by Emmy Ellis
Robbie was in there, making a drink, and he walked out to give them privacy. Suzie shut the door and stood by the sink.
“Suzie, your brother told us about the flowers outside your bedroom door in the family home. Can you tell me anything about that?”
“Oh, those. They were just some plastic things Callie liked.”
“Callie?”
“Yes.” Suzie laughed. It sounded false. “She liked to pretend we had an indoor garden.”
“So it wasn’t Emma wanting to ward off a demon?”
Suzie’s face paled, and she blinked. “No! Did Jacob tell you that?”
“Yes.” Helena stared, waiting for an explanation.
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It was Callie and her garden obsession.”
You slipped up there, madam. “So the gardening gloves left at her home perhaps has a reason after all, then, even though you claimed you had no idea why they’d be there.”
Suzie’s mouth opened and closed.
“An ‘obsession’ is pretty strong, don’t you think?” Helena said. “It isn’t something you’re likely to forget, but it seems you did when I asked about the gloves.”
Cheeks flushing bright red, Suzie stared at the floor.
“You know exactly what it’s about, don’t you?” Helena accused.
“No. I told you before, I have no idea.”
“I’m going to find out in the end,” Helena said. “With or without your help.” She paused, waiting for a reaction.
When nothing came, she stormed out of the flat, Andy rushing to keep up.
“Speak to you tomorrow, Clive,” she said.
“All right, guv. Someone’s coming to take over here about six. Unfortunately, we can’t spare anyone for keeping guard out the back because of the cuts.”
“Righty oh.” Helena checked through the glass in the block’s main door for anyone hanging around, then she went outside. In the car, she thumped the steering wheel.
Andy got in. “She’s hiding something.”
“You’re telling me.” She snatched her phone out of her pocket and rang Olivia. “Anything for me?”
“Absolutely nothing from the pub except that Emma liked the men, as in—”
“I know. Anything else?”
“Afraid not. Drawing blanks all over the place.”
Helena checked the time on the dash. “You and Phil go home. We’ll start again in the morning. Thanks for your hard work today.”
“Tarra,” Olivia said.
Helena slid her phone away. “I’ll take you home, save you getting the bus.”
“Thanks.”
They didn’t speak on the journey. Helena was too pissed off. A lying family member didn’t sit well with her. She dropped Andy off then went home, ready to sit and veg on the sofa all night. Then she remembered she had a date with Zach, and her mood brightened.
Chapter Sixteen
The date hadn’t really been a date so far, and Helena asked herself if it was just a sexual attraction or whether they really could make a go of it. She fancied him, there was no denying that, but if all they were going to do was talk shop, she could do that with Andy. She wanted someone she could chat bullshit to, locking her work day out, but she hadn’t had that with Marshall either. He’d seemed overly interested in what she did for a living, to the point she’d questioned why he wanted to know.
Now here she was with Zach, nagging about the same things. Since they’d sat at a corner table, they’d talked about the case, mainly Zach’s findings in Emma’s PM. She’d recently had her pubic hairs removed. Helena couldn’t help but wonder if that was a link to the shaver, some hidden message she was supposed to figure out—or was it a message to Suzie? The blood being washed off while Emma rested on Zach’s table revealed a bruise on her forehead and the dragon and castle tattoo Jacob had mentioned. How very sad to have so many dreams and imaginings about a fairy land only to have them and her life snuffed out so cruelly. Emma would never see them in her mind’s eye again.
“Are you all right?” Zach leant over and rubbed her arm.
Him doing that had her wishing they weren’t out in public. “Yes, just thinking about how wicked life is at times, that’s all.”
“The things we see…”
“I know.”
“So how are you getting along with Andy now? Better?” He left his hand there.
She was glad it didn’t send her screeching off on a tangent like it did to some women who’d been through what she had. Luckily, she’d been able to separate her traumatic experience from normal touches. “Oh, he’s much better. We’re still going to the gym first thing.”
“You what? He didn’t call it off?” His eyes widened.
Helena smiled and tried placing her hand on his to see how she felt about it. Good. “He wants to sort himself out. Fancies Louise, doesn’t he, so he wants to be in with a chance.”
“That’s actually pretty sweet. Who’d have thought gruff, moany old Andy would have a soft side.”
“He doesn’t know how to show it, that’s all. I haven’t seen it in all the years we’ve worked as a pair, but I’m hoping it’ll come out in the future. I don’t think he’ll ever give up the moaning, though, but he’s trying.”
“So… Where do we go from here?” he asked.
Bloody hell. She hadn’t been expecting him to switch it round to them. “No idea. Play it by ear? Day to day?”
“Exactly what I thought. No rushing.”
“I’m glad. We’ve both jumped from our last relationships into another, and…”
“Yep, I can imagine you need space after…you know.”
Uthway and Marshall.
They continued talking, thankfully not about them or work, and by ten o’clock, Helena had to admit she needed to get home. Tiredness was a killer. He walked her back, pushing his bike alongside him.
“You can still get arrested for being pissed up on a bicycle you know,” she said.
“I only had two pints—and I sipped them.”
