Peter James - Dead Man’s Footsteps

She was shivering with cold in the constant icy draught. She desperately needed to blow her nose, which was blocked and getting increasingly hard to breathe through. No air at all came in through her mouth and, breathing faster and faster, she was sensing another panic attack coming on.

She tried to calm herself down, to slow her breathing. She was beginning to feel she wasn’t totally inside her body, that she was dead and floating above it. As if the naked person bound with tape was someone else, not her any more.

She was dead.

Her heart was pounding. Hammering. She tried to say something to herself and heard the muffled humming sound inside her mouth. I am still alive. I can feel my heart.

Inside her skull, she could feel a band tightening around her brain. She felt clammy and unable to focus her eyes clearly. Then she began shaking uncontrollably. A cold sweat of fear erupted on her skin as the thought hit her like a sledgehammer.

What if he has gone and left me here?

To die…

When she had first met Ricky she thought that, like Dave, his violence was just big talk, swagger, keeping up with their gangster friends. Then one night when she was with him, he’d caught a spider in the bathtub and burned each of its legs off with a cigarette lighter, then left it, alive in a glass jar, to die of thirst or hunger.

The realization that he was quite capable of doing the same to her made her struggle against the bonds with a sudden, new urgency. Her panic was deepening.

Concentrate.

Focus.

Remember it is just a panic attack. You are not dying. You are not out of your body. Say the words.

She breathed in, out, in, out. Hi, she thought the words. I am Abby Dawson. I am fine. This is just a wonky chemical reaction. I’m fine, I am in my body, I am not dead, this will pass.

She tried to focus on each of the bindings in turn, starting with the one around her forehead. Her neck was increasingly painful from her head being pulled back so far. But try as hard as she could, she could not move it an inch in any direction.

Next she tried her hands, which were taped to her thighs. Her fingers were splayed out and taped too, making it impossible to get a purchase on anything. She tried to move her legs, but they were taped together so hard they felt like they were in a cast. Nothing gave. There was no slack anywhere.

Where had he learned about bindings? Or had he just winged it as he went along? Smiling as he worked?

Oh yes, smiling for sure.

And she could hardly blame him.

She was wishing desperately, suddenly, that she had never agreed to this. She wasn’t strong enough, she realized. Nor smart enough. How the hell had she ever thought she could succeed? How could she have been so stupid?

A clank interrupted her thoughts, then the squeak of a rubber shoe and a shadow fell across the door. Ricky was looking down at her, holding a large, plastic ASDA carrier bag in one hand and a tall, white mug of coffee in the other. She could smell the aroma. God, that was so good.

‘Hope you had a good night’s rest, Abby. I want you fresh for today. Did you?’

She made a lowing moan.

‘Yes, sorry about the tape. But the walls in this place aren’t that thick. I can’t take any risks, I’m sure you understand. So – maybe the bed was a little hard? Still, very good for your posture, that position. Straight back. Did anybody ever tell you about the importance of good posture?’

She said nothing.

‘No, well, I don’t suppose the word straight features much in your vocabulary. He put the carrier bag down on the floor. It made a heavy clank, followed by the rattle of metal objects inside.

‘I’ve brought along a few things. I’ve never actually done torture before. Seen it in films, of course. Read about it.’

Her throat tightened.

‘I just want you to understand, Abby, that I don’t have to hurt you. All you have to do is tell me where it is. You know, what you took from me. Like, my entire stash.’

She was silent. Trembling.

He picked up the bag and shook it, with a loud, metallic rattle. ‘Got all kinds of stuff in here, but most of it’s pretty primitive. Got a power drill that could go right through your kneecaps. I’ve got a packet of needles and a small hammer. Could whack those up inside your fingernails. Got some pliers for your teeth. Or we could be a bit more cultural.’

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a black iPod. Then he held it up close to her eyes. ‘Music,’ he said. ‘Have a listen.’

He inserted the ear-pieces, checked the display and pressed the start symbol. Then he turned up the volume.

Abby heard a song she recognized but could not immediately name.

‘“Fool for Love”,’ Ricky helped her. ‘Could be me, really, couldn’t it?’

She looked at him, almost incoherent with terror, not sure what reaction he was expecting. And trying not to let him see how scared she was.

‘I like this record,’ he said. ‘Do you? Remember, eyes right for yes, left for no .’

She moved her eyes right.

‘Good, now we’re cooking with gas! So, is it here, or somewhere else? How about I make the question simple. Is it here, in this flat?’

She moved her eyes left.

‘OK. Somewhere else. Is it in Brighton?’

She moved her eyes right.

‘In a safe-deposit box?’

Again she moved her eyes right.

He dug his left hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, thin key. ‘Is it this key?’

Her eyes told him it was.

He smiled. ‘Good. Now all we need to establish is the bank and the address. Is it NatWest?’

Eyes left.

‘Lloyds TSB?’

Eyes left.

‘HSBC?’

Her eyes moved left. And she nixed Barclays too.

‘OK, I think I get it,’ he said, and moved away from the doorway. A short while later he returned holding a copy of the Yellow Pages, open at the listings page for security companies. His finger ran down, stopping and getting a negative from Abby at each name. Then it came to Southern Deposit Security.

Her eyes moved right.

He studied the name and address, as if memorizing it, then closed the directory.

‘OK, good. All we need now is to establish a few more details. Would the account be in the name of Abby Dawson?’

Eyes left.

‘Katherine Jennings?’

Her eyes went right.

He smiled, looking much happier now.

Then she stared at him, trying to signal. But he wasn’t interested.

‘Hasta la vista, baby!’ he said cheerily. ‘That’s from one of my favourite movies. Remember?’ He peered at her intently.

She moved her eyes right. She remembered. She knew this film, this line. It was Arnie Schwarzenegger in The Terminator. She knew what it meant.

See you later!

After the briefing meeting, Roy Grace retreated to the quiet sanctuary of his office and spent a few moments looking out of the window, across the main road at the ASDA car park, and the ugly slab building of the supermarket itself cutting off what would have been a fine view across the city of Brighton and Hove he loved so much. At least he could actually see some sky, and for the first time in several days patches of it were blue, with rays of sun breaking through the cloud.

Nursing the hot mug of coffee that Eleanor had just brought him, he glanced down at the plastic trays containing his prized collections – three dozen vintage cigarette lighters that he hadn’t yet put up on display and a fine selection of international police caps.

Lying beside the stuffed brown trout he had caught on a visit to Ireland some years ago was a new addition, a birthday present from Cleo. It was a stuffed carp, in a display case, at the base of which was engraved the legend – a terrible pun – Carpe diem.