The Missing Hours (28 page)

She looks up to the sky, blinks as the rain hits her face, and tucks her collar up, a fairly useless concession to the weather. Holds the envelope tight to her.

Is she waiting for a handler to come and get her and their money? Is she waiting for Beck? Has she been told to come out of the bank, to wait, and is following her instructions helplessly?

But then she begins to walk.

There is no meandering, no dawdling, no ducking under a shelter to escape from the rain. She walks with a purpose. She knows where she’s going even if I have no clue.

I shift to a different camera as she walks out of shot.

This one is set to a wider angle, encompasses the length of the pedestrianised zone. I can see the train-station from here.

I watch as Selena cuts through the umbrellas, a line straight and true into the open train-station doors.

She vanishes from view.

I sit back, my heart thumping.

That, then, is it. I have filled in some scant minutes in those missing hours. She went to the bank, withdrew ten thousand pounds, then caught a train. Where? Where the hell was she going? I gather my belongings, think that the train station is my own next destination. She must have got a return, come back late at night, walked the river from Hereford to where she was found, confused and coatless.

I …

I pull my own coat on.

I have no idea what the hell is going on.

The footage is still running, albeit unintentionally. And a movement at the train-station door stays me. I can’t see her face; the station is far too far away for me to be sure who I am seeing. But, like I said, I have made a study of Selena Cole. So I recognise her figure, the way she walks.

I sit back down.

She re-emerges from the train station. She’s still wearing the coat, her hand pulling from the inside of it. Has she tucked the envelope inside, protecting it from the rain? She walks confidently back towards the camera. I scan her surroundings. From what I can see, she is alone. Then she walks past the limits of the camera range and is gone. I race the footage forward, to see if she comes back, but there is nothing.

I sit. Stare at the rapidly darkening screen.

Why did she go into the station? What did she do there?

Case No. 55

Victim: Tom Villier

Location: São Paulo, Brazil

Company: Private case

18 May 2010

Initial event

Tom Villier, aged twenty-three, was travelling around Latin America as part of a gap-year programme. On Friday 18 May, Mr Villier was enjoying his second week in São Paulo, Brazil, staying at the Ascension Youth Hostel in the city. He was travelling independently but had made a number of friends, largely other young people residing in the same hostel. On the evening of the 18th, he went to a local bar with a small group of them.

Mr Villier reports that he was drinking heavily and that sometime during the course of the night he became separated from his group. At approximately 2 a.m., he left the bar, intending to walk the short distance back to the hostel. According to Mr Villier, upon exiting the bar he noticed a taxi idling at the kerb, its driver talking to another young man. The driver then offered him a shared ride, as his passenger was heading in the same direction.

Due to Mr Villier’s excessive levels of inebriation, he failed to wonder how the taxi driver knew where he was going, and both young men climbed into the rear of the taxi.

After travelling less than a hundred metres, Mr Villier’s fellow passenger pulled a handgun on him and ordered him to remove his watch (Breitling), his sunglasses (Ray-Ban) and his trainers (Air Jordan). His wallet was taken from him and all cash removed.

Mr Villier was then informed that he would be taken to the nearest ATM, where he would withdraw $500. After handing over the cash to his kidnappers, he would then be released.

Mr Villier, in the hope of bringing the incident to a close, followed the kidnappers’ instructions and withdrew $500 – the ATM daily limit in Brazil at this time. However, immediately after handing the money over, he was forced into the boot of the car.

He reports that he was driven around for some indeterminate period of time, but that when the kidnappers stopped at a second ATM (presumably in the hopes of utilising one of the other four credit cards in Mr Villier’s wallet) and attempted to remove him from the boot, he fought back.

This is the end of Mr Villier’s recollection.

After a period of approximately thirty-six hours, Mr Villiers was discovered, bruised and seemingly disoriented, sitting on the kerb outside the bar from which he had originally been kidnapped.

Response

After being informed of this incident by his son, Mr Leighton Villier – the victim’s father – contacted the Cole Group directly. He informed us that $4,000 had been taken from his son’s various cards over that thirty-six-hour period, and that his son had been unable to impress the gravity of the situation upon local police. He requested my – Ed Cole’s – immediate attendance at the scene.

Although Mr Leighton Villier was advised that my contribution to events at this point was likely to be negligible, he was insistent that he wanted me to attend, and was more than happy to cover the cost of my services.

Upon arrival in São Paulo, I immediately sought out Mr Tom Villier. I located him back at his hostel, ostensibly none the worse for his experience. It was, however, difficult to obtain a full and complete accounting from the victim, as at the time of my arrival, he was severely intoxicated.

Initial attempts were made to secure Mr Villier, in terms of both his personal safety and his possessions, which were, upon my arrival, strewn across his room in easy access of anyone within the hostel. After this, I immediately proceeded to the local police station in order to ascertain the level of progress that had been made on this case. I was quickly informed that they had no leads and were, frankly, unlikely to get any. However, the officer on duty did express to me that leads might be more forthcoming were I to make him a gift of some modest amount of money. I declined.

After a lengthy conversation with the victim, I reached the conclusion that, after attempting to put up a fight, he was dosed with scopolamine – a drug in common usage in kidnap-for-ransom cases throughout Latin America, and known by the street name of devil’s breath. This would account for his lack of memory for the intervening thirty-six hours, and for the apparent ease with which his kidnappers then went on to access his bank accounts.

Upon liaising with Mr Leighton Villier’s insurer, I was informed that as the victim was highly intoxicated and had failed to make even the most basic efforts to ensure his own safety, the policy would not pay out to reimburse the money lost.

