Dead Wrong (18 page)

She gave him a quizzical look and offered him a biscuit. “Were you there, Tom? I don’t remember seeing you. You should have said something.”

Calladine closed his eyes, in a silent prayer for help. This was farcical. He couldn’t go on like this.

“And she’s been here again, your daughter.”

“Not mine, Ma.” He gently patted her knee. “I’ll see you later.”

More nothing. Surely this case had to break sometime. By the law of averages, one of the leads he followed up must eventually give him something.

* * *

“Mrs Hampshire’s arrived. We set up in here so we can use the big screen,” Imogen told him when he arrived back in the incident room.

The lip-reader, Clare Hampshire, was what Calladine would describe as a
comfortable
woman; a bit like Monika. She was middle-aged, slightly overweight, with short easy-to-manage hair, which she spiked a little on the top. Her nod to fashion, he reckoned. She wore no makeup apart from some pale pink lipstick, which gave her a washed out look.

They shook hands and sat down. Calladine explained what they were after: basically anything she could give them.

“She’s a very animated young woman,” Clare Hampshire began. “She’s surprised to see him, but not shocked or frightened, I’d say.”

“So she knows him?”

“Possibly. Either that, or he was expected. She’s just said the word
detective,
followed by . . .
my overprotective detective
.”

She obviously meant him. Lydia must have thought he’d sent the guy to look after her. She was so trusting. He wished she’d phoned him, made sure.

The lip-reader interpreted Lydia’s speech:

Where are we going? — okay then, surprise me.
But perhaps
you can’t say — safe house is it
?

This was awful. Having to sit and watch as Lydia was so completely taken in. This man was good. There was no denying that. He was obviously pretending to be a policeman. He was pulling it off with consummate ease, and utter confidence.

“What was that?” Calladine leapt to his feet. “What was that sort of shudder as he leant forward?”

“It could be anything, sir. The camera was jolted — by the wind or something.” Ruth sneezed into a tissue.

“That’s it! The bastard sneezed. He bloody well sneezed, and she’s still got hold of her briefcase, see it’s in her hand!”

Calladine was jubilant. This was possibly the long-awaited breakthrough. He ran and picked up the office phone to call the forensic scientist.

“Julian! We’ve got him. He sneezed close to Lydia’s briefcase. There must be drops of saliva and God knows what all over it. It’s in the boot of her car. Our people are still there, so go get it.”

Finally they’d had a stroke of luck — luck they so badly needed. Now they’d get his DNA. If their good fortune stuck then there might be a match on the database. He’d keep his fingers crossed, along with everything else.

Chapter 19

This wasn’t right. Something was definitely wrong. Her mind was in a muddle. Where had she been? Where should she be now? There’d been a man; Tom had sent him. He was going to take her somewhere, but he hadn’t done what he’d said he would. That was it. He was supposed to look after her, take her to the police station or somewhere safe. So what had changed? What had gone wrong?

Lydia Holden felt cold and heavy. She couldn’t move her legs or her arms, and it was dark. The first wave of sheer panic rushed through her. What if? No. That was too dreadful to even contemplate.

“Anyone there?” she called into the cold space. “Where are you? I know someone’s there. Please let me go.”

He hadn’t gagged her. He didn’t want to obstruct her lovely face; he liked looking at her. He liked the sound of her soft, lilting voice.

“You’re okay. No need to worry, Lydia. For now, that is.” He leaned in close to her, and chuckled.

She could feel his breath on her cheek. Smell him. But she couldn’t see. Lydia felt the goosebumps form: fear. Who was he and what did he want? Then she remembered. He’d come to her apartment; met her in the car park. She knew him, but couldn’t think where from.

“Sorry to interrupt your day, Miss Holden. You must understand how it is. It’s not my fault that you’re here, that I’ve had to abduct you like this. The fault is entirely yours — well yours and that meddling inspector you’re so fond of.”

“I’m sorry. If I’ve done something to upset you, then I apologise.”

She heard him laugh again, and the sound of boots striding across a solid floor.

