S. Bolton - Dead Scared

‘I take it you’re Iestyn Thomas?’ I said. There were any number of hard objects I could introduce to Thomas’s head given the chance.

‘Laura, what on earth …?’ began Nick, his eyes going from me to the man in the doorway.

Then Thomas stepped into the room and any hope I’d had that he was alone was quashed. Scott Thornton was with him, his blue eyes gleaming at me the way they had through the ninja mask the night he’d half drowned me. And then another man appeared. This one I didn’t know, except that I’d seen him leaving Megan Prince’s house the day before.

‘John?’ Nick knew him, then, but from the tone of surprise and growing alarm in his voice it was obvious he was completely in the dark. ‘What’s going on? Has something happened?’

‘Nick knows nothing,’ I said. ‘Let him go. Or tie him up and leave him here. Either way, he’s not a threat.’

A nervous laugh that was more like a choke from Nick. ‘Laura, don’t be ridiculous. John is DI Castell. He’s a police officer. Local CID.’

John Castell, the man in charge of the suicide investigations. Oh, there weren’t words.

No, actually, there were. ‘I’m a police officer,’ I said. ‘He is a twisted, psychotic piece of shit.’

They moved forward at that. Thornton and Thomas took hold of Nick and, ignoring his increasingly alarmed protests, pulled us apart. Castell and I glared at each other and I was praying I’d have the nerve to do some serious damage before he overpowered me. Or before help arrived, and on that subject, where the hell was Joes—

‘Nick, how did you get my number?’ I asked without taking my eyes off Castell. ‘You phoned me just now on a new number. Who gave it to you?’

‘Will you lot get the fuck out of my hou—’

I’m not sure who hit Nick, I only saw him sink to the carpet, before someone else appeared on the landing outside and all I could do was stare like a halfwit.

Your nutty room-mate found it this morning when she went to the hospital to pick up some books .

Talaith Robinson, my nutty room-mate, sidled up to Castell and wrapped herself around him like a bad smell around rotten meat.

‘Hello, Lacey,’ she said.

Bank of the River Cam, five years earlier

ARECENT SUMMER STORM had shaken millions of leaves from the willow trees. They were floating in the still backwaters of the river, looking almost solid enough to walk on. They adorned the moored punts lining the river’s edge and covered the banks like a dappled green carpet. Already the heat was building again, making the damp earth steam .

DI John Castell took off his jacket and slung it over one shoulder. He loosened his tie. The air was thick with sugar stealers and tiny green flying insects. Several of both clung to his shirt and his hair. He left them where they were, rather enjoying the unusual experience of being garlanded by nature .

As he stepped beneath the canopy of one of the larger trees he felt as if he were entering an enchanted tropical forest. Here, hidden from the world by a sphere of green, a woman was waiting .

Her dress was long and made from a light, floaty fabric that managed to cling to her curves and sway in the breeze at the same time. Her hair was long too. She was like a creature from another time. Little more than twenty years old, she was far too young for him and it just wasn’t going to have to matter .

‘ Hey, buddy,’ said one of the two men with her, the men he’d come to meet. ‘I’d like you to meet my sister .’

THE HIGH-PITCHED BEEPING of a text message woke Evi from an uncomfortable slumber at around four o’clock. She turned over on the bed and picked up her phone. It was from Laura.

Called back to London and transferred to another case. Powers that be don’t consider this one worth pursuing further. Suggest you refer any ongoing concerns to local CID. Good meeting you. Take care. Laura.

Not fully awake, Evi read the text again. Laura had gone. Evi sat upright on the bed. Most of the light had gone from the day outside and her bedroom was filled with shadows. She realized she’d slept through the entire afternoon, missing two supervisions and a two-hour stint at the clinic. And yet no one had phoned her. It was as though no one had even noticed she was missing.

She got up and made her way to the kitchen, knowing something else was wrong, just unable to put her finger on what it was. Only when she saw the empty space in front of the cooker where she’d put Sniffy’s rug did she realize. The rug was no longer there. Neither were the food and water bowls that she’d put by the sink. And neither was Sniffy herself. All traces of the dog were gone from the house. She might never have existed.

*

The fresh cold air of the early evening stung Joesbury’s face but helped to clear his head. A little way ahead he could see a wooden bench where a solitary smoker sat huddled in his dressing gown. Sitting down felt like a very good idea, except he wasn’t sure he’d ever get up again.

Getting out of hospital before the doctor in charge was willing to release him hadn’t been easy but Joesbury had insisted. He’d waited till just after his prescribed dose of painkillers and had managed to dress himself. Now, he needed a phone.

Conscious of bloodstained clothes and a bruised, battered face, he turned and made his way to the corner of the street. Two hundred yards away was a row of public telephones. There was no response on the first number he tried. He tried again, gave up after the third attempt and dialled Scotland Yard.

‘Jesus, Mark, what’s going on?’ DCI Phillips said, after the phone call to SO10 had been accepted. ‘We expected you twenty-four hours ago.’

He listened while Joesbury explained about the accident, how both his and Lacey’s laptops and mobile phones were missing, even his cover ID.

‘Were you ambushed?’ Phillips asked, when he’d done.

‘Traffic officer who came to see me said all four tyres were in ribbons. Draw your own conclusion.’

‘Looks like we’re into damage limitation. I’m pulling everyone out.’

‘Hang on, guv. DC Flint had information for me. Names and a possible location. Shit, it’s gone.’

Heavy sigh down the line. ‘You didn’t write it down?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my memory when I’m not concussed,’ Joesbury said. ‘We had a trace on her vehicle. Is it still operational?’

‘Give me a sec. And I’ll organize someone to pick you up while I’m at it.’

Joesbury waited, whilst the world around him became less focused. He closed his eyes, opening them only when he knew he was about to fall over.

‘I’ve got it,’ Phillips told him. ‘What do you need?’

‘Can you give me her movements since yesterday first thing?’

Another second passed. Then, ‘She spent the night at Endicott Farm, between Burwell and Waterbeach. Did you know about that?’

Joesbury felt his headache press down. ‘Yeah. She was back at St John’s just before nine, then she went to the hospital. What next?’

‘Went to St Clement’s Road just off the town centre. Stayed about forty minutes.’

‘That’s it,’ said Joesbury. ‘Scott Thornton, number 108. I was going to have it watched. Shit, we’ve lost twenty-four hours.’

‘Want me to organize a search warrant?’

‘I think so. She’s also worried about Nick Bell and Megan Prince, two local medics. And somebody called Thomas. Ianto? Iestyn. That’s it, Iestyn Thomas. Where did she go after that?’