Captor

by Anita Waller

  But now it felt different. There was no dumb waiter delivering anything, not for him, not for Jake.

  Phil spread out one of his blankets on the floor, put some toys on it and sat Jake amid them.

  ‘Hey buddy,’ Phil smiled, ‘playtime. You want porridge for breakfast?’

  The little boy grinned at him, his one tooth showing clearly. He picked up the set of plastic keys and threw them at his daddy. With a laugh, Phil threw them back.

  ‘Oh, if only these were real ones,’ he said. ‘If only, Jake.’

  Phil checked through the pouches until he found a porridge, screwed off the top and handed it to Jake. ‘I promise, Jakey, when we get out of here I’ll make you some real porridge, in a bowl, with a spoon that you eat it with. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with a pouch.’

  Jake didn’t care. He quickly finished off his breakfast, and Phil handed him a bottle of warmed milk. The small cooking stove warmed the air slightly, and Phil was reluctant to turn it off, but he only had three gas canisters left and no guarantees he would get more; he warmed his hands, then quickly turned off the gas before his brain could say leave it on for a bit.

  Jake drained all his milk, and threw down the bottle. Phil picked it up and carried it across to the small washbasin. He washed it as well as he could, and stored it in what he called his pantry, the heavy-duty cardboard box the nappies had been in when they arrived.

  Phil looked across at the dumb waiter; had he slept through its arrival? Had it been taken back up without his knowledge?

  For the second time he moved across and opened the small cupboard door. Nothing.

  Jake pulled a small, bright yellow, play computer towards him, and hit assorted keys with his tiny fingers. A is for… here we go round… N is for… the number three… here we go round… how many elephants…

  Phil turned, leaned against the cupboard door, and watched as his son played. He had tried desperately to keep Liz out of his mind, but every day he had physical proof that she was still as firmly embedded in his heart as she had ever been. He couldn’t begin to imagine the devastation she must be feeling, not knowing where Jake was, and he knew he would give up his own life to save their son, to get him back to her.

  He straightened up and felt the room go slightly out of kilter. Food. He needed food. He had to remain healthy for Jake. He looked at the meagreness of his supplies, and once again panic threatened to override everything. He ate half a sandwich, then snapped open the chocolate bar. He removed one small chunk and bit down on it, saving a small piece for Jake.

  ‘Here, Jake. Try this, but don’t tell Mummy I gave it you,’ Phil smiled. ‘I’m not sure how she’ll feel about you having chocolate.’

  Jake ran his tongue around it, took it out of his mouth, stared at it for a moment, and popped it back in.

  ‘That settles that,’ Phil laughed at his son. ‘We don’t tell Mummy. What happens in the cellar, stays in the cellar. High five, Jake,’ and he held up his son’s hand as they shared their sweet secret. Chocolatey secret.

  42

  ‘Tibby! Tibby!’

  May Fraser hadn’t felt this worried since Fred had walked out on her all those years earlier. Where the hell had Tibby got to? In the fifteen years he had lived with her, first arriving as a tiny kitten bought to replace the errant husband, he had never so much as left the back garden. For the past week, he hadn’t been well.

  She had asked neighbours to check their gardens and sheds, but he had neither arrived home, nor been reported as a lifeless body. She was on day three without him, and fearing the worst. What had that young woman at number two said? Cats go away to die, if they’re ill.

  She didn’t want that for her Tibby, she wanted him at home with her, where she could give him a proper burial in her back garden, when the time came. The nearby wood had seemed the most logical area to search once she had covered the neighbours.

  ‘Tibby. Come to Mummy,’ she called, then mewed the sound that always brought him running for his food. She stood and listened, hoping to hear an answering mew. She rattled the small box of dried cat food she had brought with her – he recognised that sound, that should bring him back to her, if nothing else did.

  Creak…

  She whirled around. ‘Tibby? Is that you?’

  Creak…

  She stepped carefully around the tree roots, heading towards the sound.

