Grimly, he handed the telephone to Corby and watched her face go pale. She was speaking quietly into her own phone. “The phone techie, Mr. Pleasance, is on line two,” she said.
Reilly took the call in the next office, leaving his own office phone still ringing repeatedly, guarded behind a closed door by a silent Jane Corby. In as few words as possible, Reilly told the phone technician that he needed to trace a mobile telephone with the line open. The manager began to explain how it could be done, how the area was split up into cells, how each cell had its own transmitter. Depending on the strength of the signal, they could use a method called triangulation to get an exact location. Impatient, Reilly cut the man off. “I don’t want the details, this is an emergency. It may even be a matter of life and death.” Swallowing hard on his own fear, he injected urgency into the man on the other end of the line, and within minutes technicians were tracing the call signal from Ellie’s line, muted and kept open through Reilly’s direct office line. Others worked on amplifying and clarifying the sounds on the other end of the line while being careful not to do anything that would reveal the secret of the open line to listeners in Ellie’s vicinity. In what seemed like eons to Reilly, but was only minutes, they had confirmation that the call was coming in from Ellie’s mobile unit, and a rough estimation of the area she was in. They also confirmed that she was probably in a fast-moving vehicle.
In a surprisingly short time, computer technicians specializing in tracking techniques arrived and set up their equipment. Watching them, Jane Corby caught Reilly’s eye and she whispered, “I wish there was some way we could let her know that we understood and we’re trying!”
Reilly nodded, but he knew as well as everyone else in the room that whatever was happening to Ellie could be made a whole lot worse if they tried to contact her. So the minutes ticked by with officers passing through the office with files and message slips, and telephone technicians working keyboards and studying printouts, or muttering to colleagues on hastily installed extra lines.
And Liam Reilly, who hadn’t been to church since his brother’s wedding, and rarely before that, found himself pacing his office and praying with an intensity that he had never before experienced.
Resort to Murder
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ellie told herself it was the unseasonable change in the weather that made her shiver. The lie was better than admitting to the clammy fear that crawled over her like a venomous reptile as she walked down the deserted street with Richards’ arm around her. She knew an innocent observer might think they were lovers seeking a little privacy, which no doubt many had found in the rows of abandoned terraced houses.
She knew, too, that if any of these violent men suspected for a moment the desperate trick she was trying to play with the cell phone, both she and Richards’ would be dead long before help could arrive. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, the idea of dying in these derelict homes at the hands of the same thugs who had ruined her life once already. Richards had forced her to drive while he’d slumped beside her, close enough to be menacing, the knife concealed in his sleeve as he growled out directions. She’d managed to repeatedly press the redial/endcall buttons of her cell phone under cover of darkness. Would her colleagues recognize her cry for help, or would they just assume there was a fault on the line?
Now they were out of the car and she couldn’t reach her phone without arousing Richards’ suspicions. She left the line open, hidden under her jacket, and prayed her message would be received and understood. She was relying on Reilly’s keen intelligence; her life literally depended on him now and on her colleagues’ fast, considered actions. Her stomach roiled as she thought how little time they might have left, although Richards seemed to have deluded himself that everything would be fine. Ellie brushed a hand across her forehead, briefly massaging the lines of anxiety engraved there. Only a fool would go into this situation looking serene, and the men she was to meet would expect—even enjoy—any sign of fear she showed. She clutched the crumpled envelope containing the tape tightly in her left hand and struggled to keep her wits despite the fear that crowded her mind as Richards pushed open the battered red-painted door of a deserted house.
The door was just a few planks with a hole where glass had been. Shreds of lace curtain still dangled in a sad testimony to someone’s attempt to make this a home before urban renewal. Yet the door opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges, making no sound in the stillness of the abandoned streetscape. Fear scrambled on chilly rat-feet up Ellie’s spine to lodge in her throat. Not even a stray cat or mongrel dog wandered in search of supper or shelter on this clear cool night. Then Jay pushed her roughly over the threshold and into the dank and fetid interior.
