She could tell he was looking at her now, appraising what he saw. ‘Go to Hell,’ she thought, but her empty bravado did little to cheer her. She was exposed and powerless here.
He stepped forward. Still Ruby stared at the floor. Then another step – he was right by her now. His hand reached out, lifting up her chin. She was looking straight at him, they were virtually nose to nose. His peculiar aroma filled her nostrils once more. She refused to blink, or smile.
His hands rose and Ruby flinched. There was something cold pressing against her stomach. She flicked a glance down. It was the end of a tape measure. He was measuring her.
She tried to stay stock still, but her body was quivering with fear. He measured her hips, her shoulders, her chest. As the cold tape pressed against her nipples, another tear escaped, a sense of rising horror overwhelming her.
He slipped the tape round her neck, pulling it tight.
Then, satisfied, he stepped away.
‘You can get dressed.’
Ruby gathered her pyjamas, tugging them on quickly and clumsily.
‘I have to go out now, but I won’t be long,’ he said, watching her change. ‘And because you’ve been cooperative, I’ve brought you a present.’
He pulled something from his pocket and placed it on the table.
An inhaler.
Ruby took a step forward, then checked herself.
‘It’s yours now. Don’t make me take it away from you.’
It was said with a smile but chilled Ruby to the core. It was obvious to her in that moment, as it should have been from the start, that this stranger now wielded the power of life or death over her.
17
He was taller than she expected. On the phone he had sounded hesitant and lacking in stature. But the reality was very different. Daniel Briers was tall and handsome, with a confident stride and an easy manner. Dark hair, flecked with grey at the temples, framed an open countenance.
‘DI Helen Grace. Thanks for coming down so quickly.’
‘I just want to get this thing sorted. There must have been a mix-up with the serial numbers. Pippa was tweeting again this morning, so it’s hardly likely that -’
‘May I have a look?’
They were heading out of Southampton train station towards Helen’s pool car. Daniel Briers handed her his phone. Helen read the tweet – a brief and anodyne comment about Sunday morning hangovers.
‘Have you actually spoken to her in the last two to three years?’ Helen asked, as she handed back the phone.
Daniel paused, frowned, then said:
‘No, I haven’t.’
He suddenly seemed less assured, the fatigue of a sleepless night catching up with him, eroding his optimism. ‘I tried many times, left countless messages, but… I don’t think she was ready to talk, so we had to rely on the occasional tweet and text. She seemed to be doing well in Southampton and… I was happy for her.’
As they drove to the mortuary, Daniel filled her in on the cause of their estrangement. Helen could have guessed before he said anything: a new wife.
Pippa’s mother had died of breast cancer when Pippa was six, sending the family into a spin for several years. But when Daniel had married again all seemed set fair. However, Pippa and his second wife did not get on. Kristy brought two children to the party from a previous marriage and to her mind, where they were constructive and polite, Pippa was hostile and unhelpful, unwilling to accept Kristy as her new mother. The situation had only worsened during Pippa’s teenage years and as soon as she was old enough to leave school and home, she did.
‘I tried to reason with her,’ Daniel explained, ‘but she just wanted away. So she dossed down with an old school friend who was at college in Portsmouth and eventually she moved to Southampton. Got a job, a flat, she was making a go of things. It broke my heart when she left, I missed her every day, but I hoped over time we could repair the damage. That I could encourage her to come home.’
They parked in the mortuary car park and headed inside to see Jim Grieves. As soon as they stepped into the building, Daniel’s manner changed. He had been chatting sixteen to the dozen previously, but now he seemed affected by the cold sterility of the place. He was silent, focused, his body rigid. Helen had seen this many times before – the anxiety that affects all civilians when they are about to come face to face with a dead body for the first time.
The pleasantries were kept to a minimum – there was no point delaying the inevitable. Slowly, Jim Grieves lowered the sheet, revealing the young woman’s face.
The effect on Daniel Briers was terrible and instant. A horrid, pained intake of breath. He looked like he had momentarily stopped breathing and Helen put her arm on his to check he was ok. He turned to her, his face now drained of colour, a man visibly ageing in front of her.
When he did finally speak it was in a whisper and through tears:
‘That’s Pips.’
18
Andrew Simpson ran his finger down his tie and regarded the young lady sitting opposite him. It was unusual for him to have such pleasant company during the working day.
‘So Ruby emailed you two days ago, giving notice?’ Sanderson asked. Simpson Rentals had a broad portfolio of properties for rent in Southampton, most of them one- and two-bed flats in shoddily converted houses. They were cheap, but like Andrew Simpson’s office, they were also unloved.
‘That’s correct. It was brief to say the least.’ Andrew Simpson turned his laptop round for Sanderson to see. As he did so, a strong odour of stale sweat drifted towards her. He was a thin man, with precise features and a very meticulous manner, but there was something about him that felt oddly washed out.
‘I hereby give notice. Ruby Sprackling.’ Sanderson read the email aloud.
‘It’s supposed to be in writing obviously, but nobody bothers with that any more,’ Simpson added.
‘Did you have any warning? Any sense of why she was leaving?’
‘No, it was completely out of the blue. But then she was a scatty girl. Always losing things, forgetting to pay her rent on time -’
‘And do you have any idea where she might have gone?’
‘No. I don’t see my tenants very much.’
Sanderson could well believe it. Out of sight, out of mind.
‘Do you have a set of keys to her flat?’
This was what Sanderson had been building up to. It seemed logical that if a third party was involved in her disappearance, then he or she must have had access to Ruby’s flat. There had been no sign of forced entry, detritus from her night out had been found in the bin, the door had been double-locked on the way out – everything was in order, apart from the forgotten inhaler. If she had been taken, it was more of a… removal than an abduction or struggle.
‘Yes I do, but they are not in my possession at the moment.’
Sanderson knew of four sets of keys in existence – Ruby had a set, as did Shanelle Harvey and Alison Sprackling. The latter two sets had been accounted for. Ruby presumably still had hers, so that left one set out there.
‘Where are they?’
‘I gave them to my builder on Thursday. We’ve had a few problems with leaking pipes in that property. I’d asked him to go in over the weekend and paint over the damage.’
Two days ago. Time enough to plan and execute an abduction.
‘And what’s his name?’
Andrew Simpson looked uncertain, hesitating for the first time in their conversation, as if scared of the consequences, before finally replying:
‘His name is Nathan Price.’
19
He was a strange sight in the tattoo parlour. Clutching his New Look and M &S bags, he looked like any number of beleaguered dads on a Saturday afternoon shopping trip. Except it wasn’t Saturday and he wasn’t in a shopping centre. He was in Angie’s tattoo parlour – a forgotten dive in the shadow of the Western Docks that specializes in cheap body art and drug dealing.