“They won’t look now-not until after Christmas.”
I wake shivering.
I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but I can’t feel my feet or my toes. The blood has dried on my knees, but the scabs split when I bend and the wounds begin weeping again.
George said it was Christmas Eve. I dreamt that I could see my family around the table: Dad, Mum, Phoebe, Ben, Granddad and the little sister I haven’t met.
I slide on my stomach to the edge of the overhanging rock. The ground is wet and it seems colder now, cold enough to snow.
Climbing out of the crevice, I peer over the top of the rocks, studying the path. I can’t see George. Can’t hear him. The trees are like charcoal drawings above me.
I pick up the coat and brush off the leaves, putting my arms through the sleeves. It’s too long for me. I fold up the sleeves and put my hands deep in the pockets. It smells of George.
My fingers touch his mobile phone. I’m so surprised that I almost drop it. Two hands. I turn it over. Look for the power button. The screen lights up and welcomes me with music. There are no bars of signal. If I get higher, I might pick up a phone mast.
Scrambling up the embankment, I keep tripping over the hem of the coat. I have to hike it up and hold it under my arms, which makes it hard to climb because I can’t hold onto the trees.
When I reach the path, I crouch behind a rock, peering both ways. I can’t see him. I don’t want to go back the way I’ve come, so I keep following the path, away from the factory, looking for a road or a house or a car.
It’s raining and misty, but I can make out a trail that snakes between the trees. I’m climbing. That’s good. Maybe I’ll get a signal from higher ground.
Every few minutes, I stop and look at the phone, checking the signal. One bar blinks for a moment and then disappears. I wait. It flashes again. I scramble onto a rock and hold the phone above my head. A second bar of signal appears alongside the first. Wider. Stronger.
I dial 999. An operator answers.
“Hello, what service do you require, police, fire or ambulance?”
“Police. I need help.”
“Can I have your name please?”
“I’m Piper. He’s chasing me, please hurry.”
“Hold the line.”
A different voice answers this time. A woman.
“You’re through to the police. Can I have your name please?”
“I need you to come and get me. He’s going to kill me.”
“Please, tell me your name?”
“Piper Hadley.”
“Has there been an accident, Piper?”
“No. He’s coming, please help.”
“Who is coming?”
“I don’t know his name. This is his phone.”
“Where are you, Piper?”
“In a forest.”
“Whereabouts?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you’ve just wandered into nowhere?”
“I was kidnapped. I’ve managed to get away. You have to come quickly. He’s got Tash. I know he’ll punish her.”
“Who is Tash?”
“She’s my friend. We were kidnapped together.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Natasha McBain.”
“You’re breaking up, Piper. Can you please repeat the name?”
“I said Natasha McBain.”
“Is this a hoax call?”
“What?”
“Do you know the penalty for making false emergency calls?”
“It’s not a hoax! It’s not!”
“There’s no need to yell, Piper. If you become abusive, I will terminate the call.”
“I’m not being abusive. I’m telling you the truth.”
“I’m going to need a better location. I need a street or a cross-street.”
“There are no streets.”
“I didn’t catch the name of the street.”
“There are none. I’m in a forest.”
“Where is the forest?”
“I don’t know.”
“The nearest road?”
“I don’t know.”
I feel myself beginning to cry. She doesn’t believe me. They’re not going to come. She tells me to hold. She’s getting her supervisor. Another woman comes on the line.
“OK, love, my name is Samantha, what’s yours?”
“Piper Hadley.”
“Where do you live, Piper?”
“I come from Bingham. It’s near Abingdon. Priory Corner. It’s called The Old Vicarage.”
“Listen, Piper, don’t get upset. Stay calm. We’re trying to trace the call. Do you know the name of the nearest town?”
“No.”
“What about the county?”
“No.”
“OK, don’t worry. We’ll find you.”
“Hurry.”
“I will.”
“It’s getting dark and I’m cold.”
“Can you go somewhere warm?”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“Can you see any lights?”
“No.”
“Can you call out?”
“I can only whisper. I don’t want him to hear me.”
“Who will hear you?”
“The man who took me.”
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know his real name. Please help me.”
“Don’t cry, Piper.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You’re doing really well, Piper. I can see that you’re in Oxfordshire. I’m going to call the nearest police station. I just need you to stay on the line.”
41
There’s an envelope being held for me at the hotel. I ask the receptionist to prepare my bill and I head towards the lift. That’s when I notice Ruiz sitting in the Morse Bar, reading a paper and nursing a pint glass of water.
“Where were you last night?” I ask.
“I caught up with Tom Fryer and some of his old rugby mates.”
“How big is the hangover?”
He points to the water. “I’ve had two bacon rolls, three cups of coffee and a liter of Diet Coke and I haven’t peed once.”
“Congratulations.”
Ruiz has already checked out of his room. He follows me upstairs and sits in the corner as I pack. I’m shoving dirty clothes into a holdall and collecting my toiletries. He notices the envelope and holds it up to the light.
“You should open it,” he says. “It’s from Victoria Naparstek.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m psychic.”
“You saw her deliver it.”
“That too.”
Opening the envelope, I slip the card free and read the short message: I’d like to see you again. Give me a call some time… if you want to.
She’s given me her mobile phone number. I put the card in my pocket and crumple the envelope into a ball. Continuing to pack, I tell Ruiz about the arrests and interrogations, as well as Dr. Leece’s revelations about the tritium in Natasha’s urine.
“So you figure she might have been kept somewhere near this research center.”
“It’s feasible.”
“And one of the guys who assaulted her is probably the kidnapper?”
“Most likely.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t think they match the psychological profile. Maybe you got it wrong.”
“Maybe.”
I look at my watch. It’s just gone three o’clock. Four of the men will have posted bail by now. They’ll be home for Christmas. Drury won’t have surveillance teams working over the holidays. If one of these men is the kidnapper, he’ll have time to dispose of Piper and destroy the evidence.
Ruiz fills a glass of water from the bathroom and sips it thoughtfully, contemplating the same possibility.
“Capable Jones got back to me,” he says. “You still interested in Phillip Martinez?”
“It can wait.”
Downstairs, I hand my credit card to the receptionist, who hopes I had a pleasant stay. The printer warms up and produces my itemized bill. I glance at the total and hope the chief constable is a man of his word.
Ruiz spreads his arms. “So I guess this is it, amigo.”
We hug. It’s like being squeezed by a bear.
Over Ruiz’s shoulder I see Dale Hadley stumble from the revolving door as though spat out by a dispensing machine. Dressed in baggy trousers and a shapeless shirt, he looks disorientated and hollowed out.
His eyes meet mine. “We have to talk.”
“I’m about to leave.”