“Probably they have disabled calls by now.” The inspector replies. “You can try, but don't expect any answers.”
Sue sits down, abruptly. Suddenly, it is all too much. She feels frozen. She wants to cry, to scream, to break down...do anything, rather than sit here with these men telling her she has little chance of seeing Lisa again.
Titus rests his hand on her shoulder.
“I'll show these...gentlemen...out.” Titus lets the pause sink in.
“Thank you, Titus.” Sue's voice is cold, regal. “Do that.” She pauses, then continues.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I trust you will keep me informed? I will let you know if anything changes here.” Her voice is hard.
Titus nods to her as he leaves, the policemen behind. He and Sue are colleagues, suddenly; united in their distaste for the policemen's callousness.
“This way?”
Titus leads them downstairs and to the front door.
Sue waits; hears the click of the lock as Titus locks the door behind them.
He comes back up the stairs, his shoes almost-silent on the carpet.
“That's that, then.”
“Yes.” Sue agrees, thinly.
“We should get some sleep?” Titus asks. “You must be exhausted.”
“Yes. Yes, I am exhausted.” Sue replies, her voice somehow distant. “I'll...there's a spare bedroom at the front of the corridor, on the left? The bed's made up, and there's a bathroom next door.”
“Thanks.”
“Not at all.” Sue replies automatically.
Then, “Thank you, Titus.”
“No problem.”
Chapter 2
Morning. It must be. The light hurts her eyes. Gold, slanting, coming from a high angle, somewhere far above her.
Lisa groans, rolls over. Rubs her head. Feels the beginnings of a lump, damp with new sweat and old blood. She groans again.
Nothing feels broken; not anywhere in her body.
She thinks back; remembers leaving work; the brief terror of a confrontation; then pain and darkness.
She inhales, smells old straw and fresher paint and steel and the iron of rust and all over the powdery cold scent of cement.
She opens her eyes.
The roof soars far, far over her head; bare corrugated steel. The light is coming through high windows, set just below the roof. Bare walls stretch up to meet it; the perspective making them lean inwards together, even though they are straight and far apart.
Lisa turns her head, winces at the throbbing from the bruises.
The far wall is cement, and solid, without a door. Across the room is some disused equipment; rusting and seemingly-broken. She sits up, rubbing her right arm, absently, which has been lying underneath her through the night and is now gone stiff and cold.
On the far right, near the front of the room, is a single door; two long iron sheets with hinges and a locking-bar across them.
Lisa tries to stand. It takes longer than she would have expected. She gets to her feet and walks across the cement and straw of the floor; keeping as quiet as possible, her legs cold and cramped and far from steady.
Eventually, she reaches the door. Leans down on the bar. Nothing. It must be locked from the other side. She leans down harder, grunting with the effort. Nothing. She waits; kicks a leg back to aim a foot at the gap between the iron doors. Stops. Walks across to a hole on the right, above the locking-bar, where the door has rusted through a little. Puts her eye to it.
There. She thought she heard voices. There are two men, standing just in front of her outside the door.
She pauses, stands closer so she can hear what they are saying to each other.
“...So, boss wanted us to stay here, then?”
“He said so, yes.”
One of the men has a slight Indian accent, the other something South African and unprepossessing. They could be anyone, so far. Nothing to identify them in any way, or to tell Lisa why they might be here or why the might wish her harm.
“...how long, did he say?”
“No. Until they've agreed, I suppose.”
There's a pause. The other man chuckles.
“You know Raju. That could be next month.” They laugh.
“I am also a Patel, you know. I know how we think. How long he could take.” The man with the Indian accent replies.
The other man laughs, a grunt of approval.
“Yes. You are. Heads hard like cement, the lot of you. No easy way to make you agree to anything.”
The men laugh.
Lisa draws a breath. These men work for Raju Patel! The corrupt businessman. The one suing the car-company she was going to defend in two day's time. Her mind whirls.
One of them is related to him. That must be the one who was watching her office. She thought she saw him, on a photograph of the Patel family during her research for the case, and recognised him at once. That was what made her think there was something strange about this case. Now she knows for sure. She breathes, and listens to the men continue.
“...what about you?”
“You mean, at the car firm? Yeah, life's good. Can't complain.”
“Brinkman...he's in for it in the court, soon.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The other man sounds less convinced. He pauses a while. “And how's your uncle been?”
“Not bad...he's recovering slowly.”
The men go on to talk of other things; family, acquaintances, the mines, football. Lisa stops listening halfway. Her mind is whirling with the information she already has; trying to put it together and fit it with what she knows, so far.
These men know Raju Patel. But one of them it seems works for Brinkman Car assembly, the company Lisa was due to defend in the case Raju Patel has brought against them.