  Creak…

  The wind was strong, although not as bad as the day before, but it was still raining. She hoped the sound was coming from Tibby. She navigated a tree, holding on to the trunk for support, and stepped into an even darker area.

  She didn’t scream. It took more than a swinging body to cause that reaction in her. And the poor fellow hanging there wasn’t going to hurt her.

  She took out the mobile phone given to her by her niece, tried to recall Siobhan’s words on how to use it, and hit the 9 button, three times.

  43

  ‘The lady over there, a Mrs…’ Lynda checked in her notebook, ‘Mrs Fraser, found him when she was trying to find her cat. He’s gone missing. The cat…’

  Brent smiled at her. He could hear the tension in her voice; the scene of crime was cold, dark and extremely wet. The body was on the ground and it was, without doubt, Oliver Hardwick. The tent had been erected over it in an attempt at preserving any forensic evidence, but he doubted much would have been saved. The body had clearly been out here for some time, in gale force winds and torrential rain.

  ‘Do you think he killed himself, sir?’ Lynda asked.

  ‘No idea. Looking at the set up, I would say yes, but that could so easily have been staged. We’ll not pre-suppose, Lynda, we’ll wait for the experts to tell us whether it’s murder or not.’

  Brent was looking at a substantial evidence bag with a backpack in it. ‘We need them to get that back to the station, check what’s in it, and get it logged in. Then we can have it, see if there’s anything helpful to our investigation in it. The wallet in here,’ he held up a smaller bag, ‘indicates it is Oliver Hardwick. If it is murder, it wasn’t because of theft. There’s quite a bit of money in it, all his cards, a picture of Mrs Hardwick…’

  ‘The wallet was on him?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, in that pouch thing of his hoodie top. We had to check in that for ID, but I can’t open the backpack because I don’t want to contaminate any evidence. I’m hoping whatever is in it will be dry, not damaged by all this bloody rain. I’ll go and have a word with Mrs Fraser, get her escorted home and then we have the job of telling Mrs Hardwick. I want you with me, Lynda.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Lynda acknowledged his words, her face grim.

  Brent spoke briefly to May Fraser, asked one of the attending constables to take her home and make her a cup of tea, and returned to watch the white-overalled forensic workers assiduously doing their jobs.

  They stayed another quarter of an hour, then left the body removal to the people who knew how to do it. He and Lynda drove to Julia Hardwick’s home.

  She saw them arrive, watched as they parked four car lengths away from her front door, and went to meet them.

  ‘You’re wet through,’ she exclaimed, as they entered the hallway. ‘Let me get a couple of towels.’

  ‘No need, Mrs Hardwick. We’ll be fine. Can we go through to the kitchen, we don’t want mud on carpets.’

  She stared at them ‘You have news…’

  ‘The kitchen. Is it through here?’ and Brent led the three of them down the long hallway.

  ‘Please…’ Julia said, almost in a whimper.

  Brent waited until they were all seated. ‘We believe we have found your husband, Mrs Hardwick. I’m sorry, there’s no easy way – he is dead.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘No… did I hurt him that much?’

  ‘You’re assuming it’s suicide?’

  She let the words sink in. ‘What are you saying, exactly, DI Brent? Murder? Accident?’

  ‘I’m saying we don’t know. It looks
as though it could be suicide, but we still have to wait for forensics on it. We are sure it’s your husband though. We found his wallet in the front pocket of his hoodie.’

  She frowned, looked puzzled.

  ‘In what?’

  ‘He had on a dark grey hoodie, black joggers, trainers.’

  ‘But… unless he’s had a personality transplant, he’s not my husband.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My husband only ever wears suits. He doesn’t possess any leisure wear, not even jeans. When we go on holiday he takes shorts for during the day, lightweight suits for the evening. He wouldn’t be seen dead in joggers…’ and she stopped, all too aware of what she had said.

  The tears ran down her face, and Lynda reached out and grasped her hand. ‘I’ll make us all a cup of tea,’ she murmured.

