‘So you’re a war junky?’ Morgan teased.
‘I’m a soldier, Jack, and I live for a challenge.’ Cook smiled back, and Morgan’s pulse quickened with the knowledge that he was a part of that thrill-seeking.
He opened his mouth to reply, Cook’s pace slowing, expectantly, but Morgan’s chance to speak was lost as his and Cook’s mobile phones began to ring simultaneously.
‘Go,’ Morgan answered, having seen the number of Private London’s HQ on his screen.
‘It’s another call coming into the Duke’s line,’ Hooligan informed them.
‘Trace?’
‘Blocked. Great encryption.’
‘OK. Patch us in.’
Seconds later, the phone’s speaker emitted the metallic rasp of the kidnapper’s altered voice. ‘How are you sleeping, Duke?’ he seemed to cackle.
‘How’s my daughter?’ Morgan heard the Duke plead.
‘Well enough, but just to show you I’m not playing games, you’ll find a present in the old furniture warehouse on Kingsmill Road.’
‘Kingsmill Road?’ the Duke repeated.
‘Battersea,’ the kidnapper said. ‘And don’t bother calling the filth. You can send your friends from Private along to collect it and clean this one up. You hear that, Mr Private Investigators? I’m sure you’re listening. Looks like you’ve branched out into sanitation now.’
‘What do you mean?’ The Duke stumbled over his words. ‘Private? I don’t—’
‘Shut the fuck up,’ snapped the kidnapper’s harsh voice. ‘Next call will be the last, tomorrow at ten to arrange the drop. Out.’
The line clicked dead.
‘We’re clear from the Duke,’ Hooligan informed the investigators.
‘He said “out”, ’ Cook observed. ‘That’s ingrained voice procedure. He has to be long-term military.’
‘What did he mean by “don’t bother calling the filth”?’ Morgan asked the group, the American not recognising the slang.
‘It means the police,’ Knight answered. ‘So what now?’
‘Everyone meet at Kingsmill Road, but wait three hundred yards to the south. We go in together in case there are any surprises. Hooligan, bring your full set of forensics gear.’
‘Will do, boss. What are you expecting to find?’
Morgan thought back to the pool of blood in Abbie’s penthouse apartment.
‘Our donor.’
Chapter 16
Having met Hooligan and Knight’s van on a quiet street in Battersea, Morgan’s Range Rover led the Private convoy to the front of a fire-damaged furniture store.
‘Riots,’ Cook guessed, seeing Morgan inspecting the destruction. ‘They’re probably still waiting on the plans to redevelop it.’ Cook stopped short of her next words.
‘Go on,’ Morgan encouraged.
‘You think pulling up like this is the best idea?’ she asked, as neutrally as she could.
‘Don’t ever be afraid to disagree with me, Jane.’ He smiled. ‘But I think we’re good. Our guys could be ex-military, but I don’t think they’ll have RPGs.’
‘True.’ Cook nodded. ‘But they probably do have a good knowledge of how to make use of IEDs. There’s all kinds of rubbish and litter around here where they could hide one.’
‘And what would they gain from that?’ Morgan asked, interested.
‘Time. They take out the people who’re getting close to them, or why else do they put something out here for us as a distraction? It’s either desperation or a trap. If we’re all dead, it doesn’t matter to the kidnapper. The Duke’s not with us, and he’s the one paying the ransom.’
Morgan thought it over.
‘Keep thinking like that,’ he told her, pleased, then spoke into a small button radio affixed to the neck of his hoody. ‘Knight, hold back here for now. I’m going to give the place a once-over. Take the van a hundred yards back.’
Knight’s reply betrayed his unease with the order, but Morgan was his leader. ‘If that’s what you want,’ the Brit answered, and the van reversed back along the street.
Scanning for wires that could lead to a firing point for any explosives, Morgan made his way cautiously to the front of the building. It had at one point been boarded up, but the chipboard was now ripped and torn, the graffiti dull.
He saw that there were several points of entry, which made him feel more at ease about an ambush. If he was setting a trap, the kidnapper would want to funnel the Private personnel into a chosen killing ground. It made no sense to allow them to clear the obstruction of the shopfront, only to try to ensnare them inside.
Pushing himself between the boards, Morgan eased into the shop and quickly moved five paces to his left, crouching into the deepest shadows. There he waited and listened for almost a minute. The only sounds were the Range Rover’s idling engine and the scurrying of mice.
He turned on his flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness and played across the charred metal skeletons of beds and sofas. He saw nothing that put his senses on edge, so he got to his feet and slowly edged his way into what had been a display room. The torchlight shone on empty beer cans, the stubs of cigarettes and the general debris of the homeless. None of it was fresh. There was no odour to it.
No odour to hide the smell that now hit Morgan like a fist.
He was very familiar with it.
It was the smell of death.
Chapter 17
Morgan spoke into the mic on his collar. ‘Guys, come in through the front. Hooligan, bring all your tools. Peter?’
‘Yes, Jack?’
‘We have body bags in that van?’
‘We do,’ Knight answered. Morgan didn’t need to tell him to bring one in.
Head-torch beams criss-crossing the furniture store as they walked, the trio came up beside Morgan, whose own Maglite beam was unflinching. Knight and the others followed its direction.
The torch lit up the face of a young woman. She was dead, and there was no elegance or dignity in her posture.
‘I thought we were going to find Aaron Shaw,’ Knight said. ‘This must be the second hostage.’
‘I know her,’ Cook spoke up suddenly.
The three men turned to her in surprise.
‘You do?’ Knight asked.
‘Her name’s Grace Beckit. She’s a society girl. She was a model, but mostly she was known for her partying.’
‘She was also a close friend of Abbie’s,’ Knight confirmed after a quick Internet search on his phone.
Cook took a step closer to the body, her torchlight revealing a savage cut to Grace’s throat.
‘Christ. They butchered the poor girl.’
‘A butcher would show more humanity,’ Hooligan said, preparing his kit for sample-taking.
Cook noticed the preparations. She turned to Morgan, who was stony-faced and silent. ‘I think it’s time we called in the police, Jack. We kept them out to preserve life, but this girl’s already gone. You’re investigators, not a SWAT team, and I think this case is going to need both.’
Morgan thought for a moment.
‘It’s too late for Grace, Jane. Whatever happens next, Grace is gone, but as far as we know, Abbie is still alive. Keeping her that way is our priority, so we have to do as the kidnappers say and keep the police out of this.’
‘Someone needs to answer for this,’ Cook told him.
‘And they will,’ Morgan promised, his eyes ablaze in the darkness. ‘This doesn’t end when Abbie is safe, Jane. It ends when we find the bastard who did this, and he pays for what he’s done.’
Chapter 18
Private HQ did not possess a gurney, so Grace’s covered body was carried into the building on a spinal board, Morgan and Knight acting as solemn pallbearers.
As they walked through reception, Sadie Wilkinson, Abbie’s publicist — who had remained at Private awaiting Knight’s return — saw the body bag.