But Bolt simply nodded and turned away.
Neither he nor Mo spoke on the way back to the car. It was only when Mo had started the engine that Bolt turned to him. ‘Did you notice what Hanzha said?’
Mo smiled. ‘Course I did. I’ve been a detective a long time, boss. His problem is that he’s too arrogant. “Painted signs on the wall in her blood.” That’s what he said, wasn’t it?’
‘Exactly. We never released that information. The only way he could have known about it is if he had someone on the inside.’
‘And if he had someone on the inside, he could easily have organized Leonard Hope’s abduction and murder.’
‘He did,’ said Bolt. ‘There’s no question of that. No one else could have pulled it off, and he’s got the resources.’
‘But you saw him in there. The guy’s as hard as rock. He’s not going to admit a thing, and you can bet he kept a long way from the whole affair.’
‘That’s as may be, but someone tortured Hope, and if we can lift some of the killer’s DNA from his corpse, we might strike lucky.’ But Bolt wasn’t at all sure he believed it. So far, SOCO hadn’t managed to secure any DNA from the murder scene that would point a finger at Hope’s killer, and once again he felt the familiar frustration that had haunted him throughout this whole inquiry.
He and Mo were silent as they drove through Hanzha’s perfectly manicured lawns and out of his grand estate.
Finally Mo said: ‘Even if we know Hanzha was responsible for Hope’s murder, that still doesn’t tell us what the DNA of a separate killer was doing at the Rowan house. Someone else was involved in the murder of George Rowan and Ivana Hanzha, but who?’
Bolt sighed. ‘I still think we’re looking at this the wrong way. It was odd what Hanzha was saying about Amanda Rowan, wasn’t it? You know, talking sarcastically about how resilient she was.’
Mo looked startled. ‘You don’t think she did it, do you, boss?’
‘No, but I’m beginning to wonder if she knows more than she’s letting on. Now seems a very opportune moment to pay her a visit.’
It was only a few minutes after the two detectives had left that Keogh called Vladimir Hanzha to tell him that the Amanda Rowan snatch had gone wrong.
Hanzha could barely contain his anger. This should have been an easy, straightforward job, but Keogh had managed to make a mess of things. Hanzha had warned him to make good his mistake or face the consequences but, in reality, he’d already decided to rid himself of the scar-faced Englishman. Keogh had worked for him for more than three years and, although he’d always been a loyal and competent employee, he knew far too much about his boss for Hanzha to allow him to retire in peace. Keogh was going to have to disappear, especially now that the police had his name.
It didn’t surprise Hanzha that the police had suspicions that he was behind the abduction and murder of Leonard Hope. They would never prove it, though. The authorities in the UK were soft and tied up with all kinds of rules and regulations. A man with enough money and cunning could always stay one step ahead of them.
He put down the phone and walked back through the house, staring out of the window at the grounds of his estate in silence. For years he’d given his estranged daughter little thought, but since her murder she’d rarely been out of his mind, and he wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t as if he missed her – they hadn’t spoken in so long he had to work hard even to remember the sound of her voice. But she was still his daughter, and someone had taken her from him. Such an act made him lose face, and a man like Vladimir Hanzha couldn’t afford to lose face. He wanted revenge on those who’d crossed him.
And by the end of tonight he was going to get it.
Forty-two
Today 21.00
THE WIND BLEW hard across the exposed hills as Jess and Amanda trudged upwards towards the first of the rolling peaks.
Jess was shattered. Her legs felt like lead and her breathing was coming in short, hollow rasps. Once again, she checked the phone the stranger had given her. Once again, there was no reception. Pausing for a moment, she turned and looked back towards the long winding road as it disappeared into the distance. Behind the road, the forest spread like a great black carpet as it arched down towards the river. Casey was in there somewhere, lost and alone. The thought made Jess’s heart lurch. She felt sick that she was leaving Casey to fend for herself, and furious that she couldn’t get a phone signal, however high she climbed. What was wrong with this place? It was like the fucking Stone Age . . .
