On the Hunt

by Kerry J Donovan

  “Yes. Yes, that’s right.”

  “Did he touch you?”

  She shook her head, lowered her eyes to the giraffe. “Only to grab my arm and push me into the bathroom. He let me take some fresh clothes from the closet first.”

  “After that?”

  “I showered and changed and we came back downstairs.”

  “And your injuries?”

  Again, she shook her head. “Th-That happened later. When we came back here, the other man, Vadik, was asking Robbie questions, but Robbie was refusing to answer.”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “Work stuff. Dates and schedules. Bank account passwords. I-I don’t have anything to do with Robbie’s business. That financial stuff goes right over my head.” She swallowed, and the accompanying grimace suggested it hurt. “I just take care of the house and the gardens. I’m doing an online course on interior design.” Distractedly, she waved her hand around the room. “This is my work.”

  “Very nice,” Danny said, not knowing what else to say. “So, your husband refused to answer the man’s questions?”

  “Yes, he claimed to have no idea what Vadik was talking about. That’s when … that’s when the pig started … started hitting me.”

  Danny ground his teeth together and clenched his hands into fists. If he hadn’t already done so, he would have returned to the entrance hall and introduced Nemeth to the steel toecaps on his boots.

  “I was a mess. Screaming. Blood everywhere. Robbie begged them to stop. Promised to tell them everything. Then I must have passed out.”

  “You lost consciousness?”

  “Y-Yes. Woke up in bed, panicking. Could hardly breathe. Robbie was with me. They’d locked us in our bedroom. He was crying. Telling me how sorry he was for what they’d done. I tried to … to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but I-I couldn’t catch my breath. My nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. I was gagging. Blinding headache. Never been so scared.”

  She stopped talking again, breathing deeply through her mouth, panting.

  “Do you need a break? Would you like a cuppa?”

  She nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes please.”

  “Kitchen’s that way, right?” Danny pointed through the door he’d already used twice. “Through the hall?”

  “Yes. H-How did you know that?”

  “I’m a good guesser. Come on.”

  Danny stood, closed the gap between then, and held out his hand. She looked up at him and hesitated a moment before taking it in a firm grip. He helped her up and released her hand only when certain she wouldn’t topple over.

  “Before we go, can you tell me where the man took your husband?”

  “They’ve gone to the office. Vadik said Robbie needed to be at work on time as normal. Something about … nothing could interfere with the exchange. Whatever that means. As I said, I don’t really have much of an involvement with the business. Don’t know what they were talking about, but …” She sighed and stopped talking.

  “But?”

  Her eyes locked with Danny’s for the longest time since he’d burst in to the house.

  “There was something … I don’t know. Something strange about the way Robbie acted.”

  “Strange? In what way?”

  “Well, he kept telling me how sorry he was. How everything was all his fault.”

  “Because you were attacked?”

  “No … yes. Well, sort of. But it was more than that. The way Robbie and Vadik acted together. It was almost as though they knew each other before we were taken hostage.”

  Danny nodded but didn’t know what to say. The whole situation kept getting stranger, more complicated. He needed to dig deeper, but Marian looked about ready to collapse onto the settee again and he’d promised her a cuppa.

  “How long does it normally take your husband to get to work?”

  “This time of the day, over an hour. Traffic can be terrible.”

  “Are you expecting a call when they arrive? I mean, is this Vadik character going to check in with Nemeth?”

  She shrugged. “I-I don’t know. They didn’t mention a call. Vadik just told Nemeth to guard me until they got back this afternoon. Told him to keep his hands off me, too. The pig looked disappointed, but promised to do as he was told.” She shuddered, probably at the thought of spending most of the day alone in the house with the bastard who’d done so much damage to her already.

  Danny nodded. They had time. Maybe not long, but hopefully enough.

  “So, are you ready for that cuppa?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  He took her hand again and led her through to the kitchen, trying to block her view of the splodge he’d left behind the staircase, but she stopped and took a long look at the man who’d attacked her.