  Julia’s head dropped to her arms, resting on the table. ‘And Jake? Liz’s baby,’ she mumbled, barely audible.

  ‘No, just your husband. We firmly believe Liz Chambers is being targeted, and Oliver’s death is a possible escalation.’

  The kettle started to hum; Julia’s mind went into overdrive. ‘Does Liz know?’

  ‘Not yet. Our priority was to notify you. We will need you to identify the body, possibly tomorrow. In the meantime, is there anybody we can call for you? You shouldn’t be alone.’

  ‘My sister, Catherine… I went to her when I first left Oliver. She’s speed dial 1 on my phone.’

  Brent nodded to Lynda as she handed out the mugs of tea, and she went down the hall in search of the phone. They heard her lowered voice as she explained the situation.

  ‘She’ll be here within the hour,’ Lynda said as she returned to the kitchen. They quickly finished their drinks, Julia not saying much, trying to take in the enormity of the situation.

  ‘We will need to speak with you, again.’ Brent stood to leave. ‘Ring me if anything occurs to you, but let your sister take care of you. I’ll go and see Liz and Tom Banton, so no doubt they’ll be ringing you later. Give yourself an hour’s break from it, before the rest of the world knows. I’m really sorry for your loss, Julia; I know you were separated, but he was still your husband.’

  She wiped away a tear. ‘I didn’t stop loving him, I stopped being able to live with him. He controlled me, controlled our lives. Which is why I’m querying the clothing you say he had on. That wasn’t the Oliver I’ve known for twenty years. If that Oliver had been around during our marriage, we would still have been together. Leaving him wasn’t a decision I took lightly. I had long conversations with Liz about it, and I suppose really it was her who gave me the courage to walk away. She basically said I had to be true to myself.’

  Julia followed them to the door, then closed it softly as they left.

  Lynda’s thoughts were racing. Liz had advised her friend to leave her husband, and Julia had acted on that advice.

  ‘Sir…’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say. It’s another link, isn’t it? Liz advises Julia to leave Oliver, and she sticks with that decision, doesn’t go running back to him at the first hurdle. She’s got a lovely home, all on her own; Oliver must have been resentful if Julia was silly enough to say “well Liz says”…’

  She frowned. ‘But it’s Oliver who’s dead.’

  ‘Then let’s pray Phil Latimer and Jake don’t quickly follow. I was dreading telling Julia Hardwick, but telling Liz Chambers is going to be worse. And that’s not because Oliver is dead, it’s because she’s going to make the jump to who’s next.’

  He put the car in gear and pulled out into the traffic. ‘Let’s go and get this over with, then we’ll head back to the station. I’ll tell Liz first, then I’ll ring Tom Banton.’

  ---

  Liz was horrified. Oliver dead? She stared at Brent, disbelief written across her face.

  ‘So, you no longer believe his disappearance is connected to Phil and Jake’s kidnapping? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that. We can’t form any theories until we hear from the pathologist. He will confirm time and manner of death. I didn’t want you to hear about this on the news, didn’t want you jumping to conclusions – which you are doing.’ He frowned at her. ‘We have no results yet, Liz. I can’t stress that enough. Nothing was clear at the site, apart from it was dark, wet and muddy. Our forensics people wouldn’t even speculate to me, they told me to go and they’d let me know as soon as possible, but would prioritise it.’

  She gave a huge sigh. ‘I’ll ring Julia. She’ll be devastated.’

  ‘Catherine should be with her now. Did you tell Julia to leave Oliver?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Liz, help me out here. I’m trying to make sense of this. If this death is murder, then all our previous thoughts still stand. If it’s suicide, which is how it’s meant to appear, then it brings into question Oliver’s mental state. And that, I suspect, would take it away from the investigation into Jake and Phil’s disappearance. So, I’ll ask again, did you tell Julia to leave Oliver?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t.’ God, how she disliked this man. ‘I told her to be true to herself, and to come out of his shadow. I didn’t even know she’d left him until I went back to work after maternity leave. They were both secretive about it. If she interpreted my words as I must leave him, then so be it. But that’s not what I said. I tried to empower her enough to stand up to him, not to walk away.’

