What is it about that name? Then, why do they have to be American? As Ruth pointed out to me earlier today, it’s obviously important to him in some way. Then there’s the thing with the mouth.”
“Trophies, sir,” Rocco suggested. “It’s a common enough trait with serial killers.”
“That’s right,” Alice interrupted. “And the kind of trophy taken can sometimes be meaningful in itself.”
“What can possibly be meaningful about a few teeth?” Rocco shook his head.
“This is a man who has possibly suffered some indignity at the hands of an American woman—perhaps one called Vida. Whatever happened in the past has festered in his mind, and now it’s payback time. He’s working through his fantasy of getting even with the woman—whoever she was.”
“You’ve been working on a profile of this man?” Calladine asked.
“I thought it might help. I’ve developed it using the questions you all keep asking about his behaviour.”
“Good work. Let me have a copy to look at.”
Calladine already knew how thorough Alice was and how she liked detail. So perhaps she could come up with something they might be able to use. It was certainly worth looking at—they had nothing to lose.
“Ruth—what do you want to add?”
“Given that Serena had been buried in soil, he must have a place, a garden perhaps. It looks like that situation may be under threat—why else would he dump her like that? We’re already looking at property in the area that’s recently hit the market. It’s a long shot but you never know. If his burial place is threatened, then he may want to be rid of Patsy sooner rather than later. I’ve also looked at the phone records of Madison and Patsy. All the calls to and from both girls were made to different pay-as-you-go mobiles
—one for each girl. So there’s nothing.”
“Sir! I’ve found something,” Imogen called out. She stood up and addressed the team.
“I can see from her browsing history that Patsy Lumis made regular online requests for repeat prescriptions from a local GP surgery. The medication is Sodium Valproate.”
“That’s used to treat epilepsy,” Rocco told them. “I know because I have a friend who takes it.”
“She never said anything,” Alice added. “But she was absent from lectures a lot, and no one seemed to mind. I thought that was odd at the time. Now I know why.”
Just what they needed. Calladine sighed. Would the bastard who’d taken her realise how important her medication was and would he let her take it?
“Get on to the GP. Find out what sort of epilepsy she has and what happens if she doesn’t take her tablets. We could do with a timescale from him too.” Imogen immediately picked up the office phone.
“She has her stuff, sir,” Ruth reminded him. “Ruby Tunnicliffe remembered that she had a small suitcase with her. Surely she would have packed her pills.”
“No doubt. But that doesn’t mean he’ll let her take them, does it?”
“Sir! Patsy has what are called Tonic Clonic seizures. She’s been hospitalised several times since starting at the university. Each time she was admitted, and each time she’s needed drugs to stop the fit
—in addition to her regular medication. It doesn’t look good. If she fits and doesn’t recover within a certain time, the danger is that her heart will stop, or she might not be able to breathe properly.”
“We’re running out of time so we need to find her fast, if he hasn’t killed her already himself. Rocco, get this new information to the radio station and inform the local rag. If this gets out, and she’s alive, then Patsy just might get her pills. We can only try. The rest of you—Alice is looking at property for sale in the Leesworth area
—give her a hand and start to check them out. You can discount any without a garden. The soil found with Serena was tended—fertilised—so someone who likes plants and cares for them. It might be an idea to check the allotments. Rocco, I’ll leave that one with you to organise.”
“We’ve catalogued Madison’s photos, sir,” Imogen told him. “We can account for them all in terms of who they are. I don’t think she had one of him.”
“Careful bastard, isn’t he?”
Chapter 19
“I don’t feel right! Jack—I need my medication.”
Where was he? She’d been alone for hours now, or so she thought. She had no real way of knowing. She’d been sleeping again and had woken up feeling weird. She wasn’t sure she could remember things correctly; she had a headache and felt dizzy. It could be the drugs he’d given her, but Patsy had felt like this before and knew what it meant. She also had a sore place on the inside of her cheek where she’d bitten it, so she must have had a small fit whilst she’d slept. If she didn’t take her medication soon, then she’d go on to have a major seizure.
She crept around the perimeter of the dark room, carefully feeling her way. He’d dressed her; she was wearing a loose top and jogging bottoms, but they weren’t her own.
“Jack! I need to speak to you.”
“I’m busy, Vida.” He stood in a doorway high above her, surrounded by a pool of light. He looked to be at the top of a staircase. “I must get on with this. I don’t have time to fool around.”
“I need my tablets! I have to take medication regularly or I’ll get sick.”
“Your imagination, Vida. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re as fit as a fiddle—look at all the exercise you get at the gym.”
Patsy started to cry. “I’m not Vida and I do need my tablets. I get seizures, Jack.”
He moved a little closer, halfway down the staircase and pointed a finger at her. “Shut it, bitch—or I’ll make sure you never say another word.”
He was covered in mud. His boots were caked in it and his hands were filthy. What was he doing out there? Patsy shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. He wasn’t going to listen. She’d made the worst mistake of her life in trusting him: this man was evil.
He bent down and dragged something inside. A shape—an old rug, she thought, as he bumped it down the stairs. Whatever it was must be heavy because he was out of breath. He stood for a moment, wiped his palms down the sides of his jacket and left her alone again.
He was up to something—digging. Patsy crept closer to the bundle he’d left behind. She took one of the tiny candles and held it up so that she could see. It was wrapped in an old blanket, not a rug. She took hold of one end and shook it. It didn’t move. She put the candle down and, taking the ends of the fabric in both hands, pulled vigorously. The thing rolled forward making her jump away in fright. It smelled to high heaven. She bent down and moved the fabric a little more. There was something inside—something hideous, she could sense it. The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling. Another tug and her eyes widened.
The blanket was full of bones, old bones with ragged bits of putrefying flesh still attached to them. And if that wasn’t terrifying enough, there was the skull. For a moment it caught the flicker of the candlelight and seemed to leer at her, taunting. She couldn’t help but look a little closer. The thing had no teeth. The instruments in the cupboard! She began to feel very sick.
Patsy felt the room swirl around her. She had to keep her nerve.
She knew with absolute certainty now that she would become that thing lying on the floor if she didn’t do something. She had to get out of here. She had to seize any opportunity that presented itself.
It did just that a lot sooner than she expected. It had only been minutes since she’d found the bones, when the silence was broken by the sound of voices outside. Patsy closed her eyes to listen.
Someone else was up there arguing with Jack. She saw faint moonlight filtering through the door at the top of the staircase. So he must have left it ajar—and it must lead outside. She heard the voices again, swearing, and then a high-pitched wail. Jack was fighting with someone. This was her chance.