  “Sorry for messing up your décor, but I imagine the tiles will scrub clean.”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t started in the hall yet. The house is still a work in progress. The entrance looks like a mausoleum. We’ve been decorating, room by room, from the top down. My God, you don’t think I designed this monstrosity, do you?”

  Danny shook his head. “Of course not.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been proven wrong that day, and he didn’t mind lying to hide yet another mistake.

  “If I was wearing shoes and not these slippers,” she said, lifting her foot, “I’d go over there and kick his head in some more.”

  “And I’d do nothing to stop you,” Danny said, delighted to be telling the truth once more.

  She took over and led the way into a bright, modern kitchen.

  “Tea or coffee?” she asked, filling the kettle from a chromed tap that looked as though it might have cost Danny a week’s pay. The kitchen was an understated blend of creams and greys, with the occasional burst of sunshine yellow. Minimalist modern. Airy. Nice.

  “Coffee please. Did you design the kitchen?”

  She smiled beneath the nose splint. “I did. You like it?”

  “I do. It’s sleek. Elegant.”

  “Thank you. That’s what I was going for.”

  Danny made his way to the full-length French doors overlooking the manicured gardens. If he’d craned his neck hard enough, he might have been able to spot where he’d spent most of the night.

  He watched Marian’s reflection as she fussed over the brewing process. In her kitchen, doing normal things, she seemed to draw out of herself. It relaxed her, made her more composed.

  After setting aside the coffee pot, she turned and leaned her back against the counter.

  “Thanks for giving me time,” she said. “Now, where was I?”

  Danny grimaced. “Upstairs in bed, struggling to breathe.”

  Chapter Four

  Wednesday 3rd May – Danny Pinkerton

  Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

  “Y-Yes, that’s right,” Marian whispered, struggling to maintain control. “I was drowning in my own blood. I-I thought I was going to die.”

  “Must have been horrible,” Danny said, imagining her terror.

  As a former member of the Special Boat Service, he’d been close to drowning often enough to sympathise with her. Yes, he’d also suffered injury and battled through to the other side. The difference between the two of them was that Danny had undergone training to help him cope with the physical and mental effects of battlefield stress and trauma. Marian, on the other hand, was a woman whose whole life revolved around personal comfort and interior design. She’d been totally unprepared for the horror. However, here, standing in the kitchen she’d designed, she could begin the recovery. A recovery that could only continue if Danny helped extricate her and Robbie P from the danger they’d fallen into.

  Although, how the hell he could accomplish such a feat on his own … but he wasn’t alone. Not entirely.

  “It was awful,” she said, folding her arms into a hug. “I tried lying down, sitting up, standing. Nothing seemed to help. Robbie was beside himse
lf. Crying, screaming at them for help. I must have lost consciousness again, because I woke in the passenger seat of the car. Vadik was driving. He told me they’d made a deal. Robbie would behave himself if they took me to hospital.”

  “You were lucky to get into the Aspire.”

  She shook her head gently. “Not really. We pay a fortune for private health insurance. Our carrier agreed to pay for the emergency surgery. The Aspire is the nearest hospital with a private surgical ward, and they always seem to have spare capacity … so long as there’s enough money to pay for the treatment.”

  “Usually the way,” Danny said, trying for noncommittal.

  Marian continued. “The surgeon stopped the bleeding and rebuilt my nose. They wanted to keep me in overnight, but Vadik forced me to discharge myself. The nurses gave me a prescription for pain killers and some fresh dressings. Then they made me sign a disclaimer before letting me go.”

  She paused long enough to pour out their drinks and handed Danny an elegant cup and saucer. He ignored the saucer and held the cup around the body for fear of breaking the impossibly delicate-looking handle.

  “We got back here early yesterday evening and they kept us locked in the bedroom overnight. They took our phones and threatened us with dire consequences if we made a noise or kicked up a fuss.”

  Danny tasted his coffee. Strong and black. The way he liked it, only in far less volume. Two more tiny sips and he drained it. She added cream and brown sugar to hers and sipped delicately, taking care to avoid jogging the nose splint.

