Blazing Obsession (18 page)

I lost precious time before I realised what was going on. Finally, I sprang out of my car and ran towards them, shouting at the top of my voice, “Let her go! Let her go!” I got close enough to gulp, inadvertently, a lungful of exhaust fumes as the tyres screeched, spinning the car away from me.

I immediately recognised the make, model and registration number. It was Hartley's car. The thought that Alisha now occupied the same place as Johnson's unconscious body a few days earlier flashed through my mind.

I sprinted back to my car, u-turned and roared off in pursuit. I took a guess which way Hartley would head. To my relief, I spotted his car turning left at Westferry Road onto Burdett Road, heading north. Surprisingly heavy traffic for this time of the morning held me back, but I finally got to within two cars of him. Despite constantly flashing my lights and sounding my horn, no one moved over. A couple of drivers actually gave me the finger in return.

Hartley, realising he was being followed, took unbelievable risks, overtaking at crossroads and once nearly mounting a pavement, trying to get past a car turning right. I shot a couple of red lights myself. Then a large supermarket truck making late-night deliveries pulled out of a store immediately in front of me and stalled his engine. He took ages to get it going again.

“Bugger! Bugger!” I yelled at the anonymous driver before I passed. I carried on heading north for a couple more miles, hoping Hartley hadn't turned off.

I thought I'd lost him, but then I spotted the car parked in a lay-by with the boot open, less than fifty yards in front of me. Out of the gloom, Alisha appeared, waving her arms and scampering away from the car in my direction. Hartley wasn't far behind her.

I stopped. I had to choose between getting out and challenging Hartley or rescuing Alisha. I chose the latter and swung open the passenger door from the inside. Hartley, seeing my car, stopped chasing her, turned and scrambled back into his driver's seat. He almost struck another car as he gunned his, rejoining the main road.

As Alisha jumped in, breathlessly she said, “Oh James… I'm so relieved to see you… how the bloody hell did you know I'd been abducted?”

“I'll tell you later. Let's get after the bastard.”

Alisha took several deep breaths to calm herself as we chased after Hartley's car.

He drove like a maniac. I couldn't keep up and after a couple of miles, we gave up.

Driving back to her flat, Alisha spat out her anger.

“I can't believe I let him get me into the boot. I tried as hard as I could to get away. He was too strong for me.” She closed her eyes at the memory.

“You must have been scared to death. How did you get out of the boot?”

“After he bundled me in, I managed to get the bag off my head, but I was still in complete darkness. I could barely breathe. I heard the rumble of tyres. He was taking me to God knows where. At first, I panicked. I hit the boot lid with my fists and kicked out at it, shouting at the top of my voice. I became hysterical but I realised I was wasting energy.”

Just listening to Alisha's experience made me sweat. I suffered badly from claustrophobia.

“I pulled myself together, reasoned that the boot locking mechanism must be on the inside, if only I could find it in the pitch darkness. I lifted up the carpet and fumbled around the perimeter of the boot. Fortunately, I found a cable. I ran my fingers along it and traced it back to the locking mechanism.”

“Good thinking.”

“I pulled as hard as I could, praying the latch would give way. It didn't. I tried a dozen times but it wouldn't budge.”

“How did you get it open?”

“Thank goodness, I'd kept hold of my handbag. When he attacked me from behind, I thought someone was trying to mug me. I instinctively hung on to it for dear life. I had a small pair of nail scissors inside. I scrabbled in the dark and finally found them. I felt for the latch with my fingers again and fiddled around for a good five minutes digging about, anxious not to make any noise.

“I couldn't believe it when suddenly, something clicked and the boot lid sprung open. It shot up before I could haul it down again. I'd never appreciated fresh air so much!”

“Thank God!”

“I hoped the driver hadn't noticed. But obviously he had. He slowed down, pulled over to the lay-by and stopped the car. Before I leapt out, I spat into the boot. I'd seen someone do this on
Crimewatch
once − important to leave my DNA.”

Impressed by her ability to think like this under pressure, I reached across to the passenger seat and squeezed her thigh. She placed a hand on top of mine.

“I grabbed my handbag and ran as fast as I could away from the car. I've never been so glad to see your Mercedes. How the hell did you know where I was?”

I told her how I'd witnessed the abduction taking place and followed them.

“Where do you think he planned to take me?” she said.

“I don't know, but the lay-by where you escaped from is close to Victoria Park, not far from Hackney Marsh. I dread to think what would have happened to you when he got you there.” She gave a shudder.

“By the way, the tracker on your mobile shows it's in Piccadilly. Is that right?”

“Didn't I tell you? One of the girls at work is getting married. Her hen night consisted of a pub-crawl in the West End. In all the excitement, I left my mobile at work. Of all the times for me to do that!” She raised her eyes.

“And when did you realise it was Hartley who abducted you?”

“What? Oh no, it wasn't him. Definitely not. When he put the bag over my face, whoever it was said, ‘Don't scream.' I'd have recognised Hartley's voice. It's so distinctive.”

“But it's definitely Hartley's car. I've driven it, remember. He must be involved. Oh, of course! You don't know, do you?”

“Don't know what?”

“Greenland was found stabbed to death early yesterday morning.”

Alisha, stunned, closed her eyes. “Oh, my God!” she said, as she put her hand to her mouth, and sank back deeper into the passenger seat.

*

As we reached her flat, I said, “Look, I'll stay with you tonight. You've been through a lot. I'll call RP in the morning; see what he has to say.”

Alisha, normally defiant and feisty, looked beaten.

I poured a couple of brandies, my go-to remedy in times of crises. I handed one to her after she'd flopped down on the sofa.

“Well, that was a fucking nightmare!” she said.

