Terry was perplexed. Then it hit home. He had his answer. He had the truth.
When Marcus returned to the hallway, he found it empty, the door ajar. From somewhere, he could hear the clatter of fast running steps descending the communal stairs. He shook his head. This guy Terry was weird. One minute here, the next…gone! What could be so urgent?
Then his eyes returned to the screen, with the image of a woman held on pause: Where did this picture come from? When was it taken? He tried to make sense of it, but the more he tried the more his stomach churned with terror: He was staring wide-eyed at a ghost from the past…
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The evening was going better than Michael had dared to hope. Surprisingly, Julius entered into the spirit of things and took it in turns to dance with all the ladies who sat at their table. Toby was merry, his girlfriend merrier…and Michael got to have a waltz with Gemma, who was dressed beautifully in a sequinned purple dress and silver feather boa.
‘Resignation not accepted,’ he shouted above the din, whirling her around in his arms.
‘We’ll talk in the morning,’ she said, eyebrows raised.
‘Speak to Toby, he’s adamant.’
‘Hm.’
‘Things can only get better…’
‘You think so?’
Michael was in mischievous mood. ‘Well, ditch the boyfriend to start with.’
‘Hey, what’s wrong with Tarquin?’
‘My case is closed.’
Gemma pushed him playfully and laughed.
Later, he danced with Antonia, who looked stunning in a strapless, scarlet satin dress slashed down the back, revealing her slender spine. As she danced, her black mane of hair swirled around her shoulders. The music was great, the Champagne flowed. Everyone laughed. The ballroom on the lower deck heaved with the gaiety of over four hundred people.
Eventually, Michael invited Kara onto the overcrowded dance floor, where they jostled with the other revellers. The atmosphere was hot and sticky. They hugged and mischievously caught the other’s knowing eye…the past, and all the horrors that came with it, was finally put to rest.
‘You’re a mother!’ he shouted above the music. ‘Who would have believed it?’
She threw back her head in delight, purring: ‘And a damn fine mother too!’
He swirled her around, not caring that their drunken antics caused those nearest to them to leap aside. But everyone laughed. A fellow gallery owner shook Michael’s hand and wished him good luck in retirement.
‘Bloody cheek,’ he murmured to his companion.
‘Well, you are getting on a bit,’ Kara yelled.
Another female dancer reached over and patted him affectionately on the shoulder. Word had got around, he guessed.
He was suddenly ushered closer together with Kara from someone behind him. Turning, they were met by a blinding flash as a photographer snapped away merrily, dressed in white tuxedo, bow tie and fully-fitted mask. The man, tall and slim, swung elegantly away and engaged another couple, then another as the flash gun popped and illuminated those in the vicinity.
Michael led Kara from the dance floor, exhausted. As he reached their table, he suddenly felt uneasy…there was something about the photographer: His walk, his demeanour maybe..? He searched the sea of faces but to no avail…the man was gone. He shrugged, assuming it was the booze making his head spin.
A waitress appeared, holding a large plate containing a giant strawberry Pavlova, which she placed in the centre of their table.
‘Bravo!’ Toby exclaimed, knocking over a glass of Champagne in the process.
Michael grinned. Nothing was going to spoil this night. He sat down heavily and tucked into the dessert with gusto. Kara and the other girls followed with equal enthusiasm. The Pavlova disappeared as if by magic.
***
Terry reached the dockside in minutes as he raced along Wapping Highway to the Excel Exhibition Centre with scant regard to any vehicle blocking his path. It took longer to convince the bouncers to let him speak to someone in authority, after they barred him from entering onto the Star Cruiser without the necessary invitation pass. His agitation was not helping the cause, nor the general swearing as his increasingly desperate demands were met by stony resistance.
Eventually, a uniformed man approached down the gangway, arms folded, eyes set narrow.
‘Problems?’ He asked one of the men on sentry duty. He listened to the whisper in his ear. Then he looked at Terry, and demanded, ‘Let me see your identification.’
