Missing

by Jay Nadal

  He sighed his frustration as the team gathered around the incident board.

  “How are we getting on with our various lines of enquiry?” Scott asked, as he scanned the team.

  Mike chipped in first. “I’ve been checking her social media profiles. So far, I’ve looked at Facebook and Instagram. She doesn’t have any other social media accounts that I can find. There’s nothing on her Instagram account other than pictures of her kids, and various images she’s reposted. Facebook is the same. She’s got one hundred and seventy-three friends, though I doubt many are real friends. I’ll go through the list of her friends, but it’s a piss-poor boring job.”

  Scott agreed, but any male friend needed to be chased up before moving onto the partners of female friends in her list. He doubted many were true friends, but friends of friends, where she’d accepted their friend request out of politeness, or a random connection, rather than anything else. He doubted if she’d spoken to many of them.

  Helen chimed in next. “Having left Jackie earlier, she seemed to suggest that Linda didn’t have a lot of friends. She was too busy at work or busy running a household as a single parent. They would pop over to each other’s houses for a quick cuppa, but other than a date here or there, Jackie suggested that Linda didn’t have much of a social life.”

  If Helen’s assessment was correct, then Scott was certain that most of the one hundred and seventy-three Facebook friends were nothing more than virtual friends.

  Helen had updated the team on her conversation with Jackie at the mortuary.

  “Mike, I know you are waiting for some feedback from NCA, so I chased them on your behalf. They seemed slow to pull their finger out. In combination with their feedback, and my research, I’ve narrowed it down to one unsolved stranger rape case from nine months ago. It happened in Cardiff. A twenty-nine-year-old female called Daisy Callaghan. It appears to carry the same MO. The victim contacted her assailant through an online dating site, and someone picked her up from a pub.”

  “Definitely an online dating site?” Helen asked.

  “Without a doubt. Having read the case file, it’s too similar for us to ignore. You’ve got a lone female sitting in a pub just by the door. In fact, she had been told to sit by the door. She was kept waiting. Just in the same way that Linda had. Amber the barmaid at The Greys Pub recalled Linda sitting by the door.”

  The revelation raised everyone’s interest.

  “Any description, Guv?” Abby asked.

  Scott shook his head. “Not much. Other than he was white and wearing a hoodie. Yet he came into the doorway of the pub, exchanged a few words with the victim, and left with her.”

  “Are we assuming that our assailant is an IC1?”

  “Well, it’s a starting point, Abby, unless we have other evidence to contradict it.”

  Scott pinned up a picture of Daisy Callaghan on the notice board. She had light brown hair, a warm smile, and full cheeks. She was a single parent to one young boy, aged seven.

  “They found her on Roath recreation ground. The same pattern of injuries. Compression to the neck, and a Tesco’s carrier bag over her head. The only difference was that the carrier bag wasn’t taped tight around her throat, so I assume he didn’t have enough time, or held the bag in place.”

  “Is the tape an addition in our case?” Abby asked.

  “It’s not unheard of for a killer to become more sophisticated in their killings. They often refine their techniques as they become bolder and their confidence grows.”

  “What now, Guv?”

  Scott stared at the incident board, and the pictures of two innocent women stared back at him. Both had been seeking excitement in their lives, both struggling with the responsibilities of single parenthood.

  “Based on Helen’s information, I think a good place for us to start is with her previous relationships. We need to investigate Richards and Dalca. We haven’t got information on her married lover, so we need to park him to one side until further information comes to light.” Scott walked closer to the photos. “She didn’t have a computer, so everything must have been done through her phone. The high-tech unit should be able to have that information by tomorrow. Thankfully, her phone wasn’t password protected. We should get access to her gallery of photographs, messages in Facebook Messenger, and emails. I’m hoping we’ll find out which dating app or site she was using.”