  “Do you have any idea what they’re after?”

  She drank a little more before lowering the cup and setting it, and the saucer, onto a coaster. “None. As I said, I don’t have a clue about the business. Robbie and I tend to keep a good work-life separation. I have my studies and my volunteer work, and he has his company and his golf. But … come to think of it, things have been different lately.”

  “In what way?”

  She paused long enough to refill Danny’s cup, but not her own.

  “Difficult to say, really. Robbie’s been tense for months. Travelling abroad unexpectedly. Missing social engagements. Staying late at the office and leaving for work even earlier than normal. I tried talking to him about it. Told him I was worried, but he just laughed it off. He said I was imagining things. Typical of Robbie.” She took a long, faltering breath before continuing. “He tries to protect me from the difficult stuff. Robbie thinks I’m an airhead, incapable of working things out for myself, but …”

  Tears filled her eyes again but she held them back, sniffled, and carried on.

  “Even though Robbie doesn’t want to admit it, I think the business has been struggling. Trade with Europe has dropped because of that political nonsense with the EU, and the transport industry has always struggled to cope with change. Robbie’s been trying to diversify, find new routes, acquire new businesses, but it’s been a real struggle. At least, I think it has.”

  She reached for her drink, but instead of picking it up, she cradled the little cup tightly in both hands as though for warmth.

  The reason for Prentiss Haulage Limited’s expansion into Hungary suddenly became clear. As did the presence of Csaba Nemeth and Vadik Pataki. It seemed that Robbie P had climbed into bed with the wrong people and the consequences had shown themselves in Marian’s injuries.

  Danny would have liked to allow the silence to stretch out for a little while but, with Robbie P under the control of a Hungarian hard man, time didn’t tick slowly, it fairly galloped along like one of Mike’s thoroughbred horses. He cleared his throat to gain her attention.

  “These people are taking one hell of a risk. Abduction, false imprisonment, assault and battery. If they’re caught, they face serious prison time. Whatever they’re doing, must be worth the risk. Big money in it. About that phone call Vadik took. Were there any others?”

  “Yes. He took three yesterday and another this morning. And before you ask, he left the room each time. I didn’t hear anything. Not that I’d have been able to understand what he was saying.”

  “Did Vadik have an accent? Was he Hungarian, like Nemeth?”

  “Difficult to say. I didn’t really notice one. If anything, he spoke too well. Too precisely. It was like he was trying too hard.”

  “Like he was using a telephone voice?”

  The merest hint of a smile made its way to her lips, but it disappeared in an instant. Smiling must have hurt.

  “Yes, that’s right,” she managed through yet another wince. “My mother used to call it ‘minding your Ps and Qs’. Does that help?”

  Danny shrugged. “Dunno. Might do. Any information you can provide could prove useful. Now don’t be worried. I’m not going to be speaking to myself, but I need to call someone.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Despite my rather inelegant appearance, it might surprise you to learn that I actually have friends. I’m not working totally alone.”

  For the first time since entering the house, Danny tapped the arm of his glasses. “You there, Corky? Over.”

  “Yep. Corky’s been earwigging everything. Seems like you got the old ‘abusive hubby’ angle dead wrong, eh?”

  Marian pressed herself harder against the kitchen surface and slid away.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked, clear agitation in the words.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs Prentiss.” He turned his head and pointed to his ear. “I’m wearing an earpiece. On the other end of the line is one of the greatest technical wizards the world has never seen. At least that what he keeps telling us all.”

  Danny winked and the tension in Marian’s shoulders eased. She relaxed enough to return to her earlier spot and pick up her coffee cup even though it rattled in its saucer.

  “Oi! Corky heard that.”

  “I know, Corky. Over.”

  “And it happens to be true!”

  “I know that, too, Corky. Over.”

  “So, what’s it you want from this here great tech wizard, then?”

  “I imagine you’re running a check on Vadik Pataki, assuming that’s his real name. He’s the guy who drove Mr Prentiss from the house this morning? Over.”