She could have waxed lyrical about still being over the limit, that reactions would be impaired, but really, she couldn’t be arsed. “I’ll let you off. On this occasion.” She didn’t add that maybe if he stayed the night next time, he could drive over in his car instead.
Baby steps, not a ruddy great giant’s.
Outside her front door, he kissed her—nothing manic, just nice and tender. It was strange after being used to Marshall’s bruising efforts and—
Don’t think about that.
With her body tingling, she said goodnight and went inside, forcing herself not to turn around and ask him in. She closed the door after he’d ridden away and pressed her back to it, smiling.
A loud knock startled her, and she swung the door open, laughing, expecting to see a bruised and scraped Zach where he’d gone over the handlebars and landed in the road.
Marshall stood there.
Shit.
“Oh, go away,” she said, swinging the door forward.
He stuck his hand out and stopped it shutting. “Who’s that?”
Whatever she’d seen in this man was long gone, buried, covered over with lumps of hate and the loss of respect. His narrowed eyes reminded her of a spiteful animal, and his flared nostrils meant he was gearing up to have one of the rages he was so good at flying into.
“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police. You’re harassing me.” She dealt with pricks like this at work, but somehow, with it being personal, she couldn’t find the mantle she usually used—the one that lent her courage and had her voice sounding abrupt.
“Harassing, my arse.” He sneered.
God, he was so ugly inside. A bitter, selfish man.
“Who is it?” he demanded.
Maybe if she told him, he’d bugger off. “A bloke from work.”
“Oh, so you kiss all men from work, do you?”
“That’s no longer any of your business.”
“Been having
it away with that Andy as well, have you? I bet you get up to all sorts, you fucking slag.”
He’d gone too far now. Her professional head screwed itself on, and she took her phone out of her pocket and held it up. “Really, Marshall? You want to do this?”
His face reddened. “Just you watch yourself, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You’ve just threatened a police officer.”
“Oh, piss off, you stupid bint.”
He swaggered down the path and out onto the pavement, going in the opposite direction to Zach. Helena closed the door and put the chain and bolts across. She’d be sorting out the restraining order tomorrow, no dicking about now. He needed to learn what ‘we’re over’ meant.
Chilled from not only the winter air but the confrontation, she kicked her shoes off then went into the kitchen. She made a hot chocolate and took it up to bed, placing it on her chest of drawers. Needing a shower, feeling filthy just for having been near Marshall, she jumped under the spray, cursing him for ruining the memory of her first kiss with Zach. Whenever she looked back on Zach’s gentleness it would be swiftly followed by Marshall’s appearance and the wanky things he’d said.
In her pyjamas, she got in bed and sipped her drink, finally warming up. Her mind drifted to Uthway, as it usually did just before sleep. Where was he? What was he doing? Would he ever make good on his promise and come for her?
She shivered and set her cup on the bedside cabinet, then closed her eyes, the lids pink on the insides from the glow of her lamp. She didn’t sleep without it on. Not anymore. Not since what had happened with Uthway.
Sleep came calling, ushering her into its world of trickery, the ruler of the dark hours with the power to either give her sweet dreams or horrendous nightmares. It held all the cards, and she could only hope, as Uthway’s face morphed into Marshall’s, that tonight she’d be left in peace.
* * * *
“Shut your mouth, you fucking bitch.”
It was pitch-black, and Helena couldn’t see or tell who’d spoken. Was it Uthway or that other bloke who’d brought her here? They sounded the same, the menacing nuances floating to her even after the words had died out.
She huddled into the corner she’d been thrown in, shivering, grit digging into her bare backside. Her clothes…she needed her clothes. Some dignity, even though it was dark and he couldn’t see her.
Why had he told her to shut her mouth? She must have whimpered. She couldn’t remember; everything was a blur. Minutes all meshed into one another, stretching into hours, days, or so she assumed. It was bloody freezing, so maybe her teeth had chattered, and that was why he’d barked at her.
“You need sorting once and for all, you do,” he said.
She could imagine what he meant. Killing her. Getting her out of his way for good. She tried to bring forth her training, what to do in a situation like this, but it wouldn’t come. It remained elusive, hovering just out of reach, teasing, whispering that she was on her own, and let’s just see how you get yourself out of this one, you silly little cow. And she had been a silly cow. She’d gone against protocol, as usual, and thought she could tackle Uthway by herself.
Wrong. So wrong.
“But I have another use for you.”
She didn’t dare answer him.
She sensed him come closer, although his footsteps were so faint she could be hearing things that weren’t even there. But the air around her was different, charged now with the buzz of electricity or whatever the hell it was when people were near each other. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and she clamped her teeth to stop herself from crying out. She didn’t need another beating. The last one had left her drained and aching. Instead of concentrating on him being near, she imagined what she looked like now. Filthy. Skin with a slight sheen from sweat. Hair stringy, hanging in lank strips. Bruised. Nose broken. Blood from that nose crusting on her face, her chest, where it had dripped.
“If anyone comes here to rescue you,” he said, “and finds me, I’ll kill you before they can even step foot inside the door, you got that?”