  Linda and Daisy were victims of a growing trend. The NCA had provided Scott with recent evidence to suggest a four hundred and fifty percent rise over the past five years in stranger rapes involving online dating apps. With the fact that one in three relationships began online, and with seven million UK users registered with online dating sites, that figure was set to rise.

  The NCA had gone on to add that with online dating, including free and subscription services, dating websites, apps and ‘hook-up’ services, early analysis indicated that the online dating phenomenon had produced a new type of sexual offender. These offenders were less likely to have criminal convictions, but instead exploited the ease of access and armchair approach to dating websites, the overall danger aided by potential victims not considering their potential matches as strangers. In a virtual world, it became easy for vulnerable women to entertain an intimate connection with a stranger that didn’t really exist.

  The research suggested that victims felt comfortable meeting their dates as they felt they already knew them.

  “I plan to contact the SIO for the Cardiff case to see if they can assist us. For all intents and purposes, Daisy had a busy love life, much in the same way that Linda did. They started off with several suspects but could not get a breakthrough.”

  “Why do you think he targeted Linda?”

  Scott pondered Helen’s question. He wasn’t sure himself. “Perhaps because she was vulnerable. A single parent desperate for love. If he’s connected to the Cardiff case, then he’s a serial predator.”

  “And Linda and Daisy could just be the tip of the iceberg,” Abby added.

  The thought hung in the air, as the team contemplated whether there were other victims yet to be discovered. Their bodies dumped and buried in isolated spots in the hope they would not be discovered.

  “We also need the DNA recovered from Linda tested against samples retrieved from Daisy.”

  “What are your thoughts on the mindset of the killer?” Abby asked, intrigued.

  “I think he targets vulnerable women. Women who are lonely, single in some shape or form, and who have a tough life. The women are looking for a way out, and hope to meet the man of their dreams, and he uses that to his advantage. Maybe he has a grudge against women. And that either stems from childhood, and wasn’t loved by his mother, or his past relationships haven’t gone the way he hoped for. And this is his way of getting revenge.”

  “Like a control thing?”

  Scott nodded. “Control and payback. And that’s why if the Cardiff case is connected to us, then he has become sophisticated in the way he carries out his crime. He’s got braver and more aggressive. It could be that the control thing is going to his head. And the level of satisfaction he got from the previous crime doesn’t stimulate him as much, so he makes his killing more intense to get the same buzz.”

  “If that’s the case, then the next time he kills, the level of violence could be worse?”

  There was a consensus of nods.

  “I’m still liaising with the search teams,” Mike offered. “They’ve not located her skirt, underwear or shoes. How long do you want them to continue searching?”

  “We’ll push for another twenty-four hours. I’m not sure DCI Meadows will allow the additional resources for much longer than that. The items have to be out there unless he’s kept them as souvenirs.”

  “This married man bothers me, Guv,” Helen said. “What if Linda wanted more from him, and he had refused to leave his wife? After all, she wanted a happy ever after ending. Maybe she backed him into a corner by threatening to tell his wife? That�
��s a good enough motive.”

  “At first I would agree with you. But if it proves that the Cardiff case has been carried out by our attacker, then your theory makes little sense.”

  He pulled back the heavy metal grate that covered the drainage shaft. The cold metal numbed his fingers. In the dark of night his senses remained on high alert as he listened for the slightest of sounds and watched for movement in the shadows.

  He lowered the metal ladder attached to the shaft wall and descended to the platform below.

  She cowered to one side, cold and scared. Her back was pressed against the cold wall, a thin sleeping bag covering her shivering body.

  He loosened the cable around her neck, giving her the opportunity to move her stiff limbs. The whites of her eyes penetrated the darkness, staring at her captor. She flinched each time he touched her, his hands moving in circles as he caressed her breasts. His smile pierced the darkness, his white teeth outlining the surge of excitement. His hand dropped between her legs. Her whole body stiffened once again as terror surged through her veins. She let out a whimpering cry as he caressed her mound, enjoying the satisfaction of inserting his fingers inside her. His breathing was hard and laboured as his cock twitched. It wasn’t her time yet.