For once, Terry had forgotten his press pass, such was his panic. He nearly kicked himself for being unprepared for such a moment. He tried to settle his head and remain cool. Breathe in, breathe out. Be calm…
Then he went on the attack. ‘These two fucking gorillas are getting in my way. I have to get on board. People are in danger. I need to warn them…’ He pushed forward, his arms restrained forcibly by the henchmen. ‘Are you listening to a single thing I’m saying, shithead? You have a killer on your guest list…’
That wasn’t quite what he had in mind when he first opened his mouth to speak. Something was lost in translation. He had seriously jerked them off. After more expletives, he was marched off the quayside. Inside his car, he tried to phone Michael on his mobile. No response. His phone was obviously switched off. He then scrolled his contacts page, dialled Marcus and got him to text Kara’s number to him. Marcus attempted to argue but he cut him off. He tried to reach her, but she too wasn’t answering either. He assumed her phone was in her handbag and probably on the floor and out of earshot. As a last resort, he’d call the police. He wasn’t entirely convinced of his theory…and didn’t want hundreds of irate party people heading his way if he set in motion an invasion of coppers to evacuate everyone and spoil things if he was wrong.
Whatever.
He just had to get on board the ship.
***
‘Where’s Kara?’ Michael asked. He had returned to the table after a light-hearted chat with another gallery owner at the bar.
‘Gone to the loo with Antonia,’ Toby’s girlfriend said, slurring her words.
He looked around and saw Gemma dancing with Tarquin. She hadn’t taken his advice. He decided he needed fresh air. It was too damn hot in the ballroom. He moved to the upper deck, loosened his bow tie and breathed in the night air. His legs felt wobbly. He moved to the portside and peered down. A line of taxis waited on the quay, the drivers in a huddle of gossip and cigarette smoke. A few guests began to slowly depart. No stamina. He looked beyond them and spotted a familiar car. He tried to clear his head. Was that…was that Terry beside the vehicle? His friend appeared agitated, pacing up and down, a mobile stuck to his ear. Michael steadied himself. He searched his pockets and found his phone. He had switched it off during the awards ceremony. He clicked on. He had a 121 call.
He moved down a deck, then another until he reached the gangway which led to the dockside. He shouted Terry’s name but the music drowned out his voice. Terry was still fiddling with his phone, so he descended the ramp and pushed past security and approached his friend nervously, enquiring as to why he was here in the first place.
The journalist looked up, startled.
‘Michael, thank Christ for that…I’ve been trying to contact you.’ He pointed at the bouncers. ‘The buggers wouldn’t let me on the ship.’
‘What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait till the morning?’
Terry’s bullet-like stare pierced his skull.
‘Maggie wasn’t on her own, Michael…’
Michael shook his head in mock bewilderment. ‘I know, I know. Theo won’t be troubling us again. Come on board and have a drink, don’t worry about the gorillas…’
‘The police compared the DNA from the remains in the barn with Suzy Fowler, and they matched. This proves conclusively…’
‘Who the hell is Suzy Fowler?’
Terry stepped forward. ‘The sister of Sheila Cox.’
Michael was stunned, he could hardly comprehend what his friend had just announced. His words were a little slurred: ‘Sheila, the bar lady from the Royal Oak…that’s impossible!’
‘You’d better believe it, pal.’
‘That means…’
‘It means Lauren O’Neill is alive. She survived the fire. It was Sheila who fell, it was Sheila who died trying to help you. In the confusion, you thought it was Lauren who collapsed under the falling timber. Do you remember me asking how many of you were at the farm that day? Well, there was an additional guest, and she ended up the victim, but it was impossible to identify the body until now.’
‘How did you find this out?’
‘No time for analysis, Michael. Let’s just say I discovered Sheila’s car in Liverpool. The sisters of doom stole it to escape and dumped it there. It was an obvious place to go. It gave them access to Ireland. Theo later got them false passports so they could travel freely. It cost them big, so the money they had, the money you saw that day at the house, soon ran out. When they needed more they chased down Julius…’
‘Why didn’t he go to the police?’
