Deadline (14 page)

For a long moment, Bolt stood there watching
the water drip down his face, listening to the
constant drumbeat of his heart, knowing that
whatever happened today, his life would never
be the same again. 'Pull yourself together,' he
whispered. 'She needs you.' And he vowed then
and there that if he got Emma out of this, he was
going to introduce himself to her, and if he was
her father – and Christ knows he might never
know for sure – he was going to make her part of
his life whether Andrea liked it or not.

But in the meantime, he had to force her out of
his mind.

His mobile started to ring. He looked at his
watch. Twenty past four. He pulled it from his
pocket.

It was Tina calling.

From the moment the cruel one had run the blade
of the knife across her face, smiling behind the
balaclava at her fear, Emma knew there was no
way he was ever going to let her go.

Afterwards, when he'd turned off the camera,
he'd stared at her for a long time with his dead
fish eyes. 'I think you're lying, you little bitch. You
saw my face, didn't you?' He leaned forward so
his face was almost touching hers, and sniffed
loudly. 'I can smell the bullshit on you,' he
whispered.

She promised him again that she wasn't lying,
even sworn on her mum's life. Because it was
true, she hadn't really seen anything – only that he
had dark hair. But he didn't believe her, and just
kept staring until finally she shut her eyes because
she couldn't bear to see him looking at her like
that any more.

'If you are lying, you little bitch, then you're
going to fucking die,' he said as he headed
towards the steps.

She shouted again that she wasn't, honestly,
that he had to believe her, but he didn't reply and
a few seconds later he was gone, locking the basement
door behind him.

For a long time afterwards she sat hunched up
on the bed, her knees pressed against her chest,
too shocked and terrified to move, wondering
why he wanted to kill her when it must have been
obvious that she was telling the truth. Why did he
have to be so cruel? She'd never done anything
bad to him. She'd never done anything bad to
anyone. Her mum called her a carer, and she was.
She looked after people. There was a girl at school,
Natalie, who was getting picked on by some of the
Year 12 girls, and Emma had stepped in, even
squared up to one of them to get them to stop (and
they had: they'd backed off, even though they
were bigger), because she didn't like people being
bullied.

But now none of this counted for anything.

When she realized that this was it, that the cruel
one really might kill her, the fear was like nothing
she'd ever experienced before, far worse than the
previous days when she'd at least had some kind
of hope that the nightmare might end with her
being reunited with her mum. Now she was sure
this wasn't going to be the case. As soon as she
was no longer needed, that'd be it. The cruel one
would get rid of her, and there'd be nothing she
could do about it, because she was totally helpless
down here.

She wondered how they were going to do it.
With a gun, or a pillow over her head? Or maybe
with that knife of his? She couldn't bear that. To be
stabbed to death. It would be slow, horrible, and
there'd be blood everywhere. She couldn't bear
the idea of her mum having to identify her in
some morgue somewhere when they finally
discovered her body. If they ever did find it, of
course. She might end up missing for ever, like
one of those kids who disappear and are never
heard from again. If they had to do it, she hoped
they'd give her pills so she could just go to sleep,
and that would be the end of everything. It would
be awful, and she'd miss her mum and her
friends, and even her teachers – well, a couple of
them – but at least it would be painless.

But she didn't want to die. God, she didn't. And
just thinking about it made her cry again.

And then, as she sat there all alone, something
within her changed. She realized that she couldn't
just lie there weeping. She had to do something,
anything. There was a topic they'd covered in
history when she was in Year 9. It was about
British prisoners in Germany during the Second
World War and how they were always trying to
escape. How often they weren't successful, and
got punished for it, but how they kept on trying,
and some – quite a few – even managed it.

It was hard, but once the thought of escape was
in her head, she got this weird burst of hope. She
stood up and tugged frantically at her handcuffs.
In the days since they were first put on she'd lost
weight, and with a lot of effort she was able to pull
the cuff a half inch or so up over her left hand. It
wasn't nearly enough to release her, but at least it
was a start. Another half inch and she'd be in with
a chance. She decided not to eat again. It would
make her feel sick and weak, but it had to be
worth a try.

