I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1)

by Murray Bailey

  Kate was uncertain. “Yes… well… but my friend, Andrew, copied it. So on Monday I’ll be able to try again.”

  “Monday?”

  “When Andrew gets back from Italy.”

  Mather said, “Will you let us know what the document says?”

  Kate hesitated. What if there was something Joe didn’t want to be disclosed? That would explain the encryption. Eventually she said, “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Littlewood frowned but Mather nodded. “Tell us about the photograph,” he said.

  “I realized the envelope was posted in the Czech Republic. It contained the photograph.”

  Littlewood slid the photograph across the desk. “You know who Boomer and Mirrorman are, don’t you?” An accusatory statement rather than a question.

  Kate looked at it. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain before, but I was in a hurry and you would have wanted more. You’d have asked about Joe and you know how long that has taken to talk through.”

  “Who are they?” Littlewood prompted.

  Kate kept her eyes on Mather. “Boomer is the name of Joe’s buddy who used to play American football. Joe told me some stories about being in the army with him. I checked the internet and Boomer’s real name is Danny Guice. The stories Joe told me about Boomer check out.”

  “You think Peter Sikorski sent you the photograph of Boomer and the other soldier?” Mather said. He shifted in his chair, his body language now more inclusive of the sergeant.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he did or maybe it was Sarah. I thought Sarah initially, but now it seems more likely to have been Peter—because of the connection with Joe. He was Joe’s boss in Prague.”

  “What did you do with the envelope?” Mather asked.

  “Threw it away.”

  “Could you get it?”

  “It will have gone to recycling.”

  Littlewood leaned forward again. “Convenient.”

  The woman was beginning to annoy Kate. What did she think? That Kate had deliberately disposed of the envelope so they couldn’t check? Kate bit her tongue and said, “No. Sorry, I didn’t imagine it would be important. I guess I didn’t think.”

  Mather again: “Could it have been Sarah’s handwriting? After all, you said you hadn’t seen her for a while.”

  “I’d have recognized Sarah’s writing. Thinking about it now, I can say it didn’t look remotely like hers.”

  Littlewood said, “Sarah and Peter—what was their relationship like after they split up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did they stay in touch?”

  Kate rubbed her forehead, thinking. “I guess. There was no chance of her getting back with him, but I think they were cordial. They had many friends in common, so they would have seen each other around.”

  “When did you last speak to her?”

  “About three months ago, I think. Maybe more”

  “But you earlier told us you were good friends. Her parents said you were best friends.” Littlewood’s voice changed pitch as though challenging Kate’s response.

  “People lose touch for a while.”

  “But before that you were regularly in touch?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you are saying that you don’t know whether Sarah and Peter fell out?”

  “That’s right,” Kate said with exasperation. “I hadn’t spoken to her for over three months.” She read something in Littlewood’s face and beat her to the next question. “And no, I hadn’t been in touch with Peter either.”

  “When did she call you?”

  “She rang last Friday—in the evening. I’ve told you that already.”

  “Why did she call you?” Littlewood said quickly.

  Kate shook her head. “I told you—I didn’t speak to her.” A long pause followed and Kate started to think about the questions she had asked Mather, the real reason she had agreed to visit the police station.

  Then it blurted out. Kate looked at Mather and said, “I’ve answered your questions. You’ve told me nothing. What do your reports show about Joe, about the detectives—or FBI or whatever they were—picking him up?”

  Mather looked thoughtful, ran his tongue over his upper molars.

  Littlewood seemed to sense her boss was about to disclose something. “Sir?”

  Ignoring his sergeant, Mather gave a slight nod. “The report showed that everything you said about the arrest happened. But it was Special Branch—a joint operation with the FBI. Greg Towers was wanted for financial crimes linked to multiple identity thefts.” He stopped.

  There was more. Kate could see it in those dark eyes. “And?” she prompted.

  Littlewood gave her a smile like the corners of her mouth were pulled by strictures. “Since nine-eleven in the States and then seven-seven here, things have become a lot easier. We work more closely now.”

  Kate searched Mather’s face. She wanted honesty—after all, she’d willingly come to the station. In theory it could have taken a chunk out of her work day. She had made a commitment and she suddenly felt emboldened. “This is bullshit,” she said under her breath to Littlewood but kept looking at Mather. “What happened next?”

  Mather didn’t hesitate. Afterwards she wished she’d let him drip feed the news, to lessen the shock. He said, “Towers is still in the UK.”

  Silence.

  When was the last time she’d had a drink of water? Kate’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Mather must have realized she was struggling so he eventually continued. “The FBI applied for extradition, but Towers was found to be mentally unstable. We don’t extradite the mentally ill, or at least the process is more difficult. The FBI seemed satisfied with the British solution and agreed to wait until his condition improved—if ever. So he’s still here.”

  Kate found her voice. “British solution?”

  Littlewood seemed to delight in what she said next: “A mentally ill criminal. There’s only one place for the criminally insane in this country: Broadmoor.”