Mr Leighton Villier expressed to me his frustration at this. He then informed me that his priority at this point was the safety of his son. Two airline tickets were purchased, one for myself, one for Mr Tom Villier, and it was requested that I collect the victim from his accommodation and ensure his return to the UK. Mr Leighton Villier advised me that he had spoken with his son, and that he was happy to accept my escort out of São Paulo.

I had at this point been in São Paulo for less than twenty-four hours.

Upon returning to the hostel to collect the victim for transport to the airport, I discovered his room empty and his belongings gone. My initial response was to begin initialising kidnap protocols, believing that his original abductors had identified him as a lucrative target and that we were now likely to see a more protracted, and considerably more expensive, kidnap event.

I was then approached, however, by a friend of Mr Tom Villier, who informed me that he had decided to decline his father’s invitation for a speedy return home and had instead left São Paulo, with the plan of heading to Lima, Peru. I am unclear as to how he believed he was going to do this, as at that time he was without money, transport or, importantly, shoes.

Nonetheless, given that he had reached the age of majority, I felt that Mr Tom Villier was well within his rights to continue his travels if he so wished.

I subsequently returned to the UK.

Note

Approximately two years after these events, Mr Villier was once again a victim of kidnap for ransom. This time in Bogotá, where he was holidaying with friends. Unfortunately for the Villier family, this kidnap event would prove to be far more costly and time-consuming. His release was secured after eleven months in captivity (see case no. 83).

A deal with the devil

DS Finn Hale: Friday, 2.49 p.m.

‘
I DIDN’T KILL
him.’

‘You can understand how we might wonder.’

‘Yes. But I didn’t kill him.’

‘Were you angry with him?’ I ask.

‘With who? My husband or the man he was sleeping with?’

‘Either. Both.’

‘Yes. And yes. But I didn’t kill him.’

‘How did you find out?’

Orla shakes her head, a tired smile. ‘Seth isn’t as good a liar as he thinks he is. Besides, this isn’t the first time.’

‘There have been other men?’

‘Yes. And I didn’t kill any of them either.’

‘Did you never think of leaving?’ I am intrigued, I confess. They talk about the mysteries of marriage, and I get that. The idea that you will never know what goes on within a relationship. But this … this apparent acceptance of … betrayal, is there another word for it? This willingness to allow your spouse to do the same thing over and over again. Surely at some point it must become too much. Surely at some point you would snap. And then what? A knife stabbed into the lover’s neck?

Orla looks at me, appears to be considering. Then, ‘I always knew that I loved him more than he loved me. When I first met him, when Ed introduced us, I fell for him, I mean, head over heels. And I knew that he was … calmer, more measured. But, I mean, whatever, it worked for us. The first time, when I realised what was happening, I was horrified. Heartbroken. And yet, in a strange way, it made me feel better. That the reason he wasn’t as crazy about me as I was about him was that he just couldn’t be, because there was this whole other side of him that he kept hidden.’

‘So you stayed.’

She shrugs. ‘I loved him. I love him.’

‘And Dominic?’

‘What about Dominic?’

‘Was it different with him? From the others?’

‘Maybe. You’d have to ask my husband.’ Orla leans forward. ‘Look, I’m going to make myself as clear as I can. No, of course I wasn’t happy with my husband’s seemingly endless need for affairs. Of course I wasn’t. But it was a deal I had made with my own private devil. I wanted to keep my marriage together. Seth, in spite of everything, he wants to keep us together. So I deal with it. Sometimes I cry over it, but then I pick myself up and move on. It’s a compromise that I am willing to make. I did not kill Dominic.’

‘Why were you trying to contact Dominic?’

Orla sighs, looks away. ‘I … I didn’t know, about this one. Not until Isaac called me. It was our home phone. I assume Seth had been calling Dominic from it. I think Isaac thought that it was me. That Dominic and I were … you know. And I’ll be entirely honest with you, I was angry, once I realised what was going on. It had been a while since the last time Seth had done something like this. And I thought … I thought we’d turned a corner, you know?’

‘So you were planning on confronting Dominic?’

‘I was planning on venting. I was planning on yelling at him and then going home and drinking myself into a stupor so I could try and forget. I didn’t manage to achieve part one. I’m pretty sure he knew what I was about to say. I managed part two, though. I left Selena’s at about five o’clock. Went home and drank two bottles of wine. Fell asleep, passed out, whatever you want to call it, on the sofa and woke up at about five the next morning with a cat sleeping on my head.’ She gives me a level look. ‘I understand it isn’t the best of alibis.’

‘No. Not really.’

‘Are you going to let me go?’

‘Not right now.’

She sighs heavily. ‘Then I’m sorry, but I think I’m done here. I’d like to see my solicitor, if you don’t mind.’

I nod slowly, acknowledging the inevitable. ‘I’ll get the ball rolling,’ I say, standing.

She looks up at me. ‘I didn’t kill him.’

I walk slowly up the stairs. Did she kill him? I don’t know.

The major incident room has settled into its rhythm, that segment of an investigation where everyone knows where they should be, what they should be doing. Busy but steady, unlike the first frantic hours and days. I look for Leah and then remember where she is, that I am lying for her should the need arise.

I pull up a chair. Did she see the signs, right back in the beginning? Did Leah catch what I had missed, the interconnectedness of these two cases? Because it is becoming apparent that they
are
connected. I shimmy my mouse, bringing my computer screen to life, feel a quick spasm of guilt. I doubted her, thought she had lost her edge, that her interest in the disappearance of Selena Cole was more about her own struggles than about the case itself.

‘You okay, Finn?’ Christa asks.