Then she pulled at the chain attached to her
ankle, trying to yank it free from the wall. It didn't
budge the first few times, but then she gave it a
huge tug, leaning back and putting all her weight
into it as if she was doing a tug of war, and she
was sure she heard something give. The metal
plate attaching the chain to the wall was brand
new and had obviously been put there just for her,
but it felt very slightly loose in her hands, and
because the wall itself was so old, she felt sure she
could get it out somehow. It would still leave her
handcuffed, and trailing a chain, but at least she'd
be mobile.

She started scraping at the brickwork round the
plate with her fingernails, breaking most of them
in the process. Some flakes came away, but the
plate didn't get any looser. She needed a tool of
some kind, so she scoured the floor all over,
hunting in every nook and cranny, until she found
an old rusty nail in the corner just beneath the bed
frame. Slowly, carefully, she began cutting away at
the brickwork with the nail, methodically chipping
away at it. It was a slow, painful job, but
every time more brick dust fell to the floor she
knew she was getting that little bit closer.

She just had to keep praying she had enough
time.

'So, Pat Phelan might be in the frame after all?'
said Mo Khan as he and Bolt drove to Andrea's
house.

'Well, he's certainly got a motive. He owes a lot
of money to a very dangerous man who's likely to
use some pretty extreme violence to get it back.
He also called that man two days before the
kidnapping to ask him for a few more days to get
the money he owed him. That's a pretty big coincidence
if he wasn't involved, isn't it?'

Mo nodded. 'And he's not exactly the most
upstanding citizen. A layabout and petty criminal
who's sleeping with his wife's business partner.
The problem is, it doesn't lead us to Emma, and if
Phelan is involved, and she knows he's involved,
he's not going to want to let her go.'

'I don't know,' said Bolt slowly. 'I would hope
that it would mean he's less likely to hurt her
because of the personal relationship they have.'

'That's assuming he's got a conscience. Anyone
who can kidnap their own stepdaughter and put
her through a living hell that's going to scar her
for life just to pay off a gambling debt is capable of
most things in my book.'

Bolt's fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
'But what I still can't work out is that if he is
involved, why did he disappear too? Why not set
everything up, make sure he's got an alibi for the
time Emma's snatched, and simply stay behind
and act innocent, advise Andrea not to go to the
police, and wait for his money? Why implicate
yourself?'

Mo shrugged. 'Maybe he's stupid.'

Bolt shook his head. 'No, one thing we do know
for sure is the people behind this aren't stupid.'

The reason they were going to Andrea's house
was to talk to her about these latest developments.
Bolt had spoken on the phone to Tina Boyd for
more than fifteen minutes and had been
impressed by her detective work in uncovering
the leads, but also concerned that she'd been
abducted from the street and threatened by Leon
Daroyce. Bolt was unfamiliar with the name, but a
quick check on the PNC had revealed Daroyce as
an unpleasant thug with several convictions for
violence. He'd also been charged with a number
of offences over the years, including extortion
and, more ominously, attempted murder, all of
which had ended up being dropped as witnesses
retracted their statements, refused to testify, or in
one case simply disappeared. Clearly he was a
dangerous man.

But Tina hadn't sounded unduly distressed. If
anything, she'd sounded excited, which wasn't
like her. The thing with Tina was that she tended
to keep her emotions in check, and usually
exhibited a businesslike calm that her colleagues
occasionally found disconcerting. He'd offered
her the rest of the day off, knowing that however
brave a face she put on it she was still going to be
shocked by what had happened, but knowing too
that she'd refuse the offer, which of course she
had. Tina Boyd wasn't the type who liked being
treated with kid gloves, something that Bolt had
always admired about her, and he'd told her to
return to the Glasshouse and help out there.

Bolt was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate
on anything but Emma's whereabouts and
he knew he looked under stress. His fingers were
glued to the steering wheel, and twice Mo had
asked him whether everything was OK. He'd
replied that he was fine, just tired, which wasn't
an uncommon occurrence on his team. They regularly
did sixty-, even seventy-hour weeks when
they were on a job, but he'd felt bad not saying
something to Mo about his plight. They were
good friends who knew each other well. But Bolt
was well aware that the moment he opened his
mouth he'd put his colleague in an impossible
situation. He'd done that once before, and had
sworn then that he wouldn't risk their friendship
a second time.