Looking back into the blackness of the night as the door shut, she comforted herself with the thought that out there were experts in this type of police work, tough, seasoned officers who were already planning her rescue. And out there was Reilly. She simply had to stay alive long enough. And on that thought, taking a deep breath to quiet her pounding heart, she plunged ahead into the black well of the house.
She hadn’t moved more than a few feet from the front door when rough hands grabbed her, almost pulling her off her feet and pressing her against a strong body. An arm in a rough, sour smelling sweater went around her throat, choking her, and fear beat out an erratic rhythm in her ears as a beer-tinged voice warned her to be quiet—or else.
“Ellie Fitzpatrick?” he asked. She could only nod. The arm around her throat allowed only enough space for her to gasp in a shuddering breath. Then revulsion and disgust took over as another set of large male hands began to rove over her body, roughly searching her but also taking personal excursions that made her shudder.
“Don’t worry, love,” another voice chuckled in her ear, “It’s just a bit of touchy-feely. I like ‘em a bit younger than you—and I never did have a taste for pig-meat.” The last few words were loaded with contempt and Ellie gagged and struggled against the arm that was choking her. The cruel chuckle came again, and the same voice cautioned her, “I wouldn’t rub up against my buddy here too much, though—he doesn’t have my sensibilities. Hump anything, he will.”
But her captor seemed satisfied with the search, and Ellie allowed herself a tiny choked gasp of relief. His fumbling and groping had missed her cell phone. She was shoved into the rear room, once the kitchen and dining room of the house, and dumped unceremoniously on a shaky wooden chair. A single bright flashlight was angled to shine directly into her face, and she screwed up her eyes reflexively against the glare. The room was densely silent but Ellie’s quivering senses picked up the malevolent presence hidden behind the light. She coughed and rubbed her neck, playing for time as her mind raced, trying to figure out escape scenarios. She heard Richards’ cry of protest as he was knocked to the floor. Then she winced at his gasp of pain as a steel-toed boot caught him cruelly in the gut. But she had no time to dwell on her treacherous colleague’s condition. She had her own worries.
“Lift your shirt.” The voice, heavy with a Leeds accent, came from the utter darkness behind the light. Ellie strained her eyes but could see nothing.
“What did you say?” she croaked, anger and fear mixing in her tone, her flesh still quivering with the loathing that had raged through her when the other thug had run his hands over her so intimately.
“She’s not wired, believe me, I checked—closely.” Ellie’s cheeks burned with rage and humiliation as unseen others sniggered at the innuendo.
“Pull up your shirt. I want to be certain, or this goes no further.”
Reluctantly, fingers shaking, Ellie pulled up the soft silk shirt, shivering as the cold air hit her sweat damp skin.
“She’s clean,” a voice said. Ellie could no longer see anyone in the room; her sight lost to the glaring lamp. She heard a muffled groan, testimony that Richards was at least still alive. But whether they both lived or died would depend on her skill at fencing with her captors—and on the intelligence,
training and imaginations of the countless men and women who even now would be searching for them. And on Reilly. The thought of him was comforting even as her stomach fluttered with fear.
“You have it?” the voice from behind the lamp asked.
“Have what?” Ellie asked, still playing for time. But a hard hand crashed across her cheek, leaving a stinging pain and a seeping purple blackness spilling across her eyes. She shook her head to clear it, tasted warm blood against her teeth. A string of it leaked from her swollen lips, turning cool on her chin.
“Don’t play silly beggars with me, lass—I’ve had smarter ones than you for breakfast,” the rough, arrogant voice warned.
“I have a video tape. I haven’t seen it,” Ellie said, surprised by the strength in her own voice, considering it came from a body that was shivering almost uncontrollably.
“Yeah, right.” The harsh voice conveyed its disbelief, and Ellie’s heart sank. If these men thought for one moment that she knew anything that would identify them, she was dead for sure.