  “Oh, so it’s ‘Mr Prentiss’ now, not ‘Robbie P’?”

  “As you can see, I’ve got company. Given how wrong we were about this situation—”

  “Oi, Corky weren’t wrong about nothing. You was the one who got all hot under the collar about him being a wifebeater. Too sensitive by half, you was. Too quick to judge.”

  “Okay, Corky. Point taken. Definitely my mistake. So, what’s the answer? Do you have an ident or not? Over?”

  “Do you want to include Mrs P in this conversation?”

  “It might be easier for her to see and talk to you, but I don’t have a spare earpiece. Over.”

  “That don’t matter. Pop back to the TV room and don’t forget them coffees.”

  “Have you found a way to hack into the house’s security system? Over.”

  Corky chuckled. “Not exactly. When you was talking to Mrs P in the front room, Corky noticed they have a smart TV, linked to the web. Didn’t take Corky long to isolate the signal and hook in. There ain’t that many satellite receivers in Amber Valley. See you in a tick.”

  “Mrs Prentiss, one of the quirkiest men on the planet has just consented to give you an audience. I hope you feel suitably honoured.”

  Marian raised one darkened eyebrow. “To be absolutely frank, Danny, I have no idea what to think.”

  At least she’d started to use his first name rather than run away, screaming. Progress indeed.

  “Understandable. Shall we go?”

  “Go where?”

  “Back to the lounge, or TV room, whatever you call it.”

  “It’s the salon.”

  ’Course it is.

  Despite Corky’s advice, he ignored the miniscule cups and escorted Marian back to the “salon”. This time, they didn’t spare any thought to the bloody
mess behind the staircase, which still hadn’t moved.

  Danny glanced down at the toecap of his right boot. There were no obvious signs of blood or skin, but the boots were finished. He’d seen enough forensics documentaries to know how difficult removing trace evidence from stitched leather boots could be. Overnight, he’d stuck thin transparent film over his fingerprints for the same reason.

  As expected, nothing had changed in the salon but the programme on the TV. Instead of the chatting couple, a single, scruffy-haired man with a round face and scraggy beard stared out from the huge screen. Fortunately, Corky had recently given up his habit of wearing garishly colourful Hawaiian shirts and had swapped them for slightly more sombre polo shirts. This one, in black, could have allowed him to pass unnoticed anywhere. A distinct improvement.

  The background showed a plain green wall to match the salon’s colour palette rather than Corky’s usual palm trees in front of a star-covered night sky. Corky was playing sensible for Marian’s benefit, and Danny appreciated his efforts.

  They sat, taking more centralised positions on the settee than earlier, and the impish little hacker smiled. He was either manipulating the colour contrast on the screen, or he’d had his teeth whitened recently. Danny guessed the latter, which would explain the improved dress sense. For the past few months, the team had been discussing the idea that Corky had found himself a proper girlfriend. The consensus decided that wonders would never cease.

  “Whatcha, Danny,” he said and turned to face the host. “Morning Mrs Prentiss. Corky’s really sorry to see what that arse—er, … what happened. Csaba Nemeth were a nasty piece of work, but you don’t need to worry about him. He ain’t breathing no more.”

  Marian’s hand shot up to her mouth. “He’s what? Oh my God.” She turned to face Danny, who stared back, unblinking.

  “Don’t go wasting no sympathy on Csaba Nemeth, Mrs P,” Corky continued. “He don’t deserve none of your tears. Corky’s been digging into the bastard’s background. Nemeth was doing hard time for people trafficking, child abduction, and sexual assault. Then the police found evidence of him killing a five-year-old girl and burning her body, after he’d spent three weeks … Well, Corky can leave the details to your imagination. It weren’t pretty. The evidence were overwhelming, DNA, witnesses, the lot. The police set up another trial, but it seems like the arsehole—’scuse my French—had powerful friends. During his transfer from the high security prison to the court, they sprung him. Killed a policewoman and shot two others in the process. One of them won’t never walk again.”