It had just turned twenty to six when they
pulled up outside Andrea's house, having called
through to the surveillance team to announce
their arrival. Not surprisingly, the team leader
reported that there'd been no suspicious activity
in the street all day. The kidnappers, it seemed,
were continuing to keep a low profile.

Bolt pressed the buzzer on the security gate,
and they were let through without preamble. The
garden looked even prettier in the dappled lateafternoon
sunshine as he and Mo walked towards
the front door. It opened and Andrea appeared,
dressed in a white LA Fitness T-shirt and ill-fitting
trackpants. She'd removed her make-up, and
looked older. Her eyes were red, and there'd been
recent tears.

'Any news?' she asked.

'I'm afraid not,' answered Bolt as she moved
aside to let them in, 'but we've got a few questions
we need to ask you.'

Matt Turner and Marie Cohen, the liaison
officer, were in the hallway and Bolt nodded to
them both as Andrea led them through to her
living room. She took a seat on a long leather sofa
while Bolt and Mo sat down in armchairs opposite
her.

Marie leaned round the door and asked if
anyone fancied a cup of tea. Bolt declined. Mo and
Andrea both asked for coffee.

'What do you want to know?' she asked,
lighting a cigarette with shaking hands and
blowing out a line of pale blue smoke.

Bolt wasn't looking forward to this. It felt akin
to kicking her when she was already down.

'We've heard from very reliable sources that Mr
Phelan has a very large gambling debt. Did you
know anything about that?'

She looked genuinely shocked. 'Are you sure?
How big?'

'We believe it's tens of thousands of pounds.'

'Oh God, no. He's been staying out late quite a
bit, but I had no idea he was gambling. What's he
been betting on?'

'He's been losing it in a casino, but the point is,
he owes a lot of money to some very nasty
people.'

'Have you ever heard the name Leon Daroyce,
Mrs Devern?' asked Mo, speaking for the first
time.

She shook her head. 'Is he the person Pat owes
the money to? Do you think he's the one who
snatched Emma?'

'It's possible,' Bolt conceded. 'We don't know
for certain. We think it might be that Mr Daroyce
is currently looking for your husband to get the
money he's owed.'

Andrea took another urgent drag on the cigarette.
'But surely he's the one with the motive. Are
you not going to arrest him? Do something?'

'Mr Daroyce and his people are currently under
surveillance, so if they are involved, we'll know
about it very quickly.' Bolt paused. 'But our source
tells us that your husband phoned Daroyce last
Sunday night, saying he was going to get him his
money in the next few days. That was only two
days before the kidnapping.'

'So you're saying he is involved?' she asked, her
voice cracking.

'We have to face up to the possibility that he is,
yes.'

'He wouldn't do this, you know. He really cares
for her.'

The room fell silent. Bolt leaned forward in his
seat.

'What we keep coming back to, Andrea, is that
if your husband wasn't a part of this conspiracy,
how did the kidnappers know his and Emma's
movements? We think the abduction happened in
the car park of the dental surgery where Emma
had her appointment.'

Andrea's eyes filled with tears. 'Don't use that
word, abduction. It makes it seem, I don't know,
like some paedophile snatched her and she's not
coming back.'

'I'm sorry. Snatched. But the point is, the
kidnappers knew she was going to be there. And
we need to know how.'

Marie came back into the room with the coffee
for Mo and Andrea. Andrea waved hers away.

'Who's got access to this house, Mrs Devern?'
asked Mo, taking his coffee and thanking Marie.
'And who knows the code to your burglar alarm,
aside from you, Mr Phelan and your daughter?'

'No one except the cleaner, and she's been
doing the house for years.'

As Mo took down the cleaner's details, Bolt's
mobile rang. It was the surveillance team leader.
Bolt excused himself and walked to the other side
of the room out of earshot.

'We've got an IC1 female stopping at Mrs
Devern's security gate. Black hair, early forties.
She'll be ringing the bell any moment now.'

