways onto the bed, struggling to breathe. He dropped down onto his knees with tears glistening in his eyes.
“I never wanted to hurt you, Katy. Why are you making me do this to you?” he said, and brushed the hair off her face. “I much preferred you with dark hair… I’ve even bought you the hair dye to help you change back to who you were. But… but, this rejection!”
Pete shook his head repeatedly, bringing the knife into her restricted eye line as he did so. He ran a finger slowly over the blade and stared coldly into her eyes.
“So much has happened. I, I, I forget things… important things…” she whispered.
“A lot has happened. You left me for that monster; you married him and I couldn’t find you and, and…”
“Tell me about the night we met,” Katy whispered.
Pete dropped back onto his heels and smiled, his eyes glazed as he relived the memory.
“You walked into The Swan on a Friday night, and I knew the minute I saw you we’d be together forever. There was another woman with you, but she was no friend… she left you the moment she’d scored the drugs. That’s when I asked if I could buy you a drink, and then you smiled… wow! Adele’s song played over and over and we sang, and laughed and danced. That was five years ago, Katy.”
She attempted to concentrate on images of places and people’s faces flashing through her mind, but it was no help. She couldn’t conjure up any memory that corroborated what the man in front of her was saying. He continued talking about them dancing and drinking through the night and, as he did, he released the knife onto the floor. She remained quiet, listening and waiting for an opportunity.
“You saved me that night. My father was dead and Rita had left me. That bitch actually called the cops on me, like I was some kind of criminal. I was in The Swan having a pint trying to calm myself down. I had planned to leave as soon as I’d finished and visit Rita, explain myself, and tell her I loved her. But then you… you came into my life and I realised what love really was. That night in my bedroom, you gave yourself to me… you let me do things to you that proved you were mine. Then you left me too!” Pete bellowe
d, and he sat forward.
Sliding his fingers around Katy’s neck, he pressed his thumbs in the centre. The pressure cutting off her air supply.
“When I found you again, and saw you’d had a child, I didn’t know what to think… what to do. It may have been fear that led you to run away from me before and I didn’t want that to happen again. So, I’ve been watching you and waiting… But for what? For you to just leave me again? For you to reject me like the others? No. Fucking. Way.”
Katy scrabbled at Pete’s hands with her own, desperately trying to pull them away. The shattering pain through her side kept her movements restricted. Just as she gasped for breath, with the darkness closing in on her, she caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
With the vehicles and officers in position, Hamilton assessed the area. Pete Campbell’s home was situated in a quiet cul-de-sac, with an abundance of tall trees, window flower boxes and immaculate front gardens. It was a far cry from the busy residential streets of London, an observation that unnerved Hamilton. Their car was parked outside number 79, the detached house furthest down the street, which showed no sign of life inside. Hamilton gave the order and the team made their advance on the property.
Their arrival had stirred interest and, as he banged on the front door, two neighbours stepped out to watch the scene unfold. Silent sirens illumined the street in a tornado of flashing blue and white lights. Radio communication from various points outside Campbell’s house blasted through the neighbourhood.
“Sir, the back door is unlocked,” Rocky called from the side path.
He followed the officers into the cluttered kitchen, and was greeted by unwashed cutlery and dusty work surfaces. The smell of mould struck him hard and Hamilton clamped his jaw shut, swearing to himself, and swiftly retreating. The team continued searching each room of the house. Each one empty. On the patio, he lifted his head to the dark sky and groaned. Somewhere in the distance, metal clattered and he shone his torch around, following its beam to a large, wooden shed at the far end of the garden.