“You should try that again, this time with some real feeling behind it. You see, I wish you could convince me. I do so want to believe you, sweeting, I really do . . .” Sweeting was a term of endearment he usually reserved for his mother. He brushed his hand across her cheeks. “But you’re lying, I know you are. Your type always does. All you really want is a story. And now — in the predicament you’re in — you’re simply trying to save your precious skin, aren’t you?”

Lydia sobbed. She’d pushed things too far. He must have watched her — her and Tom — so he’d know that the inspector would never allow her to print the stuff he’d sent. This maniac wanted his brutality broadcast loud and long, and she’d dug her heels in. That’s why she was here.

“And what beautiful skin you’ve got, too. So smooth. So perfect. And what magnificent breasts.” His grip was hard, and it elicited a piercing scream from Lydia.

She was lying flat on her back — naked — on some sort of table; that’s why she was so cold. He must have undressed her while she was unconscious. She struggled, trying to free one of her hands, but couldn’t. So she wasn’t only naked, but bound tight and spread-eagled. She became aware of this with a mix of horror and embarrassment.

“Now, now, sweeting, don’t fuss so. You like men touching you, I know you do. You liked it when that meddling inspector touched you. It’ll be no different with me. Just a little more — adventurous — that’s all.”

What did he mean by that? By now she was terrified. The goosebumps were at it again, and that sick feeling in her stomach. She knew well enough what he meant; he was a man wasn’t he?

“Don’t hurt me,” she begged. “Please, I’ll do anything — print anything you want me to, but don’t hurt me.”

Lydia felt his hot breath on her cheeks as he laughed in her face. She was at his mercy. All she had to fight him with were words, and they were useless because he was clever, he’d know that she didn’t mean any of them. He had the upper hand and he knew it. He’d think her a stupid bitch for falling for the lies he’d spun her.

“We should have some fun, you and I,” he said softly. “I’d like that, wouldn’t you, Lydia?”

She felt his hands travel the length of her body. They lingered on her breasts. Lydia tried to shrink down into the bench, his touch was sickening.

“I like your breasts, they’re large but naturally so. I like your nipples too, hard rosy nipples that’ll be good to taste.”

Lydia screamed as he lowered his head, took one between his teeth and pulled lightly. “Get off me, you filthy bastard,” she shrieked.

“How the lady roars,” he laughed. “But soon, Lydia, I’ll give you real reasons to scream. You will scream long and hard but no one will hear.”

“Please — don’t do this. Let me go, let me help you.”

At that he laughed out loud. “No — why should I? I have you safe, in a secret place where no one will find you. Don’t you find that as big a turn on as I do, Lydia?”

No she didn’t, but the madman was not for listening. Lydia racked her brain for something she could say that would appeal to his better nature — if he had one. She’d seen the pictures, watched the film, she knew what he’d done to his other victims.

“It’ll be good. You’ll enjoy our time together. I know I shall. A female body is so much more interesting than a male one, don’t you think? It offers up such fascinating possibilities when it comes to causing pain.”

“You don’t have to hurt me. We can be friends, we really can. I’ll try hard, harder than before. I can be the woman you want; I can write your story, and then everyone will understand. You can talk to me, I will be your mouthpiece.”

Her voice was shaky, full of fear. She barely sounded convincing to herself, never mind to him. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, as if trying to turn him off, but it was no good. He was touching her again. The trembling started and became visible shaking as his hands continued their steady exploration of her body. “Stop this. Stop it now, and I’ll give you what you want.” But her voice had become a high-pitched wail that simply made him laugh all the more.

Lydia knew this was hopeless. He wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t going to stop until he’d taken everything — her body, her sanity . . . and then he’d do to her what he’d done to the others. She sobbed into the darkness and swore at him, her fists clenched in anger but totally useless.

“And what do you think I want, Lydia? Because I’m not entirely sure I know myself, anymore.”

“You want your side of things printed in my paper. I can do that for you,” she promised frantically. “I can make people see, make them know who you are.” She was trying to sound as persuasive as she could.

He laughed again, the sound echoing against the bare stone walls. “And what do you think people will see? How will you make them understand? I’ve killed people, Lydia. I’ve butchered them in the most hideous ways. Turn your head — go on, just a little. Hanging on the wall just a few feet away is what’s left of Mr Masheda. That’s his bowels lying festering on the floor. So you see, sweeting, people won’t like that; they won’t like that at all. They’ll want to lock me up and throw away the key.”