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Lynda and Brent were on their way back to the station. Liz was in tears, wondering when all this was going to be over. So many tears. Oliver – dead. Unthinkable.

  And Tom. How would he react? Brent had asked her not to contact him for an hour, he needed to speak with him first. But she guessed Tom would take it badly. They were friends as well as business partners; he would take it very badly indeed. And he would, eventually, place the blame at her feet.

  ---

  Tom didn’t ring. He arrived at her front door, his face like thunder.

  ‘Tom, come in.’ Her voice was quiet.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘There are things going on that are coming to the surface, things involving Philip and Rosemary Latimer. Start talking, Liz.’

  ‘I had an affair with Phil.’ The statement was bald, uncompromising. ‘I loved him. I stopped it for two reasons – I was pregnant with his child, and I was putting my position at work in jeopardy. The main reason was Jake, though.’

  Tom stared at her. ‘Liz Chambers, you’re a bloody idiot. Why didn’t you come to me at the beginning? Did Oliver know?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. If he had known, I would have been finished, I suspect. There was no bending with Oliver.’

  ‘This takes us around in circles, then. Who did know?’

  ‘Nobody at the time. Phil told Rosie after we had split up.’

  ‘She knows? And she’s not been taken in for questioning?’

  ‘She has an unbreakable alibi for the time of the murders. I’ve gone over and over this in my mind. I can’t believe Oliver committed suicide. Why would he? Okay, Julia had left him and made it clear she wasn’t going back, but he would have got over that, eventually. He had a more than successful business with you… none of this makes sense. DI Brent is convinced I am the sole target, somebody wants to hurt me so badly, but I’ve even made a list, trying to work things out.’

  She reached into her bag and took out the small notebook. She opened it and handed her notes to him.

  He was quiet while he read them, and then looked up at her.

  ‘Julia? You think Julia killed Gareth and your childminder? How does Brent feel about that?

  ‘I haven’t said anything to him.’ Liz dropped her head. ‘It was an exercise in bringing my own thoughts into focus.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Julia has been my friend for years, Tom. How can I think that of her? How can I say to Brent that she could be holding my
baby because she doesn’t have any of her own, or she wants me to suffer for some reason? None of it makes any sense.’

  Tom reread her notebook and sighed. ‘This was why I became a solicitor, and not a policeman. You’re right, of course, none of it makes sense, and I’m sorry I was so damned angry when I arrived here. Maybe we should go have a chat with Rosie Latimer. Do you think that would help? This all seems to hinge around Phil Latimer. He disappears, and bad things start to happen.’

  ‘But the police have CCTV of whoever took Jake, and while nobody seems to know whether it’s a man or a woman, it definitely clears Phil. And you, for that matter.’

  ‘Me? You’ve seriously considered me?’

  ‘No, of course not, any more than I would seriously consider Oliver. But Phil is tall, he’s over six feet, and quite broad. That person pushing Jake down that road was slim, medium height… nobody would place either you or Phil in that category,’ she finished with a smile. ‘I’m going over and over everything, every day – it’s a proper living nightmare. And now losing Oliver…’

  Tom’s eyes dropped to the floor. ‘I have to go back to work and tell them. Karen knows, but I’ve asked her to say nothing. I think this needs to come from me. My God, Liz, he was such a good friend. What’s happened to him? Why has he done this?’

  ‘I don’t think Brent is convinced it was suicide. He kind of hedged his options when he was here. If it is murder, if somebody killed him and then hung him from that tree, it has to be whoever has Jake. But if it’s suicide, then why? After talking to Julia, I got the feeling that it was salvageable. I don’t believe for one minute that their marriage was finished. She still loves him, I know she does. He needed to soften, to stop the control. Julia’s not a child, she’s the same age as me, and he gave her no room to be herself.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I’m sure. So, we have to look further afield if it is suicide. Maybe he’s left a note.’