Amir’s appearance was different. His hair long and bleached, his clothes casual under a loose-fitting parka. With his back to her, he was confident she wouldn’t recognize him, possibly not even if she saw his face. With the blonde hair he looked more like a tanned surfer than an Arab.
He varied his position, moving out of view and changing his attention to a telephone, pretending to text someone. Glancing up at the reflection, he thought she looked like she was talking but couldn’t see anyone else. He put the phone away and walked out of the cinema. A few minutes later he walked back in and glanced up as he passed under the balcony. A woman sat with her back to the girl from Windsor. From her profile, he could see her talking rapidly. He had to be sure it was the real-estate woman. Her hair was mid brown but something about the style said it was a wig. He casually mounted the stairs, picked up a magazine from a bench at the top and took a table in the café-bar. He ordered an espresso from the waiter and pretended to read the magazine.
Definitely a wig. Definitely the real-estate woman who had eluded him. He smiled as he became aware of his elevated pulse. He didn’t need this other woman anymore. Christopher Martens had led him to Sarah Wishart and from her he had traced Peter Sikorski. But she had eluded him and was a worthy adversary.
The Blakemore girl stood, put money on the table and hurried out. He needn’t follow her; she was going to the Hilton. The woman in the brown wig finished her drink and paid the waiter. She got up and headed to a door beside the bar. Toilets perhaps.
Amir waited a minute then reacted with a startling realization. He hadn’t seen the woman enter. There’s another way out! He pushed open the door and immediately saw a staircase go straight down to a fire exit. The door clicked shut.
He charged down the stairs to the door and looked out. She had about sixty metres head start. He slipped into the shadows and began to follow.
The walk was long and circuitous as she avoided main roads and zigzagged to the river and then followed it to a small development of executive apartments. As she reached the front door, she glanced up and down the street. He was close, hiding behind a brick pillar. He heard the key click open the door and began to move. Swiftly and silently, he walked up steps to within touching distance as she stepped over the threshold. She didn’t know what hit her.
Sarah’s eyes fluttered. Things blinked into focus like old celluloid film, dim and dark at the edges. She was lying on the floor in the bedroom. How had she got there? Then the pain in the back of her head kicked in and she winced, tried to touch the wound.
Her arms were restricted! She tried to stretch from her cramped position and immediately stopped. Something gripped her throat. She tilted her head slightly and saw she was bound. If she moved her legs, tried to straighten, it tightened a band around her neck.
Helpless, tied up on the floor of the apartment, she gingerly squirmed to look around. The hall light was on, but otherwise the apartment seemed dark and quiet. Carefully, she rolled the other way and then choked as fright made her reflexively jerk her legs.
“So you are awake,” a man said from the bed. He sat up.
“Who?” she started to say but her throat was raw and her voice weak.
He climbed off the bed and the light caught his face.
She trembled. Him! Her breathing came in shallow puffs. She forced out a painful whisper. “You killed Peter, didn’t you?”
The man smiled, and his eyes glinted in the light.
She tried again. “Why? I don’t know anything.”
He knelt down, his face now close to hers. “I know,” he said, almost kindly. He poured some water into her mouth. “I know that’s what you think. But you’ll be surprised at what you do know—what information I’ll find useful. Everybody knows things they think are unimportant or maybe forgot. You’d be surprised at how often people don’t realize they even knew it.”
She licked her lips and swallowed painfully. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“That depends.”
“Depends?”
“On you.” Something flashed in his hand, and as he slashed down she realized with horror that it was a blade.
“Hold still,” he said. “If you move too much I might cut you by mistake.” He slashed some more but her brief hope, that the bindings would be cut, vanished as he pulled away shards of material. He cut and slashed until she was naked. The trembling began again.
“No. Please no!” She began to wail.
He slapped her face. “Oh dear. Now I can’t let you talk for a while.” He pushed something into her mouth, not a gag, but a device that wedged between the molars preventing her from fully closing it.