It was Uthway. She could tell from his body odour and rancid breath—coffee laced with a whiskey so strong her eyes watered. She closed them—like that was going to block him out—and wished she didn’t see him in her damn head so much. Tracking him for months, so many hours of surveillance, meant she knew every single crevice on his face, every pore, every fleck of lighter blue in his navy irises.
And she hated him. For what he’d done and what he was doing now.
“Answer me,” he breathed.
Her stomach contracted. “No one’s coming. I didn’t tell them where I was going.”
“So you say.” The air carrying his words was hot and settled on her cheek.
“If you think about how long I’ve been here, it should tell you no one’s coming,” she said and waited for a slap for having spoken without being asked a question or having permission to say anything.
“Six hours is nothing,” he snapped.
Six hours? Was that all? Fuck, it felt like six days.
“They’ll be waiting for it to get dark, I’ll bet,” he said.
Then he licked her ear, and it was a wonder she didn’t shriek or shy away from him. He’d already told her, after he’d raped her earlier, that to act as though she didn’t like him near her would be a ‘black mark’ in her book. She needed to learn to like it.
“Then they’ll come out with their guns and Tasers,” he went on. “They’ll burst in here to get you, only you’ll be dead.”
She’d asked him where she was when she’d first been thrust in here, and he’d told her to shut her gob if she knew what was good for her. Blindfolded, she’d had to rely on her ears, and the shush and whoosh of the sea had told her she was somewhere close to shore. It was too loud to be anywhere else.
His friend had brought her here in a car after abducting her from a surveillance spot where she’d been taking photos of Uthway and his men shepherding kidnapped women into a run-down house on the outskirts of Smaltern. Maybe sunlight had glinted off her binoculars, she didn’t know, but the man had come up behind her, slapped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her backwards. She’d fought, of course she had, but he was a beast of a creature, well over six feet with a muscular build and the strength of two.
“What have you got to say about that?” he asked.
Say about what? She’d forgotten what he’d been talking about.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What, you don’t know what to say about me killing you?”
“No.”
“Scared, are you?”
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing. “I don’t care anymore.” And it was strange, but she didn’t. How could only six hours of mental torture and the violation of her body reduce her to a shell so quickly? Tired from whatever the hell they’d injected her with, she had no strength to fight. To speak.
It scared the shit out of her, and a burst of adrenaline flashed through her. Fight or flight. Live or die. About to tell him to go and fuck himself, she stopped. A creak rang out, grating on her nerves, then a long, slender sliver of light that seemed far away widened into a slice of the world outside her prison. With the adrenaline had come a clarity of sorts, and she made out the time of day—it was still light—the interior of her surroundings—possibly a large metal storage container—and the silhouette of another man.
“You’re meant to give the proper knock, dickhead,” Uthway said.
“Sorry, boss. Didn’t realise you were in here.”
“Yeah, well…” Uthway sniffed. “Close the fucking door then!”
The darkness came back, and footsteps echoed. Something was wrenched down over her head, material, and it tickled her shoulders. A bag of some sort. If her hands weren’t tied behind her back, she’d have ripped it off. Then a light came on, and she strained to see through the black weave, tiny specks of brightness filling her vision.
“Any good
, was she?” the newcomer asked.
“They’re always good when they fight it,” Uthway said. “Find out for yourself, if you like. I need some grub.”
Helena swallowed the lump in her throat. No, not that. Not again.
The creak shouted out again, then a clang when the door shut.
“All right then, Little Miss Pretty,” the man said. “Spread ’em.”
* * * *
Helena shot up in bed, her heart thumping, her body drenched in sweat.
“I’m in my room, I’m in my room, I’m in my room…”
She rubbed her arms and breathed deeply. Shuddered. Shook her head to try to dislodge the remnants of the nightmare that insisted on lingering. The smell of Uthway and that man clung to the insides of her nostrils, and she reached out to grab her deodorant, spraying it in the air then inhaling so their stench was wiped out.
“I can’t keep going like this.”
Marshall had got annoyed whenever she’d had a bad dream, saying she disturbed his sleep with her mumblings and shrieks, and couldn’t she be a bit more considerate? She’d stopped him staying over after that. Had stopped caring about him somewhere around that time, too. He had traits of Uthway and the unnamed man, and she couldn’t bear it.
She glanced at the clock. Fuck. She hadn’t set her alarm in time to go to the gym. Slinging on her training stuff, she then packed her work clothes and shoes in a small holdall and texted Andy to remember to do the same. She also apologised for being late. She’d shower at the gym, then they’d head straight to work after having a bite to eat at the leisure centre restaurant.
Outside Andy’s, she went to toot the horn then remembered the early hour. He got in the car, bleary-eyed, his hair a mess, new gym clothes on along with white trainers, God bless him.
“I’ll be on time in future,” she said, driving off.
“I didn’t mind. I got a few more minutes of shut-eye. This is going to kill me, you know that, don’t you.”
“No, it won’t.” She laughed. “Believe it or not, it’ll give you more energy.”
“How the hell do you work that one out?”
