Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

'No. Thanks.'

For want of anything else to do I took another drink of whisky. 'I can't help feeling I brought this on somehow.'

'Come on, David, don't talk rubbish.'

'I should have seen it coming.' And perhaps I had, I thought, remembering Kara's warning in my dream. Be careful. But I'd chosen to ignore it.

'That's nonsense,' Henry snapped. 'Some things you just can't do anything about. You know that as well as I do.'

He was right, but knowing that didn't help. I stayed for another hour or so, the two of us sitting in silence for the most part. I nursed the rest of the whisky, refusing his attempts to pour any more. I didn't want to get drunk. Tempting as it was, I knew a fog of alcohol wouldn't improve anything. When I began to feel claustrophobic again I left. Henry was so obviously distressed at his inability to help that I felt sorry for him. But thoughts of Jenny didn't allow room for anything else for very long.

The police were going from door to door in yet another futile show of activity as I drove through the village. I felt an anger begin to burn as I watched them, methodically wasting yet more time. I carried on past my house, knowing I would find it no easier in there now than I had earlier. As I headed for the outskirts of the village I saw a group of men blocking the road. I slowed, recognizing most of their faces. Even Rupert Sutton was there, finally freed from his mother's apron strings, it seemed.

Standing in front of them all was Carl Brenner.

They all stared at the car, making no attempt to move as I leaned out of the window.

'What's going on?'

Brenner spat on the ground. His face was still bruised from the beating Ben had given him. 'Haven't you heard? There's been another one.'

I felt as if someone had physically punched me on the heart. If a fourth woman had been taken already it could only mean one thing: something had already happened to Jenny. Brenner went on, oblivious.

'The teacher from the school. He got her this afternoon.'

He said something else, but I didn't hear. Blood pounded in my head, deafening me as I realized he was delivering old news, not new.

'Where're you going?' he demanded, unaware of the effect of his words.

I could have told him. I could have explained, or invented some reason. But as I looked at him, jumped up with his new-found self-importance, I felt my anger swim into focus.

'None of your business.'

He looked taken aback. 'You going on a visit?'

'No.'

Brenner worked his shoulders uncertainly, like a boxer trying to summon his aggression. 'Nobody's getting in or out of here without telling us why.'

'What are you going to do? Drag me out of the car?'

One of the other men spoke up. It was Dan Marsden, the farmhand I'd treated after he'd been injured by one of the killer's traps. 'Come on, Dr Hunter, don't take it personal.'

'Why not? It seems bloody personal to me.'

Brenner had recovered his habitual aggression. 'What's wrong, doctor? Got something to hide?'

He made the word sound like an insult. But before I could say anything Marsden took hold of his arm.

'Leave him, Carl. He was a friend of hers.'

Was. I gripped the steering wheel as they stared at me with raw curiosity.

'Get out of the way,' I told them.

Brenner put his hand on the door. 'Not until you-'

I stamped on the accelerator, flinging him off. The men standing in front of me leapt aside as the Land Rover surged forward. Startled faces flashed by, and then I was past them. Their angry shouts came after me, but I didn't slow down. It wasn't until they were out of sight that my anger faded to the point where I could think clearly again. What the hell had I been thinking? Some doctor I was. I could have injured someone. Or worse.

I drove aimlessly until I realized I was heading for the pub I'd visited with Jenny only a few days earlier. I braked hard, unable to bear even the thought of seeing it again now. When a car horn blared behind me I pulled into the verge, waiting until it was past before turning around and heading back.

I'd been trying to outrun what had happened, but I knew now I couldn't. I felt exhausted as I drove back into Manham. There was no sign of Brenner or his friends. I resisted the temptation to either go to Jenny's or phone Mackenzie. There was no point. I would hear soon enough if anything happened.

I let myself into my house, poured myself a whisky I didn't want, and sat outside as the sun sank from the sky. My heart descended with it. Half a day had already passed since Jenny had been taken. I could tell myself that there was still hope, that whoever had her hadn't killed his other two victims straight away. But there was no comfort there. No comfort at all.

Even if she wasn't already dead – a possibility that gaped terrifyingly in front of me – we had no more than two days to find her. If her insulin deficiency hadn't pushed her into a coma by then, the faceless animal would kill her as he had Sally Palmer and Lyn Metcalf.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

After a while, the darkness stopped being absolute. There were pinpricks of light, so small that at first she thought it was her imagination. When she tried to focus on them they disappeared. It was only when she looked off to one side that they became visible – tiny specks like a horizontal plane of stars on the edge of her vision.

As her eyes adjusted, she found she was able to make them out more easily. Not just specks. Slits. Cracks of brightness. Before long she was able to discern that they weren't all around her. The light was coming from a single direction. She started to think of that as Front.

With that to guide her, Jenny gradually began to impose form and shape on the darkness surrounding her.

Waking had come slowly. Her head hurt with a dull, senseless throbbing that made any movement agony. Her thoughts were scrambled, but a terrible sense of dread goaded her from sinking back into unconsciousness. She thought she was back in the car park, only this time the taxi driver had put her in the boot of the car. She felt hemmed in, unable to breathe. She wanted to shout for help, but her throat, like the rest of her body, wouldn't seem to acknowledge her commands.

Slowly, her thoughts had grown more coherent. She became aware that wherever she was, it wasn't the car park. That attack was in her past now. But the realization brought no relief. Where was she? The darkness confused and terrified her. As she struggled to sit up, something seemed to grab her leg. She tried to pull away, felt something snap taut, and then her fingers encountered the rough hemp of a rope around her ankle. With mounting disbelief, she followed it along its length until she came to a heavy iron ring set into the floor.

She'd been tied. And suddenly the rope, the darkness, the hard ground underneath her, all fell into awful alignment.

And she remembered.

It came back in fragments; a patchwork of memory that gradually merged together. She'd been talking to David on the phone. The doorbell had chimed. She'd gone to answer it, seen the figure of a man standing outside, obscured by the bead curtain in the doorway, and… and…

Oh, God, this couldn't be happening. Except it was. She called out, shouting for David, for Tina. Anybody. No-one came. With an effort, she forced herself to stop. Deep breaths. Full yourself together. Shakily, she began to take stock of her situation. Wherever she was, it was cool but not too cold. The air was foul, with a rank odour she couldn't identify. But at least she was still dressed, her shorts and sun vest undisturbed. She told herself that was a good sign. The pain in her head had subsided to a muted throb, and now the strongest sensation was thirst. Her throat was swollen and dry, making it painful to swallow. She was hungry, too, and with that thought came a far more chilling one.