‘Are you okay?’ asked Amanda, stopping a few yards above her.
Jess put her hands on her hips and lowered her head, trying to get her breath back. ‘I just need a couple of minutes, that’s all. Then I can keep going.’
‘It’s not that much further to the top. Then it’s all downhill into Tayleigh.’
‘I need a signal on this phone. There must be somewhere round here I can get one.’
Amanda came down and stood beside her. ‘We should be able to get a signal at the top of the hill and, even if we can’t, we’ll be in Tayleigh in just over an hour if we move fast.’ She paused and put a hand on Jess’s shoulder. ‘Look, I know you’re worried about Casey, but she’ll be okay.’
Jess moved away from her. ‘How do you know?’ she demanded.
‘Because it’s me they seem to be after. You know, if you want, you can wait here. I can take the phone, and as soon as I get a signal, I’ll call for help.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ said Jess. There was no way she was going to give up the phone to anyone, not when it was her and Casey’s lifeline. She sat down in the long grass behind a gorse bush, feeling a wave of exhaustion.
Annoyingly, Amanda sat down next to her. ‘Casey’s not your real sister, is she?’ she said.
‘She’s totally my real sister,’ snapped Jess. ‘Not by blood, maybe, but she means everything to me.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, you know—’
‘My skin colour.’
Amanda nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what made me say it. I just wanted to talk, that’s all.’ She gave Jess the kind of earnest, patronizing look that a couple of the younger teachers at college liked to give her, as if the fact that she was mixed race made her somehow special, rather than just like everyone else. It annoyed her when they did it, and it annoyed her now.
She sighed. ‘I was adopted at seven. Before that, I had a shitty childhood – more shitty than someone like you could imagine. Then I had a happy childhood until first my mum died, then my dad. Casey moved up here, and I stayed at home in London. That’s it. My story. Satisfied?’
Amanda turned away, hanging her head down between her knees. ‘I’m sorry I asked,’ she said.
Jess didn’t bother replying. She had no desire to be this woman’s friend, not after everything she’d brought down on them.
There was a silence before Amanda spoke again. ‘I didn’t want any of this, you know. I just want to be happy like everyone else. I drifted for a lot of my life, got involved with the wrong sort of men, and then finally settled down and married a man who said he truly loved me. Only it turned out I wasn’t enough for him. He takes a lover, brings her to our own home when I’m not there, and ends up being murdered along with her, and I walk in on the scene. I almost get killed . . .’ She lifted her bandaged arm. ‘And now, three weeks later, having been forced to leave my home forever, I end up being hunted by men I’ve never even seen before. And the worst thing is, I have no idea why they’re doing it.’ She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. ‘No idea at all.’
Jess softened. She’d never been any good at staying angry with people, whoever they were. ‘I didn’t mean to snap,’ she said.
‘It’s okay. I know how hard it is for you, I really do. I’ve lost my husband and my home. Everything I ever strived for.’
‘You don’t have kids?’
Amanda shook her head wistfully. ‘Sadly not. We tried. It just didn’t work out for u
s.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jess, who’d always wanted kids. Four in all. Two of each.
‘That’s just the way it goes sometimes,’ Amanda said with a shrug of her shoulders, but there was disappointment in her voice.
Neither of them said anything for a few moments, but then Jess felt a sudden need to speak. ‘I saw my birth mother murdered,’ she said, not really knowing why she was telling this complete stranger her dark secret, when she’d rarely spoken about it to anyone. ‘I was six years old.’
Amanda stared at her. ‘Jesus.’