She started as cold metal touched her flesh. He ran the blade around her left nipple.
Her head shook, eyes wide with panic. His eyes locked onto hers. She saw his mouth twitch in a slight smile as his hand moved. There was a second of nothing and then excruciating pain wracked her body. As it subsided, her body twitched with shock.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said coldly. “Just a demonstration of how much pain you can feel. It’s just a nipple after all. Now you will answer my questions or we will discover how much pain you can withstand. And in the end you will tell me everything I want to know.”
First he broke her strong spirit and then he used her. When he stood up from her body she was unconscious but still moving, silently rocking in the tide of her shallow breaths. He went into the bathroom and washed, pleased that there was very little blood on him. He wiped down the surfaces as a matter of habit, then returned to the bedroom and tucked the bedspread around her as though she were a sleeping child. From an inside pocket of the coat he pulled a small box and placed it beside her.
He walked out of the apartment and closed the door. He strolled along the river and breathed in deeply. It felt good, almost as good as he’d anticipated. She was bigger than the Blakemore girl, less fit. She had passed out too soon really. He hoped the other blonde one would put up a fight for longer. From his pocket he pulled out his phone and dialled a number. Behind him an explosion shattered the quiet of the upmarket neighbourhood.
He didn’t look back.
THITY-SIX
Kate had heard the sirens in the night and, as their BA flight took off, she thought she saw a finger of black smoke on the bank of the river.
Last night, when she returned to the hotel, she had immediately called her sister.
“Do you know what time it is?” Darcy’s voice had been thick with sleep. “It’s tough having young kids. I don’t get enough sleep as it is, without you calling at some crazy hour.”
“Darce, listen. Pick me up from the airport.” Her voice had quavered with nerves but she’d felt better talking and gave Darcy the terminal and arrival time.
“What’s this about?”
“I need to stay with you for a while. I’m scared. I need to keep away from my Windsor place.”
Darcy had wanted to know what was going on but Kate just promised to explain all when she was safe. “Don’t tell anyone, not even Mum. OK?”
After Darcy had agreed, Kate called Andrew and told him to get out.
“I’ve a sister in Yorkshire,” he’d said.
“I don’t want to know. Just go and … Andrew…”
“Yes?”
“Can you take Tolkien? I don’t know how long I’m going to have to hide.”
Andrew had agreed and promised to leave immediately.
Kate then lay on the bed, but there was no way she could sleep. She had picked up the hotel pen and notepad and written what Inspector Cerny had said. The title of the photograph with Peter, Joe and a woman.
“Shot WO,” was what Cerny had said. Kate wrote SHOTWO. Then under this she had written SH O TWO and smiled at the misunderstanding. It was another message. O TWO was simple. It was the mobile operator O2. SH was less obvious. They were the initials. Kate didn’t know if the woman in the picture was SH, but SH stood for Stephanie Harper.
THIRTY-SEVEN
What did Stephanie Harper know?
“Auntie Kate, look at my poorly knee.” Three-year-old India disturbed Kate’s thoughts. She jumped onto the sofa beside Kate and held up her leg. There was a white patch over the knee.
“India, do not touch that plaster!” Darcy’s voice boomed from the kitchen.
India looked at her aunt with an air of conspiracy and then lifted the corner of the white plaster. She made big eyes, suggesting her aunt would be impressed. There was a cut about three centimetres long with strips of tape holding it together.
“Wow!” Kate whispered. “You are brave.” She stuck the plaster back down and then pulled up the left leg of her jeans. In the soft skin between the shin and patella was a scar. India touched it. A gash like hers, but with light dots above and below.
India’s face exaggerated concern. “Will my scar look like that?”
Kate shook her head. “In the olden days, doctors used to stitch cuts like this to hold them together.” She pointed to the dots. “This is where the stitches went through. Nowadays they just use tape so your scar will almost disappear.”