“Don't worry, Alisha. I'm not leaving you. I'll stay here for as long as you want me to. Why don't you take your brandy and go to bed? I'll doss down on the couch.”

“Yes, I think I will.”

Five minutes later, I put my head around her door to make sure she was OK. She sat on the bed with her arms wrapped around her legs, still holding the empty brandy glass in one hand. She had a vague expression on her face but, smiled as she said, “You're so good to me, James. Come here.” She waggled her finger at me and as I leant closer to her face, she kissed me fully on the lips.

“Why don't you sleep in my bed tonight?”

She'd brushed her hair and her dark brown eyes locked onto mine as she continued smiling. I wasn't sure where this was leading, but I found myself drawn to her.

Since Lynne's death fifteen months earlier, I'd missed the intimacy of feeling naked, warm flesh nuzzling into me in bed. And the way her curves melted into mine – a perfect fit.

I knew this wasn't the right time or place, but as I glimpsed Alisha's toned shoulders and arms and the revealing transparent nightdress, I lost the battle…

*

When I woke, it took me a while to realise where I was. The sun streamed through the windows and I smelt coffee brewing. Sitting up in the bed, an overwhelming guilty feeling washed over me.

During the night, we'd become unbelievably aroused and excited as we abandoned our inhibitions and eagerly committed ourselves to sexual gratification. But the first pangs of guilt had kicked in when we'd finished.

Now the guilt turned into shame. What had I done?

I fought back my tears. I felt I'd let Lynne down.

Alisha entered the bedroom wearing her dressing gown. She carried a cup of coffee in each hand. I turned my face away from her.

“What's wrong, James?”

“Er… nothing. I'm fine.”

“Oh, yeah? Come on, what's really the matter?” She put the cups down on the bedside table and placed an arm around my shoulder.

I tried to explain how I felt, but the words wouldn't come.

She sympathised. “I know how much you loved Lynne and how much she loved you. I can feel your pain. Really, I can. I feel pain too. Lynne was my best friend. More than a sister to me. I wouldn't do anything to upset her.”

She stroked the back of my head, at the same time gazing into my eyes. “But last night, we both needed comforting, don't you see? In a funny kind of way, I think Lynne would have approved. We're both still grieving for her.”

I looked away, breaking eye contact.

Alisha continued, “The fact is you met each other and fell in love. You were two sides of the same coin. But now, she's gone. Nothing will bring her back.”

“Yes, I know, I know.”

I slid off the bed and made for the bathroom, fighting back the tears once again.

*

Later that Saturday morning, after I'd showered and shaved with Alisha's lightweight woman's razor, I dressed and popped down to the newsagents to see if the papers had any more news on the Greenland murder.

The
Daily
Mail
covered the story.

MAN FOUND STABBED IN VICTORIA PARK

The references to Victoria Park near Hackney Marsh, close to the location where Alisha had escaped from the boot of Hartley's car, sent a shiver down my spine. Now the Metropolitan police had linked these murders, presumably from the messages and conversations on Hartley's mobile, we needed them to tie in the arson attack and pin it on Hartley – except he'd gone missing.

I called RP at home from Alisha's landline, told him about the
Daily Mail
article and updated him on last night's events. He sounded genuinely concerned and relieved Alisha had survived her ordeal.

I asked him, “Do you think Alisha should go to the police, tell them about this abduction attempt and mention Hartley's car?”

After a moment's pause, he replied, “I don't think that's a good idea. It could look like Alisha's setting up Hartley. It's too obvious. On the other hand, it'll appear strange if she doesn't inform the police. Someone may have witnessed the incident and already reported it for all we know. I'd say get her to go to her local station, make a statement but don't mention the car's details.”

I told Alisha RP's thoughts, to which she agreed.

I added, “You know, I think it would be a good idea if you moved into my place whilst Hartley's still at large. He obviously knows where you live and I wouldn't forgive myself if he sent someone else to abduct you.”

“You're assuming he's behind it, are you?”

“Who else had a motive?”

“You're right. Well, if you don't mind?”

“Of course I don't mind.”

“OK. I think you're right. I'll pack a case. Won't be long.”

As she left the room I shouted after her, “I'll run you over to my place as soon as you're ready and then, if you like, I'll drop you off at the police station.”

When we got to my house, I carried her bag and took it upstairs to the second bedroom. She followed.

“Look, Alisha, I know it sounds silly after last night, but I don't think I'm quite ready yet to… you know −”

“No… no… that's fine, James. I understand. I do.” She sighed as she added, “This whole business is surreal.”

I left her to sort out her things and when she finished, we drove over to the police station after lunch. I dropped her off, wished her luck, pecked her on the cheek and told her to call me when she'd finished.

The police station in Canary wharf was close to my BMW showroom and office. I decided to go in. Being a Saturday, the showroom was busy. I walked through, acknowledged a couple of my salesmen and went to my office.

With only eight weeks to go, there'd been a great deal of media attention to the possibility that at midnight on the last day of the twentieth century, the world's computers would crash. The media called it the Millennium Bug or the Y2K problem.

It was about how the programmers had written their codes. Many had taken a shortcut to save memory by only using the last two digits of the year. This had the effect that as the year rolled over into 2000, the computer system would think it was 1900. Many experts forecast an epic meltdown on the scale of Armageddon.

As if I didn't have enough on my plate.

Like every other business, we were setting up contingency plans in case this ‘Doomsday' prophecy became reality. I went into the office and read the latest reports from our consultants who were working on the problem
.

Two hours after dropping her off, Alisha called and I collected her from the police station. I asked how the interview went.

“Fine. I made a statement. I think it went OK. Pretty straightforward, actually.”