‘I was upstairs in bed and I heard my mum arguing with her boyfriend. They were screaming at each other, like they often did, then I just heard my mum gasp and cry out. I can still remember the exact sound she made now.’ Jess paused, shutting her eyes tightly, remembering the terror of that night. ‘I was really scared, but I went into the lounge anyway, because I wanted to see if my mum was okay, and there he was standing over her, and he had his hands round her neck, and he was squeezing and squeezing. I could see my mum’s face. It was turning blue and her eyes were sticking out like they were on stalks, and she was making this horrible, rasping sound. He didn’t even hear me come in. He was just looking down on my mum the whole time with his face screwed up with this expression of just total rage . . .’ She stopped, the memory hitting her like a blow to the head. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I was standing there watching, because I think I was so shocked. Then, the next thing I remember, I ran in and grabbed his arm, yelling and trying to stop him, and he turned and looked at me, and there was this total hate in his eyes, like he was possessed by the devil or something. He punched me in the face. I remember that. It didn’t even hurt, it just felt like this massive shock, and then I was flying backwards. I think I must have been out cold for a bit because the next thing I knew he was gone and my mum was just lying there.’ She frowned, aware of how cold and factual she was making it sound, clinical almost, when in reality it had been anything but. ‘She was dead. I tried waking her up. I shook her. I cried. But she was gone, and eventually I went to the neighbour’s flat, knocked on the door, and told them what had happened.’
Amanda swallowed audibly. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered.
‘You don’t have to say anything. I told you because, before tonight, it was the most scared I’d ever been. Casey’s only a few years older now than I was then, and I know she’s going to be just as scared out there, and it makes me feel so bad that I’m not there with her.’
‘Come on then,’ said Amanda, getting to her feet. ‘Let’s get to the top of this hill and see if we can get a signal.’ She helped Jess up and they continued their uphill trudge.
Five minutes later they’d reached the peak. It was bare and craggy with patches of heather and ferns dotted about, and the wind was even stronger. Jess knelt down behind one of the heather patches and checked the phone. It was showing a single bar and she felt a surge of excitement as she immediately dialled 999.
The phone rang twice before being picked up at the other end. But the line was cracked and virtually inaudible. Jess could just about make out the operator’s voice, but it was so faint she couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or a woman. ‘Hello? Hello?’ She shouted into the phone as a gust of wind blew hard across the peak, all but drowning out her voice.
The phone bleeped three times and went dead, and Jess dialled a second time, her fingers shaking as she found the call button. ‘Come on, come on,’ she whispered.
The phone bleeped again. Now it wasn’t even connecting, and when she checked the signal, it read No Service. She cursed angrily, holding it up and moving it around, trying desperately to get some kind of reception.
But it was no good. Somehow they’d lost it, and on the top of a fucking mountain of all places! Jess felt the tears come then – tears of frustration, anger, and sheer, blind grief.
‘It’s okay,’ said Amanda, coming over and putting out her arms. ‘It’s okay.’
This time Jess allowed herself to be held and cried into her chest while Amanda stroked her hair in silence.
But Jess wasn’t the type of girl to let weakness take her for long, and after a few seconds she moved out of the embrace and wiped her eyes. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘The sooner we get to Tayleigh the better.’
Amanda nodded. ‘I think there’s a farm somewhere in the next valley. Maybe we can get help there.’
They looked at each other for a long moment, just a few feet apart, and Jess felt a bond begin to form between them.
Then she turned away and started walking, not daring to look back towards the darkness of the forest, nor wanting to dwell on the fate that might have befallen her beloved Casey.
Forty-three
CASEY FOUND IT totally by accident. She’d been walking and running for miles through the forest, ever since the horrible man had tried to shoot her, which seemed ages ago now.
She’d been running away from him after she’d broken free while he’d been on the phone, and she remembered tripping up because she was going so fast at just the same time when the horrible man had fired his gun at her. She’d fallen flat on her face and had just lain there, thinking that she should pretend she was dead like they did in films sometimes, because he hadn’t hit her with the bullet and that maybe if he thought she was dead, he’d go away.
And he had too, but then almost straight away Casey had heard the noise of fighting going on behind her, and more shooting. So she’d got scared again and had got up and started running.