****
Reilly chafed impatiently in the confines of the unmarked van as technicians fiddled with dials to magnify the sounds traveling through the air from Ellie’s cell phone. The young, bespectacled man from the telephone company suddenly straightened and gave Reilly a thumbs-up sign, his grin broad. But the pleasure on his face quickly faded as the voices, magnified to greater clarity, filled the van.
The technicians had used their magic to ensure that no telltale sounds traveled back to Ellie’s phone, grimly acknowledging that anything that would alert her captors could sign her death warrant. They could, however, amplify the sounds around Ellie and Reilly heard the threatening voices, and he winced as blows sounded and someone groaned. It was all he could do not to scream his rage out loud.
****
“So, bitch, you say you haven’t seen this?” the voice mocked from behind the light. “And why should I believe that?”
Ellie knew he was playing with her, enjoying her fear. It gleamed in his voice like bright raw steel. But that was all right. The longer he played with her, the better. The more time the others had to find her. But none of this reasoning was in her voice.
“Because you are an intelligent man,” she replied, holding his attention. Fear still tingled through her words, which pleased the man behind the light enormously.
“Yes, yes, I am. A lot smarter than you lot give me credit for—and a lot richer than any of you are ever likely to be.”
“Yeah, rich off the sweat of ordinary, decent working people.”
“Shut up, pig!” A hand came down across her face a second time, and Ellie felt the warm flow of blood from her nose. Crazily, she wondered how a phrase used by political radicals in the U.S. to describe police had come to be used by sordid petty criminals in England, but her thoughts cleared and she kept silent. The yellow envelope was roughly snatched from her fingers—she hadn’t realized she was holding it so tightly, a talisman against the coming darkness. She heard the envelope rip as the tape was dragged out and examined.
“Yep, this looks like a security camera tape, the original,” the voice behind the light said.
“Let’s hope it’s the only copy,” another voice muttered from the shadows.
“Who else has seen this?” The man Ellie judged to be the gang leader, the one who had stayed out of sight, demanded.
“I told you. No one. I haven’t seen it; I didn’t even know it existed until this afternoon when…” Ellie clamped down hard on her lip, the pain of her teeth sinking into the already bruised flesh catching her in time. She had almost revealed to these animals that Siri Patel had told her about the tape’s existence—and to do so could have had deadly consequences for the Patel family.
“You were saying?” the voice questioned dangerously. This man was sharp—he’d picked up on her hesitation. He knew there were words she had bitten back.
Ellie’s brain, fogged with fear, suddenly cleared.
****
Reilly could hear much of what was going on around Ellie now, thanks to the magic of communications technology. Tension zinged through him, his hands clenched so tightly in his need for action that his nails scored his palms; but he didn’t notice the pain or the blood that was warm on his hands. His only thought was for Ellie, the fear in her voice and the courage with which she faced her captors. The courageous bright spirit that had drawn him to her.
Torn between his own need to get out into the night and hunt for Ellie and the cold knowledge that this was one time when he had to play by the rulebook, he thought he would explode. He wanted to raise his face to the moon overhead in the darkening night, and howl like a wounded animal.
The telephone techie tapped him on the shoulder and Reilly whirled around. The kid—he seemed little more than that to Reilly - was holding a sheet of paper with some fancy computer triangulation details on it, and he offered it to Reilly with a grin of triumph. A grin which evaporated under Reilly’s impatient glare.
“Just tell me where?” the Superintendent snapped, pushing the details aside as he leaned over to tell the driver of the task force’s mobile communications unit that they were on the move.
The computers had narrowed it down to a small area of terraced houses, a demolition site. They arrived in minutes and Reilly signaled the rest of the team to stand by. He took Colin Peterson and Anwar Singh, two trusted, armed veterans, with him.
