The Heights

by Parker Bilal

  Still, when he put his hand out to grab her throat instinct kicked in. She knew she had to make it to the door and to do that she was going to have to go around him. Using the nearest shelf as leverage she jumped high and twisted round on him. It was a good move and took him by surprise. She managed to bend his wrist back and dropped her weight down on his elbow. That brought a cry of surprise and pain from the big man. It gave her a couple of seconds to get past him.

  She almost made it.

  He threw out a hand and managed to grab the back of her jacket. She felt herself being hauled up and swung round. She slammed into the wall and thumped her head, hard enough to stun her. Khan was massaging his wrist. Her knees buckled underneath her and she was trying to rise when he hit her. It was a wide, swinging backhand blow. His knuckles connected with her temple and everything went black.

  When she opened her eyes she knew she was going to die. The temperature was dropping. The thermostat was on the outside. She’d seen it on the way in. Khan would have turned it down after locking her in. She managed to stand. Her hand rested for a moment on the frame of the shelving and the skin immediately stuck to the metal. When she ripped it away she felt a searing pain that made her cry out. Her breathing was slowing down. Soon she knew that her mind would start to slow too and then she would be finished. As the system began to shut down she would start to feel tired, then the desire to sleep would become irresistible. It would be a sleep from which she would never awake.

  She reached the door and began hammering on it, being careful to pull the sleeves of her jacket down to protect her hands.

  ‘Help! Open up!’

  She could see the safety handle on the inside had been removed. All that remained was a square spindle. She looked around for some kind of tool to use, but there was nothing. She thumped on the door again. The steel was so heavy and thick she couldn’t even feel her blows reverberating, meaning there wasn’t much chance of them being heard outside.

  She slid down to the floor and began to feel despair rising inside her. She pulled her telephone from her jacket and checked for a signal. There wasn’t one. She’d expected as much. She thought about sending a message to Cal. Maybe her last. He would get it when they dragged her lifeless body out of here. That thought filled her with anger and she hauled herself up from the ground and began hammering wildly again. Deciding she needed something more solid to use she went back through the room, looking, until she settled on a shelf. She kicked it free of its mooring and dragged in over to begin swinging it at the door. At least now she was making some noise.

  But there was no response. Either everyone had gone home or they simply couldn’t hear her. Finally, exhausted, she slumped down to the floor again. What a stupid way to go, she thought to herself. She rested her head against the wall behind her and felt her eyes closing.

  How long she was out she couldn’t say.

  There was a sound like a tomb being opened as the vacuum seal was broken and air rushed in. Crane felt herself being lifted up. Someone was leaning over her.

  The woman was screaming at her to wake up.

  ‘You have to wake up!’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Crane fought the woman off, defending herself as she was slapped in the face. ‘You can stop now.’

  Eventually, the woman stood back. Crane allowed herself to be helped up from the floor and led out of the freezer. The outer room was not warm but compared to inside the freezer it felt tropical. Crane collapsed to the floor again, her teeth now chattering uncontrollably.

  ‘No, no,’ the woman urged her. ‘You can’t stay here. They will be back.’

  ‘Khan,’ Crane gasped. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s gone. They’ve all gone to eat. But they will be back. You have to go. They can’t find us here.’

  ‘I understand.’ Crane struggled to her feet. The woman tucked herself under her arm for support.

  ‘You disappeared,’ Crane said. ‘And then you came back.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  They were staggering along, out through the plastic strips into the main hall. The place was dark and deserted, closed down for the night. Crane tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. She could feel the warmth coming back to her body as she moved.

  They reached the loading bay and Crane once more collapsed to the floor. The air felt warm and she could hear the sounds of the city, trains shuttling by, planes taking off.

  ‘You must go!’ the slender woman urged.

  Crane smiled as she reached for her phone. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going. Just give me a moment.’

  50

  Drake had no real idea where to begin. All he had to go on was the tiny fragment of information Milo had given him, that the earliest CCTV sighting he had picked up of the white van from Green Gardens was in the Hammersmith area. He also had an email from Wheeler that had just come in. It was the information from Interpol on Zelda’s boy. He was swiping through the documents on his on his phone when it began to buzz. He put it on speaker.

  ‘Where are you?’ Kelly Marsh asked. When Drake told her, she gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Pryce has put out an arrest warrant for you.’

  ‘I’ll have to live with that.’

  ‘Seriously, when he heard you’d been named in a kidnapping case he even called off SO19 and the counter-terrorism raid.’

  ‘Kelly, I asked you to look up whether Zelda might have had a son.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that.’

  ‘Wheeler found out about it.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘He sent me an email. Seems there is a possible candidate.’

  ‘Darius Danin. He’s the right age. According to Interpol he’s a real charmer. You think he could be Fender?’

  ‘He’s a strong contender. I think he’s got Joe.’

  ‘Joe? You mean Maritza’s kid?’

  ‘I think he took the boy because he wants me to come after him.’

  ‘Which is exactly what you’re going to do.’

  ‘I don’t have a choice, Kelly. I can’t let him hurt Joe.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense. If he’s Zelda’s son, why would he be holding on to her head, or leaving it on a train?’