India thought for a moment. “Stitches—you mean like Mummy does with mending?”
“Yes, a bit like sewing.”
“Ooo!” India jumped off the sofa, disappeared for a moment and returned with a sewing pack. She smiled sweetly. “Auntie Kate… please stitch my cut.”
Kate laughed and tickled her niece. She had only been in Tim and Darcy’s home for a few hours and the strain of the past few days had just melted away. A long soak in an aromatherapy bath had helped, even if she did have to remove the bath toys that kept falling in, disturbing the tranquillity. In the end she stopped fishing them out and watched the duck, frog, scuba diver and a submarine as they slowly completed circuits of the tub.
Darcy had taken Kate’s suitcase from the Prague trip and added the clothes to the laundry. “Sort yourself something from my wardrobe,” she said, realizing Kate had no other clothes to wear. “Make sure you wear your hair different to me though. Since we look similar, with my clothes on I don’t want Tim mistaking you for me!” She had laughed.
Emma ran into the lounge, jumped and sat next to her twin. Identical. Joe and his brother had been twins—at first inseparable but later more like rivals. It must be difficult if you feel you have to compete with someone identical. Kate wondered whether her nieces would always be close or whether they would find it difficult when they were teenagers.
She stroked Emma’s hair and kissed her head. Kate could tell them apart but knew others had difficulty. India had a mischievous look, possibly due to the slight off-position of one eye, although Emma was the more cheeky of the two.
Kate said, “It’s a good job Emma has cut her knee, otherwise I’d never tell you apart!”
Emma laughed uncertainly, “No, Auntie Kate, I am Emma!”
“But your knee isn’t cut!” Kate said with mock seriousness.
India laughed now. “No, Auntie Kate, my knee is cut. I am India!”
Kate grabbed them both and the three of them rolled on the floor, tickled and giggled.
When they stopped, India looked at Kate and said, “Are you wearing Mummy’s top?”
“Yes, do you think we look alike—the same?”
Emma giggled. “Are you twins too?”
“No, unfortunately your mummy is two years younger than me.”
India said, “But you look younger than Mummy, Auntie Kate!”
Kate pulled a face. “Whatever you do, don’t tell your mummy that!”
Without hesitation, India jumped up and ran to the kitchen to tell her mummy.
“Oh dear,” Kate said to Emma. The other girl shrugged as if to say, what-can-you-do? Kate shrugged back then and said, “Go and set up the Magic Ponies’ castle. I need to make a phone call then I’ll come and play with you.”
After Emma had raced off to the playroom, Kate took out her iPhone. There was a voicemail; she’d probably missed the call while she took the bath. Kate decided to place the call to Stephanie Harper first.
Joe had worked at O2 in Slough. Stephanie Harper was a senior manager at O2. Kate didn’t have the woman’s number so she rang the head office and asked to be put through.
Reception transferred the call to an extension which immediately switched to voicemail. It announced that Stephanie Harper wasn’t at her desk and gave the option of leaving a message or speaking to a PA.
“Stephanie Harper’s office, Kimberley speaking,” the PA introduced herself.
Kim. Kate recalled Joe mentioning Kim the secretary. Not the fastest key on the keyboard, but Joe always spoke of her as reliable and friendly.
Kate said, “Oh hi, Kim. We’ve never met, but I’m Joe Rossini’s girlfriend… ex-girlfriend. He used to work there.”
“How can I help you today?” There was no recognition in her voice, none of the alleged friendliness.
“I would like to speak to Stephanie, if that’s possible.”
“Stephanie isn’t in today. Can I take a message?”
“I really need to speak to her. It’s urgent. The police…” Kate could hear the tension in her voice so she cut herself off. The silence from the other end of the line suggested Kimberley was thinking.
“You say it’s about someone who used to work here?”
Kate snatched at the opening. “Yes. Yes, Joe Rossini.”