‘Because the dumb fucker was already selling the Porter paintings to raise some cash for himself…they then threatened to kill Antonia and his daughter if he didn’t cooperate with the remainder of the works.’
Michael shook his head, and moaned, ‘No, no, no…’
Terry nodded to the Star Cruiser. ‘You have a killer on board that ship, and she needs to be found quickly.’
Michael looked over his shoulder, the blood in his veins turning ice cold as he studied the glittering vessel. How the hell was he going to find Lauren among so many party-goers decked out in fancy dress? The masks made it almost impossible to identify anyone. He reasoned that Kara and Antonia were definitely a target, and they had suddenly disappeared. His pulse quickened. The girls had gone to the loo… Had they been taken already? Then something nagged at him from earlier in the evening, while on the dance floor. It suddenly hit him…it was the fragrance. His mind back-tracked: The scent, the familiar curl of the lip, the feline walk…the photographer!
‘Fuck,’ he shouted. The sudden image of the clever disguise hit him like a sledgehammer: The full face mask and hair tucked beneath the decorative hat had hidden her identity so cunningly. She had been there, right there, mocking them all. Lauren.
‘What is it?’ Terry asked.
Michael started to run frantically in the direction of the ship.
Terry followed, his pace slower and his throat gasping for air as he tried to keep up.
***
Julius was the first to react as Michael rejoined the party, accompanied by a sweaty stranger who was out of breath and seriously out of touch with the required attire.
‘What’s the matter?’ Julius asked, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.
Michael searched around the sea of faces on the dance floor. His own expression, contorted by panic, telegraphed his fears to those in earshot.
‘Where are the girls?’ he demanded nervously.
Julius swigged a beer. ‘They went to the loo. I presumed they were getting some fresh air…is there a problem, Michael?’
‘They should be back by now. We need to find them…’
‘I’m sure they are fine.’
‘No, Julius.’
‘They’re probably at the bar,’ Toby interrupted.
‘They’ve been abducted.’
‘What…at the bar?’ Toby said, giggling. No one else caught the joke.
Then a nervous chorus resonated around the table:
‘Abducted?’
Toby began to sober up, suddenly aware of the odd conversation. ‘What the hell are you talking about…?’
‘Exactly that.’
‘Then we should call the police,’ Toby said, raising himself unsteadily from the table.
‘No time for that,’ Terry said.
‘Who are you?’ Toby asked.
‘We met at Ronald’s funeral.’
‘Ah, the journalist if I recall correctly...What are you doing here?’
Terry stared at Toby, then Julius, back to Toby. ‘I have evidence to suggest that a woman on board this ship is fully intending to do harm to your father…by means of hurting Kara. She’s possibly held captive already.’
‘What woman?’ Toby then looked at Michael, bewildered.
‘Lauren O’Neill,’ Michael announced.
‘I thought you said she’d died in the fire?’
‘She’s alive, and she’s here.’
‘Fuck,’ Julius shouted. ‘That means …’
Toby jumped in: ‘Can someone explain what is going on?’
Julius caught his breath. ‘Are you serious, Michael, or is this just drunken bullshit?’
‘Deadly serious,’ Terry cut in.
Julius was aghast: ‘Then Lauren has Antonia as well.’
‘Exactly, Julius.’ Michael said. ‘So we have to find them, and fast.’
‘They could be anywhere. They could have been taken ashore…’
Terry interjected: ‘No, they are here, on board.’
‘Is that a guess?’ Julius asked.
‘He’s right,’ Michael said. ‘This is her opportunity to make a statement of intent against me.’
‘And that would be…? Toby replied.
‘To punish me and Julius. As Terry mentioned, she will harm the girls to harm us, because of her irrational obsession with rejection. She can’t handle it. The voices in her head control her. Lauren feels I betrayed her in the same manner as she feels Julius betrayed her…right now, this woman intends to hold captive the two people we hold most dear.’