The buzzer sounded in the hallway, and Matt
Turner poked his head round the living-room
door.

'Are we expecting anyone?' Bolt asked him.

'Not that I'm aware of.'

'OK, ignore it, then. Let's hope they go away.'

A few seconds later the buzzer sounded again,
longer this time.

'Oh shit,' said the surveillance team leader
down the phone.

'What is it?'

'She's unlocking the gate, and now she's
coming through.'

Bolt cursed. This was the problem with operating
out of a private address. He hung up as
the key turned in the lock and the front door
opened.

'Andrea?' came a woman's voice, followed
immediately by an accusatory 'Who are you?' as
she saw Turner.

'It's all right, Isobel, I'm in here,' Andrea called
out, getting to her feet quickly. 'It's my business
partner,' she added by way of explanation.

Bolt and Mo exchanged glances as Isobel
Wheeler, the other half of Feminine Touch Health
and Beauty Spas, came into view. She was a
striking woman in her mid-forties whose
shoulder-length black hair and olive skin
suggested eastern Mediterranean parentage. She
was wearing a short black dress that finished
halfway down her thigh, and which Bolt thought
would have suited a slightly younger woman, and
black high-heeled court shoes. She didn't do a lot
for Bolt, but he could see why some men might go
for her.

Isobel and Andrea greeted each other with a
kiss on both cheeks.

'I came to see whether you were feeling any
better,' Isobel said, breaking away and surveying
the room with a cool confidence that was only a
hair's breadth short of arrogance. 'What's going
on? Who are all these people?'

Bolt opened his mouth to reply but Andrea beat
him to it. 'Pat's gone missing,' she said worriedly.
'I haven't seen him for days.'

Isobel looked shocked. 'Is that why you haven't
been in this week? You weren't ill, then?'

Andrea shook her head. 'No. I've been waiting
for him to come home, and he hasn't. The police
are looking for him.'

'What do you think's happened? Did you have
an argument or something?' There was something
accusatory in Isobel's tone.

'No, it wasn't like that. He just didn't
come home one night. I don't know what's
happened.'

Isobel turned to Bolt. 'Why aren't you out there
looking for him?'

'I don't believe we've been introduced,' he said
coolly. 'You are?'

'Isobel Wheeler,' she snapped. 'Why aren't you
looking for him?'

Bolt didn't like this woman at all, but knew
better than to react to her rudeness.

'We are looking for him,' he explained calmly,
'but unfortunately there's no law against a man
leaving his house, even for an extended period of
time, and at the moment there's no suggestion of
foul play.'

'Pat wouldn't just walk out,' she said firmly.

'You know him well, do you?'

'I know him well enough,' she said curtly
before turning back to Andrea. 'And you can't
think where he might be, Andi?'

Once again, Andrea shook her head. 'I've tried
everywhere. I've got no idea where he is, or why
he went.'

Bolt was impressed by the way she was holding
up, but he also found the smooth and natural
manner in which she lied unnerving.

Isobel stared at Andrea for a couple of seconds,
then leaned forward and gave her a hug.

'Do you want me to stay here with you?' she
asked.

'I'll be all right, I promise.'

'Keep me posted of progress, OK?'

'Of course I will.'

'And don't worry about anything at work; it's
all being sorted.'

Andrea managed a weak smile. 'Thanks, Iz. I
appreciate it.'

'Now, if you'll excuse us, Miss Wheeler,' said
Bolt, 'there are details we need to take down from
Mrs Devern.'

Isobel nodded brusquely. 'Call me,' she told
Andrea, then pushed past Turner and walked
back out into the hallway.

Bolt followed her out and opened the front door
for her.

'Have you any idea what's happened to him?'
Isobel whispered as she stepped past him on to
the steps. 'I mean, really? Because four police officers
seems an awful lot to come round to take a
missing person's details.'

Bolt shook his head. 'No, we haven't, I'm
afraid.'

She gestured in the direction of the living room.
'Watch her,' she said, but before Bolt could ask her
to elaborate she'd turned and walked away down
the garden path.

Bolt watched her go, wondering what she
meant. And wondering too why at no point had
she asked where Emma was.