“The name doesn’t ring any bells, I’m afraid. Of course if he’s left then he won’t be on the system.”
What? Kim doesn’t know about Joe? It could be a different Kim, I guess. Kate persevered: “He worked with or for Stephanie, I think. It’s a personal matter and it really is important. And Stephanie will know me.” This last line seemed to clinch it.
“Look, I normally wouldn’t do this, so you better be telling me the truth, otherwise Stephanie is going to be mad at me.” Kimberley paused again as though confirming to herself what she was about to do was all right. “Here’s her mobile phone number.” She reeled off the number and Kate keyed it into her phone.
“Thank you, Kimberley. Thank you so much. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She ended the call and immediately dialled the mobile number.
“Steph Harper.”
“Stephanie, it’s Kate Blakemore. Joe Rossini’s girl… ex.”
Dead air.
“Stephanie?”
“Meet me.” Her tone was as clipped as her words. She gave Kate the name of a café at the Oracle shopping area in Reading. At 6pm. There was nothing else, just the formality of making a business-type appointment.
Kate replaced the handset, feeling a little odd. Stephanie hadn’t asked her what it was about. Therefore she already knew.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The voicemail on Kate’s phone was from Inspector Mather. “Please call me when you get this message.” His voice had a hard edge to it that Kate hadn’t heard previously.
She dialled the inspector’s number.
“Where are you?” Mather snapped.
She hesitated then something made her say, “At home. Why?”
“The deal was that you would come straight in for a debrief. DS Littlewood said you disappeared when she went to the toilet. Do I need to send a patrol car round to pick you up?”
“No! No!” Kate realized her hands were shaking. How did she not understand that they wanted her to go straight to the police station? Her mind had been on meeting Darcy and following Sarah’s instruction to go into hiding. For a moment, she thought about disputing the arrangement but then decided better of it. “I’m really sorry, it was a misunderstanding. My… someone picked me up at the airport. I’m happy to come in for a debrief. Anything to help.” She checked her watch. “I can be there by 4:30. Is that all right, Inspector?”
Kate sat with the twins and their pony castle that played music as the ponies stood in certain places. The girls insisted that she make up a story and Kate duly complied. It wouldn’t have won any prizes but the girls se
emed enthralled and, since they also took part, the story morphed as it progressed. Eventually Kate stopped talking and the girls carried on with their own developments.
Kate slipped away and let her sister know she was going to Reading to see the police.
Darcy said, “Tim and I have plans tonight. The babysitter has called sick—probably caught the Norovirus off Emmy. Will you be back by eight?” When Kate said she would, Darcy continued, “Great! And perhaps tomorrow you’ll finally tell me exactly what’s going on. I want to understand what’s so bad that you’re afraid to go home.”
Kate promised to explain and borrowed Darcy’s SUV. The two car seats in the rear, the sun screens at the girls’ windows, the toys on the floor and wearing her clothes felt like she had suddenly swapped lives with her sister. One moment the sporty single girl, the next a mum of two. It wasn’t the sort of thing she normally thought about but as she drove to Reading she wondered whether she would ever settle down, whether she would ever have children.
Kate was led to Interview Room One at the Thames Valley Police office in central Reading. The clock on the wall blinked a minute to 16:28. Beside the door there was a large window-like mirror. One-way, Kate assumed.
Mather and Littlewood came in at 16:45. Their faces were impassive. No smiles, no handshakes. They sat opposite. Littlewood started a tape recorder and Mather did the introduction to the interview, looking at Kate’s face the whole time.
Then he said, “Why did you run?”
“Sorry?”
“From the airport. You’d arrived at the airport with Sergeant Littlewood. Why didn’t you return with her? Why didn’t you come straight back here for this interview?”
“You said debrief… I guess I didn’t appreciate the urgency.”
Mather said, “So if I had made it clear I wanted you to come straight back for further questioning about the disappearance of Sarah Wishart, you would have come?”
I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1) Page 14