  In a soft broken tone, she pleaded for her life. “Please, please let me go. Please don’t hurt me. I want to go home.”

  Her begging went unanswered as he wiped her down with a dirty towel. The overpowering smell choked him as he tipped a bucket of piss and shit over the edge of the ledge. It made a sloshing sound as it hit the bottom. Rats scattered in different directions before returning to feast.

  He changed the butane gas canister in the small green camping gas heater that he’d left for her. Its warmth offered her the only comfort in her cold, dark and damp prison.

  Bit by bit, he tore off small portions of a cheese sandwich he had prepared at home and fed her by hand. She reluctantly turned away as each morsel was offered to her lips. A few slaps around her head brought conformity. She cried. Salty tears streaked her face. Snotty trails hung off her top lip. Her hair was knotted, dirty and tangled. He wiped damp strands of hair from her face, before gripping her face with one hand, forcing her mouth apart.

  “It’s either my cock in your mouth, or the sandwich. Your choice, you stupid bitch.”

  Her cries didn’t even come close to touching his heart. He imagined the look on her face when it finally happened. Her eyes bulging with pressure, as his powerful fingers pressed deep into her throat, her soft white flesh offering little resistance to his power. That’s what it was.

  Power.

  But it’s not her time yet.

  He secured the cable to the bottom of the stairs and began his climb. When he reached the top, he pulled a ladder up to secure it against the wall, returning the tension to the wire cable around her neck.

  The metallic screeching of the grate heralded her continuing entombment, her cries and screams drifting into the distance as he disappeared into the darkness.

  14

  Winter sunshine replaced the greyness of the past few days as Scott peeked out through his window. He smiled to himself knowing the sun would bring out the winter visitors. Brighton flourished in the sunshine regardless of the time of year. It would lift the mood and atmosphere in town, as the golden globe cast its warm shadows. The darkness of winter sucked the life out of Brighton. With a lack of tourists, it was quiet, moody and dull.

  Cara groaned and stirred under the covers behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and watched in silence. She had a grace and softness even as she slept. Her dark locks framed her face. Her naked form warm and inviting. As much as he wanted to crawl back under the covers, it was his turn to groan, as he crept out of the room.

  He sat in silence in the lounge, cradling his hot cup of coffee. Due to the nature of his work, he looked forward to these quiet moments. His job brought him into contact with the undesirables of society. Sadness often replaced joy, anger replaced calmness, accompanied by an ever-present need for justification for all his actions.

  His thoughts turned towards Claire Allen, Linda’s mother. He was still to meet her, and meeting relatives of the deceased was never something he looked forward to. That Linda and her mother hadn’t been on the best of terms made the situation complex. Death was something he’d experienced. Whether relatives believed his sincerity, his intentions were genuine.

  The case had many loose ends, and a complex web of main characters. Anger, jealousy, revenge, and betrayal were all plausible motives for any of the men in her life to want her dead. But another thought tugged on Scott’s mind. What if it’s none of them, and it’s a premeditated attack? Without witnesses, or forensic evidence, the case would be dead in the water.

  He had a dead woman with a private, complicated and tangled love life, and few friends. There was more to this case, Scott was sure of that. He wasn’t sure he’d get all his answers. Only Linda had all the answers, and she could no longer speak for herself. If the case was connected to the Cardiff stranger rape and murder, then they may have a serial killer at large, which could either simplify or complicate this case.

  “Where’s my coffee?” came a croaky voice from behind.

  Scott glanced over his shoulder to see Cara rub her eyes and run a hand through her tangled hair. Her feet padded across the cold wooden floor as she headed towards the kitchen.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you. I have to get in early.”

  She huffed as she poured herself a cup and joined him. “You were up early?”