  ‘People do strange things.’

  ‘Still doesn’t make a lot of sense.’

  But Drake thought he was beginning to see it. ‘I think Darius has been on the track of his mother’s killers for the last few years. Somehow he found out about her, about her death. I think he found her head.’

  ‘How would he do that?’

  ‘I think he traced it to the meat-packing plant.’

  ‘You mean, he found out the people who killed her were connected to the place?’

  ‘He might even have been working there.’ Drake was thinking aloud. ‘That would explain the van. Maybe he was a driver there. You could check that.’

  ‘Sure, but let me ask you this. Why would the killers keep her head?’

  That was something Drake couldn’t explain. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But there has to be a reason.’ Kelly had put her hand over the phone and Drake could hear her talking to someone else. When she came back she was excited.

  ‘Okay, so the Boy Wonder has done it again. Milo has traced three parking fines for the same van all in the same area. Do you think that could be him?’

  ‘It’s the best we’ve got at this point.’

  ‘I’ll text you the details.’

  ‘Give Milo a big kiss from me.’

  ‘Not sure about that,’ said Marsh. ‘Maybe I could just thank him.’

  ‘Much appreciated.’

  ‘Listen, Cal. Pryce is going to have us jumping through hoops to try and pin this on you, so I can’t promise we’re going to be there for you.’

  ‘I just need a little time.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to say. You don’t have to go all Lone Ranger on us. As soon as you have something I can act on, you call me, all right?’

  ‘Deal. And, Kelly,
I’m a little worried about Ray. She might still be at the Green Gardens plant. Can you send a car over to take a look?’

  ‘I’m on it.’

  Drake clicked off the call and then tried Crane again. It went straight through to voicemail. He was more than a little worried about her, but right now he knew Joe had to be his first priority.

  Turning off the A4, Drake drove slowly in the direction of the river and parked the car under the Hammersmith Bridge to proceed on foot. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling that he was on the right track. The whole homeless routine had been designed to throw them off the scent. Darius had had a place all along.

  In the dwindling wisps of daylight Drake stared out over the river and saw nothing but shadows layered one over the other. He stared at it for so long they seemed to lose form, becoming a swirl of greys. The light played tricks, every tiny flicker igniting a beacon of hope that was extinguished almost instantly. There was nothing. Only mud, and water that had flowed here for thousands of years. Unchanged and changing at the same time.

  He made his way carefully along the path. He’d already located the street where the van had been parked. It seemed plausible that Darius had used the company van to drive himself back and forth to Garratt Lane and didn’t much care about fines. Maybe he didn’t much care about anything.

  There was a third and final possibility, which was the one Drake settled on now. Out of the corner of his eye his peripheral vision picked up something and he knew instantly what it was. He was moving already, before the thought had really formulated itself. Running west along the towpath he kept his eyes focused on the spot in the distance where he had seen the movement.

  On this stretch of the river there were a number of vessels moored alongside one another, two or three deep. They were mostly converted steel-hulled barges, with a smattering of lighter craft dotted here and there. Drake climbed over the railing and stepped onto the highest vessel he could see. Edging along, he moved round the back of the housing. The wind blowing in off the river was cold and bitter. Two gulls tangled overhead, black scars against the sky. Their cawing blocking out other sounds. Drake peered around the side, looking towards the spot where he had seen movement. He ducked down and hopped over the gunwales to the adjacent vessel, a stately wooden sailing barge. The mast looked largely decorative now. Staying low, Drake slipped across to the other side of the deck.

  The next houseboat along was a flat-bodied structure that lay several metres away on the grey mud flats. Climbing over the side, Drake lowered himself until his arms were fully extended before letting go and dropping. He landed awkwardly, letting out a cry as his right foot sank into a soft spot. When he had extricated himself, he was daubed in mud up to his knees but there seemed to be no serious damage done. His ankle hurt but it still worked. He moved with an awkward limp towards the round keel of the next ship. The steel hull was painted black. Rust scars showed here and there where water trickled down from the deck above. He listened, pressing his ear to the metal. He thought he could hear a faint shuffling from within. Then a short, distinctive sound, something that might have been a little boy crying out, only to be quickly silenced.

  Drake made his way over towards where a rope ladder hung down. The wooden slats were worn but the heavy rope looked as though it would hold his weight. Scrambling onto it and up wasn’t easy. Every tiny noise he made was amplified to his ears. He might just as well have announced his arrival with a brass fanfare.

  He stood for a moment on the deck before moving towards the housing and the hatchway. He peered inside and listened for a long time. Then he stepped through and crept slowly down the steps. He was descending into darkness. It smelled of stale water and rusty metal. There was a creaking that might have come from somewhere down in the hull.

  Off in the distance he could hear the faint sound of a church bell chiming. The short flight of stairs brought him down into a long living area. To the right of the stairs there was a seating arrangement, with a rounded couch and a long wooden table with a raised border. To the left was a kitchen area with a gas stove, a sink and draining board. Drake took a moment to examine this for signs of life. He saw plates drying on the rack. A loaf of sliced bread toppling from a plastic bag. A jar of peanut butter, a packet of Frosties on its side beside a pizza box, a cap with the word Fender on it next to the sink. Drake moved deeper into the vessel. He listened every time he placed a foot down. He wondered why he couldn’t hear the child any longer, whether he had just imagined it.