  Whoa! The room spun. Kate could only see the plastic cup of water in her hand and a white blur beyond. The water boiled in the cup. Her hand trembled. She tried to calm the hand, forced herself to sip and heard Inspector Mather say something about breathing. Gradually things came back into focus and her brain seemed to switch on again. She looked into Mather’s eyes and saw concern, but now she also read something like cunning. Had this whole interview been planned? She’ll say this, we’ll say that. Probably.

  Kate calmed herself. “Broadmoor?” It seemed so logical. Should she have worked it out? Could she have found out? There must have been court records. Broadmoor. Now that’s a weird coincidence, she realized. Broadmoor Hospital was in a village called Crowthorne. Not many people know this, because even in the village the hospital is invisible, hidden in part of Windsor Forest. It wasn’t far from Windsor.

  Joe was close by.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Joe is in Broadmoor! “Thank you,” Kate said weakly. The water had calmed her but she doubted she could stand without falling over. God! He’s so close. And has been for twelve months.

  I could have visited him—talked to him, she thought. Then the realization struck her that he was classed as criminally insane. What was she thinking? He’s crazy! Did she really want to go and see him? And yet, there was this other story—Boomer and the army.

  Mather was talking again. Kate tuned out her own thoughts and homed in on his voice. “We need to talk about Sarah,” he said.

  “You think something has happened to her?”

  “Her ex has been murdered and no one has seen or heard from Sarah in a week.”

  “But you don’t think she did it. Surely?”

  “Well, we can’t rule anything out as she is wanted for questioning by the Czech police. But at this point we are more concerned for her wellbeing. A missing person rather than a suspect.”

  Kate struggled with this. Her brain was functioning
again, having forced thoughts of Joe to the back of her mind. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but why would the British police be involved so early in a missing person case?”

  “Politics,” Littlewood muttered.

  “More like high profile,” Mather explained. “In the last couple of years we’ve had disappearances of British women around the world.”

  “The air stewardess found in the bathtub of sand in Japan,” Kate said, remembering the news.

  Mather agreed. “That and one in France and one in Kenya. A drop in the ocean in terms of world murders, but all of them pretty blonde British girls with high media coverage. In each case the force has been vilified for not doing something sooner. Maybe there’s nothing to this one, but just in case…”

  “And Peter’s murder might be linked?”

  “Maybe,” Littlewood chipped in. “But Sarah is blonde, beautiful and met a lot of men through her work. What do you know about her job?”

  Kate shrugged. Not much really. She told them about Sarah’s background and that she was successful selling apartments to expats.

  “Was there anyone in particular? A client or a boyfriend? Any name she might have mentioned in passing?” Littlewood asked.

  “We weren’t that close anymore,” Kate explained. “I should have been there for her when she split with Peter, but first I had Joe and, after he left, I guess I didn’t want the reminder. I was poor at staying in touch. But then, so was she. It wasn’t all my fault.”

  “Of course not,” Mather said before switching track. “When was the last time you saw Sarah’s parents?”

  “The engagement party. To be honest, I don’t really know them.”

  “They will be going to Peter Sikorski’s funeral on Wednesday.” Mather paused as if prompting a response. When none came, he said, “Will you be going to the funeral?”

  “I hadn’t thought…”

  “Kate…” Mather looked serious. “I would like you to go to Peter’s funeral.”

  Kate was surprised. “Because?”

  “In case you notice something, something we would miss. Someone we would miss.”

  “I don’t know…”

  Mather said, “It may help us. More importantly, it may help Sarah.”

  Kate chewed her lip. She was thinking about Joe in Broadmoor again. That’s what mattered most to her at this moment.

  As though the inspector could read her mind he said, “I’ll do you a deal.”

  Kate looked at him quizzically.

  “You’re thinking of visiting Joe. But you won’t get in. Since 2001 things have tightened up. They don’t allow day visitors anymore, unless there’s a very good reason. You aren’t family and you aren’t his solicitor.”

  Kate waited.

  “Here’s the deal,” Mather said. “You agree to go to the funeral and I’ll get you into the prison.”

  Kate’s heart thumped in her chest. She took a sip of water, calculating. Then she said, “When would I need to fly to Prague?”

  “Next Tuesday. And you won’t be alone. There will be a plain-clothed policewoman accompanying you. When you get back I want an immediate debrief.”

  Kate nodded. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Providing I get into Broadmoor on Monday.”

  Mather pursed his lips, nodded. “All right, you have a deal,” he said.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mather called later and confirmed an unaccompanied visit to see Greg Towers at Broadmoor on Monday at 10:30.

  Kate’s mind flipped between excitement and trepidation for the rest of the day until she joined Lisa in an Ascot wine bar.

  “Just enjoy the evening,” Lisa said as they met up. “Switch off from this whole affair and enjoy yourself for a few hours. Whatever is on your mind can wait.”

  Kate managed pretty well, although later she couldn’t help but ask whether Lisa had been in touch with her ex.

  “I’ve sent a message. Don’t you worry. As soon as I hear back, I’ll let you know. Now, no more talk of Joe and his friend.”