  Scott sighed. “Yes. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I’ve got a team briefing first thing this morning. It will be a mental day.”

  Cara blew on her coffee to cool it, “Don’t forget you’re picking me up tonight?”

  Scott froze, it had slipped his mind altogether.

  Cara sized him up. “You haven’t forgotten have you…? You have.”

  Scott stuttered. “No, no. We need to go to Sainsbury’s. Right?”

  Cara glared at him. “You have. I can’t believe you forgot. We agreed a few days ago to pick up prints tonight to go along the staircase.”

  Scott nodded trying to sound convincing. “Of course, of course I hadn’t forgotten.”

  Cara smiled, before putting her cup on the side, and sitting astride Scott. “You are a naughty man, Scott. And I think I need to punish you.” She undid the cord on her dressing gown and revealed her naked body. “Now where shall I start?”

  Scott had his team together. Raj was back, though decidedly ropey. Scott knew Raj wasn’t on form, because as they gathered for the team briefing, something was missing. Food. Team briefings and food went hand in hand when Raj was around.

  Mike chipped in first. “Guv, uniform have been back to The Greys Pub a few times to interview the regulars and show pictures of Linda. One of the regulars said Dalca, her ex-boyfriend, was in the pub that night. Only for about half an hour, and then he left about fifteen minutes before Linda arrived. It may just be a coincidence,” Mike said, lifting one shoulder and then letting it drop. “Equally, Dalca could have returned, and he could be the man she spoke to outside. We’ve not been able to confirm that.”

  The revelation opened a new line of enquiry.

  “Well, he’s someone we need to have a chat with as soon as possible.”

  Helen passed around printouts of the messages retrieved from Linda’s phone.

  The team studied them in silence. Mike, crass as ever, wolf-whistled and chuckled as his eyes scanned each message.

  “As you can see, they’re racy.”

  “I think they’re more than racy,” Abby added.

  Linda had exchanged messages with five different men over the past six months. Many had started off pleasant. Strangers making social chat and finding out about each other’s backgrounds. But as the conversations matured over time, they became explicit with the exchange of images.

  She enjoyed suggestions made by several men about the use
of excessive force, choking, and breath control to heighten her orgasm. She in return spoke about how sexy she felt dressed in skimpy underwear and stilettos. One message referred to how she enjoyed being taken in the missionary position, whilst she dug the tip of her high heels into a man’s calves to inflict some pain on him.

  “I want to do things you never imagined doing,” Abby read out.

  “This could be a sex game gone wrong?”

  Scott considered Raj’s suggestion. That was within the realms of plausibility.

  “She seemed to get more excited at the prospect of experiencing both pleasure and pain. She even said to some guy with the nickname ‘Truck Man’ that she looked forward to having his hands wrapped around her neck whilst he fucked her.”

  “These guys are perverts. Why meet strangers like this?” Raj asked.

  They considered most options and agreed that the consenting parties on these sites gained thrill and excitement by experimenting with their kinks.

  Following her research earlier that morning, Helen elaborated on what she’d discovered. “I did an Internet search for this type of stuff. Revealing, I can tell you. It’s called ‘edge play’ and it’s a kink activity that can lead to lasting damage or death if practised by those with little experience. It’s a submissive and dom set-up.”

  “So, it was a sex game, but taken too far?”

  “Maybe, Raj. With physical edge play, techniques can include the fun headline-fodder we’ve all seen before: knives, guns, ultra-violence, branding, asphyxiation, fire play, waterboarding, or anything that can easily kill a person.”

  “Guns? Knives? What the fuck. What is this? The wild west?”

  Ignoring Raj, Helen cast him a dismissive look, annoyed at being interrupted. “Obviously death and lasting damage are things they want to avoid at all costs, but the rush of good-feeling neurochemicals that come from some of the extreme pain and immobility in edge play can be unparalleled, for both participants.”

  Helen’s research left the team dumbstruck and speechless, as they listened.