  Halfway along the deck was a bulkhead with another hatchway and a set of steps leading further down into the boat. Keeping to one side, he peered into the gloom and saw the edge of a wide bed. He still didn’t know if he was in the right place, but his instincts told him he was. He was also aware that Darius might be armed and that he had nothing to defend himself with. Still, that didn’t really help him at this point. He had no option but to press on. Stepping over the lintel, he descended into the darkened cabin.

  The bed took up most of the space down there. A narrow doorway straight ahead led deeper into the longboat. Drake could see light coming in from a porthole further down. It was so quiet in there he could hear someone up on the towpath calling their dog.

  Drake reached the doorway and stopped, realising suddenly that he had missed something. He had a sense that he was not alone. As he began to turn, he heard the snick of a spring-loaded knife flicking open.

  51

  Crane was slumped in the back of an Uber when the call from Wheeler came in. She stared at her phone dully for a moment before swiping the screen.

  ‘I went through your profile. It makes for very interesting reading.’

  Crane glanced through the side window. She was still shaking from her ordeal in the freezer. The car was taking her back to where her bike was parked in Southwark. Drake had picked her up there on the way out to Southall earlier that afternoon. Her mind was trying to focus on other things, but Wheeler was still talking.

  ‘You conclude that we are dealing with a very disturbed person who has suffered a history of consistent abuse and may as a result be unable to form social bonds.’

  ‘We’re talking about someone who is capable of storing the severed head of another human being. In this case, even more disturbing is the fact that it might be the head of his own mother.’

  ‘Well, exactly.’ Wheeler gave a kind of half-laugh. ‘I was a little taken aback by that bit. For the simple reason that it seems to be stretching the facts.’

  ‘You don’t believe someone would be capable of that?’

  ‘Well, the discovery of the head would obviously prove that case. No, I was thinking more of the idea that the perpetrator might be the child of the victim.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting that the child killed and decapitated the mother, although there are plenty of examples of such cases, generally in war zones. Cambodia in the 1970s springs to mind, also Rwanda and the Congo. In this case, I was thinking of Sierra Leone.’

  As she climbed out of the car, Crane was shivering. She had documented atrocities carried out by children forced to prove their loyalty to war lords. Brainwashed, drugged, coerced into committing sickening acts of mutilation – to kill their parents, to cut out their hearts. Crane had studied so many of such cases and each one left their mark on her. She reached the Triumph and bent over, lowering her head until the nausea passed.

  ‘It’s possible that Zelda’s son actually tracked down his mother’s killers. He found the head and took it when he decided to put his plan in action. If I’m right, then we are looking for a very disturbed individual. Someone who has been traumatised, possibly since childhood.’

  ‘Good god!’ muttered Wheeler. ‘I’ve seen a few things in my time, but this is worse. Where are you?’

  ‘Southwark.’

  ‘I was hoping we could talk about this.’

  ‘I’m a little pressed for time right at this moment.’

  ‘Did you know that Cal asked Kelly to check into th
e possibility that Zelda had a child?’

  ‘He might have mentioned something.’

  ‘Well, it’s the first I’d heard of it. Anyway, DS Marsh ran the name through immigration and came up with nothing. So I took it to Interpol and they just got back to me. It seems that they have come up with a match.’ There was a pause, and Crane could hear him shuffling papers or reaching for his reading glasses. ‘Darius Danin, born April 1992, which would make him twenty-seven years old right now.’

  It was a strong enough match to fit with what Sonja had told Drake.

  ‘Do they have any idea of his current whereabouts?’

  ‘His fingerprints surfaced in Vienna five years ago during a battle between Turkish migrants and Far Right supporters. Apparently it was rather bloody. Danin’s prints were found on a butcher’s knife.’

  ‘Nothing after that?’

  ‘No, and our records show no sign of his entering the country.’ Wheeler sounded tired. ‘Of course, that doesn’t mean anything. He could have come in with false documents, or been smuggled in. Both are possible.’

  ‘So we have no evidence that he is in this country. That’s what you are saying.’

  ‘Not exactly. Forensics lifted a partial print from the Tube station that seems to match Danin’s. We’re waiting for confirmation from Interpol, but as usual they’re taking their sweet time.’

  ‘So it’s possible that it’s him?’

  ‘It seems that way. I tried calling Cal but he’s not answering. I’ve sent him the information by email.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll get back to you when he has a moment. This is all extremely helpful.’

  ‘Cal needs to know that this man is extremely dangerous.’

  ‘I’m sure Cal can take care of himself.’

  Crane clicked off the call and pulled on her helmet. She pressed the starter button and sped off, bending low as the machine catapulted forward. She focused on the road ahead of her, wondering if the jitteriness she felt was due to her ordeal over the last couple of hours. There were still questions in her mind, about Khan and why he had tried to kill her. Leaving her inside the freezer was a smart move. It would look like an accident; someone straying where they shouldn’t be. Perhaps he had intended it only to scare her.