Lydia squinted into the gloom. She could just make out the shape, the shape of a body, hanging like a rag doll from a hook. Seeing it, knowing what it was, instantly made her aware of the smell, and she retched.

“I might still be able to sort it out.” Who was she kidding? “We could try. I’ll get some help, someone to come over and we can talk this through.”

He didn’t reply

His hands wandered lower down her body, and she screamed.

“I’ll make you scream, alright. I’ll make you wish you’d never been born. You should have printed what I sent you. If you’d done what you were supposed to, you wouldn’t be here.”

He ripped off his latex gloves and threw them to the floor. It was as though he wanted to feel her skin against his fingertips.

“We must send your inspector a little memento . . .” He palmed her breasts, now with his bare hands. Yes, that was better. “He’ll be missing you. Perhaps one of your nipples? An apt little reminder of your time together. What do you think?”

Lydia whimpered and struggled against the restraints. He was mad. She’d been taken by the same madman who’d killed the others. This was hopeless. His hands were crawling all over her, and she felt sick. They were on her belly, then on her legs, between her thighs.

“No, on second thoughts, I like them too much. They’re going to give me a lot of pleasure. Not a nipple. I’ll think of something else.”

She shrieked into the dark and begged him to stop but he didn’t. He couldn’t, not now. This was just too good. He put his face to within a few centimetres of hers and mouthed the words
stupid
bitch.

“You can’t stop me, no one can. And now for the best bit — I’m going to have you.”

“Nooooo!” Lydia screamed into the darkness. “Please no — not like this. You can’t want this, not really.”

She could hear his breathing and the fast beat of her own heart but there was something else — a buzzing noise, loud and insistent. He was being called away by someone. She heard him curse and felt a sharp slap across her thigh.

“I’ll be back after I’ve sorted her out.”

Chapter 20

“Anything yet?” Calladine shot at Imogen as soon as he entered the incident room.

“Julian’s working flat out on the case, sir. He should have something for us soon.”

Soon just wasn’t fast enough. Lydia was running out of time.

“With a bit of luck there’ll be a match on the database.”

“We can only hope so. Keep at him. We need that result, and quick.”

Lydia had been gone all day. The murdering bastard had her, was keeping her somewhere and, for all he knew, the poor woman was already dead. The more he thought about her, the angrier he got. It should never have happened. He slammed his fist on his desk, making Imogen jump. He was helpless, floundering around with nothing to go on.

“We’re doing all we can, sir. And don’t forget, she’s a bright woman, very resourceful. If there’s a way out, then she’ll find it.”

The DC was trying to be kind, but he knew the score. Lydia was in grave danger, and it was all his fault.

“I’ll have another trawl through the records. I’ve now got access to the local adoption stuff. The powers that be didn’t like it, but, as I told them, this is a murder inquiry. I’ll find out who David Morpeth was fostered with. If they still live locally, then they may know his biological family.”

That was a good idea. Imogen was shaping up to be a damn good detective. Imogen, Rocco and Ruth — they were all first class. With a bit of luck, Dodgy would emulate them, but Calladine couldn’t help noticing that he was beginning to live up to his nickname.

“Where’s Dodgy gone? Long’s team will be back with the CCTV from Hopecross any time and I want him to help them look through it.”

“He’s gone out to do something for Ruth; back to the Hobfield, I think.”

Calladine nodded. Just so long as he was doing something, and contributing to the case. There was no place on his team for a person who didn’t pull their weight.

He needed to nip out himself. He still had to get Monika’s present. He picked up the phone to ring her. He would stay at hers tonight. She’d said she’d cook. Otherwise he knew he wouldn’t bother eating at all.

“Glad you rang, Tom. I was just about to contact you. Your mum’s in hospital — Leesworth General. It’s her legs again. She was doing okay, then this morning they were bad again. The doctor’s been and he’s sent her in. Her skin is so thin, it’s breaking down and badly infected. They’ll keep an eye on her for a couple of days, give her antibiotics and see how she goes.”