“Look for anything, anything at all that might signal human presence. Maintain radio silence. If you find anything, don’t try to be a hero. Let everyone else know and we’ll go in together,” he whispered grimly. “I mean that. Heroics could get someone killed. These guys are playing for keeps and they’re probably armed.” The others nodded their understanding then glided off into the night on the routes they’d been allocated. Reilly considered his own plan for a moment, assessing the lay of the land, then moved off silently as a stalking tiger. In their black uniforms and balaclava helmets, the men melted into the shadows as if they had never existed.
Reilly’s only thought, as he plunged into the night, was, Please, God, don’t let us be too late.
****
But Ellie thought that maybe they would be too late because the man behind the desk was getting edgy, anxious to get out of there.
“This is taking too long, I don’t trust coppers—even bent ones like that scumbag down there,” he said conversationally. “So, you think you and the scumbag are the only ones who have seen this?”
“I told you, I haven’t seen it. I didn’t even know it existed until Richards pounced on me when I went home.”
“But you had the tape on you.”
“It was in an envelope with a whole bunch of other stuff. I was going to dump the lot in the trash because I thought it was all outdated. It was held over from when I was suspended from duty.” Ellie hoped the desperate need to keep him talking longer, to buy more time, did not sound in her voice.
Reilly, where are you? Her heart cried. She was desperately afraid.
****
Outside in the night, Reilly was sure he was close. He could almost hear Ellie calling him. But where was she? Then he saw it, the only house in the street with any kind of a door intact. Some sort of dark stuff like blackout curtains hung over the windows. Silent as a ghost, he slipped around behind the row of terraces, counting the doors as he went along until he saw what he was looking for. Visible only to eyes already accustomed to absolute darkness, but it was there: Thin lines of pale light escaped from a window covered with what looked like thick sacking. Reilly smiled grimly as he made whispered radio contact with the rest of his team. Then his hands tightened on his pistol grip and he made his way as stealthily as a night creature through piles of garbage and rubble to the rear door of the building.
****
“Ah, yes—did you enjoy the money we gave you for services rendered?” The voice was full of cruel laughter.
“I didn’t render any services to you,” Ellie
spat back.
“Not knowingly, I grant you that. But I do hope you enjoyed that ill-gotten cash. Because your time’s just run out. Pity you couldn’t leave things alone—you’ve done for both Richards and yourself. Get rid of them.” He snapped the order as casually as if telling someone to take out the trash.
Her heart leapt to her throat as she heard the unmistakable click of a safety catch. She heard the gang boss leave the room, heading toward the front of the building, but she knew at least one man, and probably two, remained. She waited, every muscle and nerve ending tense, wondering who they would go for first, wondering if she could do anything to save herself and Richards. She didn’t dare to make a sudden move, not when she was in the glare of the flashlight and they were still in darkness. Ellie tensed her legs, readying herself as a soft, cruel chuckle made her blood run cold. “Well, who shall we do first?” a voice asked.
“I reckon we should get rid of the bloke first—after all, he done her wrong, an’ all that. She should have the pleasure of seeing him done in before she gets hers.” The last voice spoke from farther away, somewhere near the door, Ellie guessed.
Now she had a set on the location of the two men in the room. Jay Richards lay at her feet, and when she heard a step as one of the men moved toward him, Ellie launched herself toward the desk, grabbing the heavy steel light and swinging it in a wide arc. A bone-jarring thud shuddered up her arm as the lamp connected with the head of the man nearest her—and she heard his heavy body crash to the floor as the room was plunged into darkness. That evened up the odds—now there were two of them, in pitch darkness.
“Johnny?” It was a questioning whisper, but enough for Ellie to place the other man. She hurled herself toward the voice, connecting solidly with her unseen target. The man grunted and swore, staggering backward as she hit and kicked out blindly. The roar of a gunshot deafened her as she continued her onslaught, punching and kicking as the thick male body retreated before her.
Resort to Murder Page 15