‘What do you suggest we do?’ Julius said, shaking.
‘Spread out, search the ship,’ Michael said. ‘Stay in pairs. I’ll go with Terry. We start with the ladies’ loo on this deck.’
‘Keep in touch by mobile,’ Terry announced, ‘And don’t panic the other guests…we could be wrong in our assumptions.’
‘I sincerely hope you are,’ Toby countered.
‘We’ll take this deck, you take the lower one,’ Michael said. ‘Gemma, you search the upper deck, but take Tarquin. Nobody should be alone, work in pairs. Lauren is extremely dangerous. Let’s move it.’
‘What can I do?’ Toby’s girlfriend suddenly perked up.
Michael had forgotten about her. ‘Stay here in case the girls return. Ring the police if none of us gets back to you within thirty minutes, got it?’
She nodded. Then they were gone.
***
Kara strained to listen in the darkness. A bead of sweat ran down the hollow between her shoulder blades. Her mouth was taped. Her eyes covered. She could hear her own breathing. That was all.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to vomit, such was the fear rising in her throat which forced her to swallow hard. Where was she? Where was Antonia?
Slowly, her brain began to untangle the mess. She remembered going to the loo with her new-found best friend and finding it locked. An ‘Out of Order’ sign hung from the handle. They went in search of another, desperate for a pee. Suddenly, a photographer – the one she recalled from the dance floor – appeared and kindly led them to an operational one further up on the top deck. She remembered giggling as they encountered the maze of narrow corridors. They were grateful for the photographer’s assistance, especially as Antonia was struggling to keep her balance as the alcohol had gone to her head. Once inside the loo, all hell broke loose as their knight in shining armour locked the door behind them and suddenly turned nasty and confrontational.
Tears welled up in her eyes at the memory. Her heart pounded as she recalled what happened next. Everything happened in seconds. Antonia was pushed to the ground. Shocked, Kara had thought at first that she had slipped on the wet tiles. Then the photographer turned on her and slapped her face. She fell. Bizarrely, she tried to retrieve her handbag which had fallen under a sink, the contents scattered in all directions. The s
lap hadn’t initially registered. She was in denial. She felt foolish and cried out to Antonia, who was temporarily stunned and unaware of what was taking place. Kara tried to get to her knees but her assailant was too quick, first grapping her arms and taping them together and then applying the same technique to silence her scream.
They were helpless and trapped…and this apparent madman had the strength of a lion. Antonia was lifted to her feet and hand-cuffed to a down pipe, blood dripping from a wound on her head from where she fell.
The madman gave a shrieking laugh, a laugh of unbridled evil… and only then did Kara recognise that triumphant sound, one which pierced any resistance she had left. Her legs had buckled. Her heart momentarily stopped.
She saw the terror in Antonia’s eyes as she too was haunted by that shrill: A noise to awaken the dead, or that was how it seemed. They were locked in a room, powerless to defend themselves against…against… someone with the devil in their soul. Kara could barely bring herself to conjure up the name, such was her mounting fear.
***
With the help of a steward, Michael soon located the ladies’ toilet and, on entering, discovered that it was vacant. He cursed and searched the cubicles. Nothing. Terry pointed to a white placard discarded in the corridor. It simply read: Out of Order.
‘Not so,’ said the steward, shaking his head suspiciously.
‘Where’s the next one?’ Michael asked.
They were led further down the maze of corridors before ascending a flight of steps. They came to a door. The steward knocked lightly and entered. Michael followed and instantly recoiled: There was blood on the floor. He peered around and picked up a lipstick which had rolled under the row of sinks. He looked closer, finding a nail file.
‘There,’ Terry said. He retrieved a handbag from the waste paper bin. ‘Is it Kara’s?’
Michael wished his powers of observation were better attuned to women’s fashion. He gulped, closed his eyes and whispered: ‘I’m pretty sure it is…’
Call to Witness Page 30