  The weekend dragged by. She didn’t get an update from Lisa but she received another response from a question-and-answer site. This was a message from someone calling himself Pogostick:

  If they are enlisted you write to the EPMD (Enlisted Personnel Management Directorate) with as much information as you can. US Army Human Resources Command, 2461 Eisenhower Avenue, Alexandria, Virginia, 22331. If they are an officer contact the OPMD (Officer Personnel Management Directorate) via US Army Human Resources Command, 200 Stovall Street, Alexandria, Virginia, 22332.

  Kate didn’t know Boomer’s rank, but even if she did, these were postal addresses. She needed an answer quickly—phone numbers or email. There wasn’t time to wait for snail mail!

  Kate drove up a hill in Crowthorne, her Mazda jolting over the frequent speed bumps. The sky was lead-grey and, when the dark-red brick prison wall appeared between the trees, Kate had the sense of something out of a bad horror movie. At the top of the hill, she followed the giant wall to the left and towards a visitor’s car park. A barrier was automatically raised as she approached. No real security. She was still outside the prison, a wall on one side, a fence on the other with part of Windsor Forest beyond. No residential houses or people anywhere to be seen. There was a real sense of isolation here.

  She parked and walked to a security gate in the wall. Having been instructed to take nothing with her into the prison, she left everything in the car.

  The gate was in fact two gates, one after the other. She noted a security camera and an intercom. Pressing the intercom button, she said her name and the first gate clanged to one side. Kate took two steps forward and the gate clanged shut behind her. Again, a camera, and she looked up into it. A pause and then the second gate slid noisily open.

  Inside, Kate was surprised that the buildings looked more like a hospital than a prison. A building to the left had a sign: “Visitors’ Reception”. She opened a 1970s’-looking red door with a small wire-reinforced glass window and stepped into a waiting room. Orange plastic chairs in four lines faced a reception desk. The room was empty except for a security man standing behind the desk. She walked towards him and tried a smile.

  At that instant there was an ear-splitting screech—a siren. The silence rushed back in moments later.

  The guard grinned at Kate’s shock. “Just a test, love,” he said. “Who are you and who are you here to see?”

  “Kate Blakemore to see Greg Towers.”

  He looked at a computer screen. About to speak, he reconsidered and raised a hand. Immediately, a second siren whooped, briefly deafening them. A very different siren, she noted.

  The guard must have read her mind. “The first is to test the Prisoner Escaped alarm. The second is the All-Clear.”

  “You have a twenty-eight minute wait, I’m afraid.” He handed her a security badge. “Help yourself to a free cup of coffee from the machine and take a seat.”

  She took a glance at the vending machine and thought better of it. She sat and watched the security man. He stood impassively, occasionally glancing at the computer screen, a little bored.

  To kill the time, she said, “Am I the only visitor today?”

  “There’s a solicitor in the afternoon but that’s it.”

  She nodded, thinking. “It just struck me that during the test would be the time to escape,” she said, “Has anyone ever escaped as it’s being tested?”

  “No one has escaped for a long time.” He winked knowingly. “Not since the changes.”

  “Changes?”

  He smiled. “Used to be more like an open prison. The inmates used to be able to have parties. We even let the men and women mix once a month. Not now though.”

  “Because of trouble?”

  “No, no. Politically sensitive. Oddly coincided with Peter Sutcliffe being interred.”

  “The Yorkshire Ripper?”

  “The very same. Now the prisoners are kept to their rooms. When they are allowed out for an hour
a day, it is on their own. No socializing anymore.”

  “Sounds sad,” she said.

  He shrugged, “Not for me to judge.”

  “When was the last escape?”

  He brightened and then squinted at her. “Not a reporter are you?”

  She laughed and told him she was a physiotherapist.

  He nodded. “The Wolfman went on the run in 1991—that was the last time. He escaped twice! He sawed through a one-inch-thick steel bar and squeezed out of the window of a shower room on the third floor. It took two days to recapture him. Funny thing was, he was found hiding in a garden shed close by. In the old days people used to escape all the time. Usually they would get picked up trying to hitch rides or just walking out of town wearing nothing but dressing gowns and slippers. We had a knifing in—”

  A buzzer made him look at an internal door to his right. It was another identical red 1970s’ door with a small window. A face peered through the glass. A second buzz, this time caused by the desk guard pressing a button, and the door opened.

  “Blakemore for Towers,” the desk guard said.

  The second guard nodded to Kate as she stood and walked towards him. “Follow me,” he said.

  The door closed with a solid clunk behind them and they walked the length of a corridor, brick-red tiles clickety-clacking under her feet.

  The guard stopped at a door. “Have you done this before?” he asked.

  “No.” Kate’s pulse began to quicken.

  “You will enter the room and I will lock the door,” he recited like a recording. “You will see a chair and a window. The window is security glass and cannot be broken. Beside the window is a telephone. You may talk to the prisoner using the telephone. He will enter from the other side of the window into a similar room. He will be accompanied by a prison officer. You have ten minutes. I will open the door when the time is up and you will leave at that time. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.” Her heart was now pounding high in her chest.

  “If you wish to leave the room before the end of your allotted time, simply turn to me and signal.”