She suspected there was something going on. Raju Patel losing his wife in a car accident seemed too convenient for him; given her considerable inheritance from her rail-magnate father. And the fact that he instantly sued the company who assembled the car, with no real proof that the fault was theirs, and no real reason to suspect malpractice; that always seemed strange.
It seems that she was right, Lisa thinks; that there was much more here than a suing case.
If she can find her way out of here, she has so much to put right, so much information for the trial.
If she can finally find a way out of here...
She hears the men stop talking outside the door; a sudden silence after the murmur of their conversation in the background.
She freezes, lies down again on the floor.
Hears the door scrape open; someone leave a bottle or something with liquid in it on the floor. She remains still; lying as if asleep.
The door scrape shut again.
She waits for fifteen seconds. Sits, and half-walks, half-drags herself to the door on stiff legs; trying to make as little noise as possible.
A re-filled bottle of water, the cap screwed on tightly, sits in the centre of the floor; drips of liquid running down the neck and making a dark, cool stain on the cement around it. She waits, warily. She is so thirsty.
She lifts it; sniffs. It smells like water.
She tastes a drop, cautiously. It seems to be just water.
She shakes her head at herself. If they wanted to kill her, they would have done so already, she reasons. She unscrews the lid, amazed at how tight it is; how weak her arms have become. Tips it back and drinks.
The coolness floods into her, soothing her dry, aching throat; making her eyes feel moist and her stomach ache with the sudden fullness almost at once. She waits for the pain to pass. Drinks some more.
“You have to pace yourself, Ms Marsden.” She breathes to herself, her voice matter-of-fact. “You have to be fit enough to get out of here. Get back to Sue...”
She stops. The thought is a physical ache; rising in her chest and blocking her throat.
“Sue..?”
She sits back, very quietly. Puts the bottle down. Tucks her legs clo
se to her chest. Puts her head on her knees. And weeps.
The sun rises a little more, making the angled golden light filter down into the cell more palely before Lisa sits up again.
Chapter 3
“Yes. Yes. It should say “reward offered for any information.”
Sue is on the phone; sitting on the white couch, her pale silk dressing-gown tucked loosely around her; hair unbound and making a pale gold cloud around her shoulders.
Her voice is like flint: firm, solid. Undaunted.
She is on the telephone to the leading newspaper in the region, placing a notice in the “missing person” column. She has been on the phone all morning; has already phoned two other newspapers, the printers, and Elspeth. Ordering posters to be made of Lisa, asking for information about her whereabouts. She will have them stuck on every lamp-post in the town. Anything she needs to do, she will do.
She is not going to let these people win. She will find Lisa. It doesn't matter what anyone says or does.
Titus has gone home; leaving early that morning to prepare for work. Sue has already called in ahead of her work; letting Elspeth know she will be staying at home this morning.
Elspeth was unruffled. She sounded surprised to hear Sue take a day off work. But she knows Sue – if she has decided to take a day off, it must be for the best. Sue explained to Elspeth that Lisa has gone missing; asked her to telephone their printing office and print posters with Lisa's picture, requesting information.
If Elspeth expected Sue to be weakened by this, she was mistaken. The voice on the other side of the telephone was unbending. As confident as ever, as driven and solid.
Now, Sue is finishing with the third newspaper she has phoned.
“Yes. Yes. If you could have that printed by this evening's edition? That would be perfect. No, no problem. Thank you. Goodbye.”
She hangs up; puts the phone down. Sits for a moment with her eyes closed. Sitting is the worst. She has a clear, step-by-step idea of what to do. A plan. That is best.
She pauses a moment, then picks up the phone again. Dials Titus at work.
“Titus?”
“Hey, Sue. How are you doing?” Titus' voice is low; genuine concern in every word.
“I'm...alright, Titus.” Sue's voice wobbles a little, then strengthens. “Is there any word about Lisa at work?”
“No. Nothing yet. The police are here this morning, asking everyone for information. They didn't really ask me much, since they've already seen me. Lisa's car is still here.” He pauses, then continues.
“Mrs. Henderson in the front office says she saw Lisa leave yesterday evening at around five-thirty or six She didn't see anything odd or any suspicious characters.”
“So. No clues there.”
“Nothing yet. But the police are still here. Someone saw something, I am sure. We will find her, Susan.” He adds. “Lawyers don't just disappear, you know.”
“More's the pity, with some of them.” Sue laughs, dryly, despite the seriousness of the moment.
They chuckle.
“It's good talking to you.” Titus says, still smiling. “If you want to stay updated; I'll call you later at lunch?”
“I'll see you at lunch.” Sue decides, firmly. “It's no good me sitting here alone and driving myself wild with my worrying. And besides, perhaps we can brainstorm; figure out what might have happened; where Lisa might be.”
“You're right, Sue.” Titus agrees. He sounds pleased. “We can do our best.”
“For Lisa.”
“For Lisa.” Titus agrees.