But she’d had no idea where she was going, or where the woods would end. And all around her there’d been lots of strange noises: rustlings in the bushes and the hooting of owls, as though they were warning someone of her presence. Shadows moved in the trees too, and Casey imagined there were all kinds of horrible creatures lurking about, like werewolves and vampires, looking for lost people like her to feed on, even though she was old enough to know that werewolves and vampires didn’t really exist.
But now she’d found the end of the forest. She’d come to a quiet road with hills rising up on the other side and, even better, a little house tucked away behind a hedge with its lights on.
Casey was shy about ringing on the bell, even though it was a pretty place with a brightly painted front door, and lots of plants growing up the walls, and best of all, smoke from a fire rising out of the chimney. She didn’t know the people who lived here. They might not let her in. And she didn’t want to have to talk to anyone about what had happened to her today. She just wanted to forget about it. She even thought about lying down and going to sleep in the shed she could see behind the gate in the back garden, and waiting until morning. But it was cold, and she was tired and hungry, and maybe the people who lived here would call the police, and then the police could come and rescue her and Jess, and the other lady, Amanda, who all the bad men were after.
The curtains were drawn so she couldn’t see inside, and she stood staring at the front door, which was painted bright red, for quite a long time before finally she got the courage to ring the bell.
After a few seconds, she heard footsteps moving slowly inside the house, then an old man’s voice asked: ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Casey,’ said Casey, leaning in close to the letterbox. ‘I’m lost, and I need to call the police. Could you let me in, please?’
The door opened a few inches behind a chain and a white-haired man in glasses with a friendly face, who looked a bit like Liz Warren’s grandad, stared down at her.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Gosh, you poor wee thing, you look frozen,’ said the man in his Scottish accent. He took the chain off the door, opening it wide so that a big breath of warm air wafted out over her. ‘Come inside. Come on, come on.’
Not needing a second invitation, Casey hopped through the door and the old man closed it behind her. ‘Whatever happened to you, wee bairn? Tell me while you get yourself warm in front of the fire.’
He led he
r through into a comfy sitting room. The TV was on, showing an old-looking drama, and there was a big, roaring fire blazing away with a chair next to it. He ushered her into the chair and she sat down with a smile, basking in the heat of the flames. Briefly, she told him what had happened to her today, still unable to quite believe it all herself. She didn’t even cry when she told him about Uncle Tim and Auntie Jean.
The old man had a kindly face, and he nodded as she spoke, saying things like ‘Oh dear’ and ‘Poor wee thing’, but she could tell by his expression that he didn’t entirely believe her. ‘It’s all true, I promise,’ she told him when she’d finished. ‘We need to call the police. Jess is still out there. She might be hurt.’
The old man smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll call the police. Now you look very hungry. Would you like something to eat?’
Funnily enough, she wasn’t hungry at all. Just thirsty. ‘Do you have any Diet Coke?’ she asked, because she was only ever allowed it as a special treat.
‘Och no, I don’t drink that stuff,’ the old man scolded. ‘I could make you a cup of tea, though.’
‘Water’s fine, please,’ said Casey, hiding her disappointment.
He got to his feet. ‘You wait there. I’m going to call the police, then I’m going to get you a drink.’
Casey watched him go, feeling safe for the first time that night.
In the kitchen, the old man replaced the phone receiver in its cradle, before pouring a glass of water from the tap for his surprise, but very welcome, guest.
In fact, he couldn’t believe his luck. This beautiful, innocent little thing was like a gift from God.
The old man’s name was Ronald Dewey, and it was nine years since his release from prison. In that time, he’d kept his nose clean and, although he would be on the sex offenders register for the rest of his life, he was now categorized as at low risk of reoffending. In fact, he’d almost forgotten about the beauty of little girls, since he saw them so rarely these days, and it had been almost two decades since lovely, sweet Morag. But now, seeing little Casey brought all the memories flooding back, and he felt a hot flush washing over him.
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