Three hours later, and Sue and Titus are in the Marinara; the most elegant restaurant in the area near Lisa's office.
Sue is sitting across from Titus; chopsticks picking bits of seared fish out of the fish satay in front of her. The light from the long window makes her pale hair glow softly, and sets the pale silky finish of her white linen summer dress shimmering.
“We don't have any information from the police, yet.” It is more of a statement than a question.
“Right.” Titus nods between mouthfuls of salad.
“But they will contact me with information when they have it.”
“Yes.” Titus agrees. “They have the contact details for the main office at Naidu and Marsden too. IN case they need to ask us anything.”
“Good.” Sue nods. “Although I think they've got all the information to be had there?”
“It seems that way.”
“Is there anything you know about this case Lisa was working on?” Sue asks after a moment.
“No, not really. You know Lisa...she's not the type to share information like that.”
“No.” Sue agrees. “More's the pity.” She sighs.
“We might know where to start if we knew more about it, is all.”
“You think her disappearance is connected to the case?” Titus asks, a frown creasing his brow.
“I'm almost entirely sure it did.” Sue's voice is hard. “She thought there was someone following her, Titus. And now...now she's gone missing.” She pauses; looks down at the table a moment.
They are both silent for a while.
“She said...” Titus begins. “She showed me the car. The one she thought was parked there, watching her? A green Volkswagen.”
“You noticed that model?”
“Yeah.” Titus nods, “it was a Volkswagen Jetta; maybe 2007 model?”
“Good.” Sue's voice was warm. “Have you mentioned it to the police?”
“No.” Titus' voice is thoughtful. “I guess I forgot about it.”
“Well, I think you should call them; tell them what you saw.”
“Yeah.” Titus is nodding. “Yes. Good idea.”
“That's valuable information.” Titus looks pleased.
“We will find her, Titus.” Sue's voice is a statement and a question at once.
Titus looks up; his eyes warm, but tight with worry. “Yes, Sue. I believe we will.”
Chapter 4
The sun is high, now; so that the light does not slant in through the windows, but filters down, making the place warm, but not unbearably so.
Lisa is sitting in the vast warehouse, knees drawn up; studying the space.
It is obviously an old warehouse; that much is clear. There is old, disused machinery along one side, but the rest of the vast space is empty; the floor cement; the walls soaring; high windows at the top letting in filtered, golden light.
There are no clear ways out. There is only one door; and that is locked. The windows are very high: twenty or thirty meters of sheer wall beneath them.
Lisa smiles to herself, wryly, as she thinks of some of the wilder options: digging a tunnel? Throwing something heavy at the door? Good ideas, but what will she do when the guards come running? And it is guarded. That is certain.
Lisa looks around the room; red-brown eyes lively; taking in everything. She is a lawyer, and has a quick, lively mind. But there is nothing she can see that suggests anything more to do, right now.
She looks round, inquisitively. Her hand dusts a stray curl across her forehead and behind one ear; her dark red hair loose and darkened slightly with dust and old sweat.
She stands, limbs still loose despite the cramped confinement and sleeping curled up to keep warm in the cold, dark space at night. No-one has thought to provide her with a blanket; she reflects, wryly; and the nights are still cold, even though the days are warm.
She walks across the floor to sit in the space of sunshine flowing through the top windows. She is restless with the confinement; and stretches; touching her toes. She considers scaling the walls; to keep moving, if nothing else. Goes over to the patch of rough blocks over the front door; experimentally grips the rough edge of some cement blocks near the door and lifts her weight; sliding her foot onto a rough rim of cement block that sticks out about half a meter from the floor.
She grins; grimaces with the cramp in her fingers, and drops again.
She crosses the room and
paces in the filtered sunlight from the window; thinking.
The men who are keeping her here are clearly connected to Raju Patel. From what she has overheard them say, and from the look of one of them, whom she thinks she recognizes from a photograph of the Patel family; one of them at least is working for him.
If they want her out of the way, it can only be because she was close, in that conversation she had with Sue – Raju Patel was somehow linked to his wife's death.
Her mind reels, thinking about that. She paces in the light; lost in her deliberations.
But then, one of the men mentioned a link to the car company; the company she was defending. Brinkman Car assembly. If they are connected, too; what was their involvement? Did they sell Raju Patel a faulty car in exchange for a promise of greater rewards after Mrs. Patel's death? Did they help him arrange for the accident to happen? Or agree to take the blame, so that Raju Patel would remain clear of suspicion in his wife's death? In which case, it would explain why they want the lawyer out of the way. They probably want someone on the case who will agree to lose, so Raju can walk away spotless.
That last option does not bode well for her. They would probably kill her, to keep her from saying something that would go against their plans. She shakes her head; one eyebrow raised reflectively.
I Stand With You (Gold Streaks Book 1) Page 11
