The Torment of Others (52 page)

Don Merrick couldn’t remember ever having been so cold in his life. He’d gone beyond shivering and into a kind of physical trance, his body numb and heavy. And still no sign of Nick Sanders.

He’d reached Achmelvich in the early evening, at the end of a single-track road that cut high above the slender finger of a sea loch. The occasional tree he’d passed had been bent double, a marker to indicate the force and direction of the prevailing wind.

It was hardly worth giving a name to, he thought. There was the youth hostel, closed for the winter, and a handful of low cottages hunched along a spine of rock that stretched out into the sea. Only one of the cottages was showing a light. He wondered if he should ask for directions, but figured it couldn’t be that hard to find this Hermit’s Castle.

He’d been wrong, of course. He’d spent the best part of an hour clambering over rocks in the wrong shoes, stumbling on loose stones, nearly tumbling headlong into the sea at one point. When he’d finally found it, he’d almost walked straight past it.

Exhausted, cold and bruised, he shone his torch over the tiny concrete structure. It was nestled in a gap in the rocks, a grey box scarcely seven feet high with a small chimney curved over the roof like a tail. There was a doorway but no door. It led to a narrow passage that curved round, apparently designed to keep out the wind and the rain. It gave on to a tiny cell, barely six feet across. Along one side was a concrete shelf the size and shape of a single bed. Opposite was an open hearth. And that was it. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to do anything much. He couldn’t imagine spending a day there, never mind a year.

Merrick went back outside and shone his torch around. Nothing to do but wait. He’d give it till ten, he decided, then leave. If Nick Sanders arrived after that, he wouldn’t be going anywhere before morning. If, of course, he was coming there at all.

A short distance beyond the hideaway, Merrick found a sheltered space in the rocks and hunkered down. He’d come across a petrol station earlier where he’d managed to buy a heavy rubber torch, some cans of Coke, a couple of packets of biscuits and some crisps. He’d also bought a hideous handknitted jumper which he’d hoped might protect him against the cold. It didn’t seem to be helping much.

The sound of the sea crashing against the rocks was hypnotic. There were moments when he felt himself drifting into a doze, starting awake only because his body shifted and some part of him hit a different bit of rock. Thoughts of Lindy and his sons drifted in confusion around his head. They were why he was here. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he knew that a large part of the reason he was so determined to bring Tim and Guy’s murderer to justice personally was that he felt it would be a kind of talisman, an act that would protect him from the prospect of losing his own boys. It almost assuaged the guilt he felt at abandoning Paula. But there were dozens of people out there working to bring Paula back, and nobody but him who cared enough about Tim and Guy to take a chance on this most slender of leads.

It was just after seven when he realized that there was another sound in the distance, a different note from the surge and crash of the sea. There was no doubt about it. It was a car. He shifted his position, trying to rub some life back into his frozen limbs. Either it was one of the cottage residents returning after a day doing who knew what in the back of this godforsaken beyond. Or it was Nick Sanders, going to ground where he thought he’d be safe.

The minutes passed, slow as hours. Then a glimmer of light rose behind the rocks. It grew brighter and clearer then, as it rounded an outcropping, became clearly identifiable as the steady beam of a big torch. Merrick ducked lower, though he knew there was little chance of anyone seeing him against the mass of black rock.

The beam swung round and illuminated the Hermit’s Castle. Merrick could see nothing of the person behind the torch at first. But as the light disappeared inside the narrow passage, he could make out the shape of someone with a tall rucksack on his back. The height and bulk of the figure was, as far as he could make out, much the same as the description he’d read of Nick Sanders.

Merrick counted to sixty, then he stood up. It took a couple of minutes for his legs to feel capable of carrying him. He used the time to make sure his handcuffs were open and ready, his grip firm on his torch. Then he picked his way across the rocks in the darkness and stepped into the mouth of the passage. He walked as lightly as he could, picking up the sounds of someone moving around. The clank of tins. The rustle of plastic bags. Then he was in the chamber, looking down at the man crouched by the concrete shelf, illuminated by the light of a lantern-style torch. There was no doubt about it. This was the man whose photograph was pinned to the whiteboard in the squadroom.

A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Merrick’s face. ‘Nick Sanders, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder,’ he said, enjoying every word.

He relaxed too soon. Sanders sprang up from his crouch, his momentum carrying him into Merrick and knocking him off his feet. Sanders tried to scramble over him and into the tunnel, but the space was too confined. Merrick lunged at his leg and caught him off balance. Sanders crashed into the wall and tripped up, falling backwards and cracking his head on the bed shelf.

He grunted once, then went slack. Merrick dragged himself upright and staggered across to Sanders. He was, to Merrick’s regret, still breathing. He rolled Sanders over on to his side, not caring about the first rule of head injuries, seeing with satisfaction a swelling welt across the man’s forehead. He glanced away as he went for his handcuffs. Suddenly Sanders uncoiled and sprang upwards, grabbing the heavy torch and swinging it savagely at Merrick’s head. It caught him on the temple and at once, everything went red then black.

Carol stared at Jan Shields, incredulity on her face. ‘You’re the victim here? Bullshit. Where’s Paula?’

Jan’s voice dropped into a warm, lower register. ‘I have no idea, Carol. Why don’t you ask Dr Hill? Like I said, I’m the victim here. I came home to find he’d made an illegal entry into my home. I found him typing something into my laptop. I grabbed a kitchen knife to defend myself against an intruder. I have no idea how long he has been here or what he might have planted.’

‘Nice try, Jan,’ Tony said, his voice strained. ‘Carol, there’s a webcam feed. She’s got it saved in her favourites. It’s Paula. She’s still alive.’

‘Does it say where she is?’

He shook his head. ‘Maybe Stacey can find something?’

Jan continued as if neither of them had spoken. ‘Like I said, Carol, I found him in my home. I have no idea what he’s talking about.’

‘Shut up,’ Carol said savagely. She shifted her position so she could reach her phone. She dialled Kevin’s number. ‘Kevin, get up here now. Back door. Bring Stacey with you. Call for an ambulance, a SOCO team and uniformed back-up, please.’

‘You’re going to look very foolish, Carol,’ Jan said, a pitying smile on her lips. ‘A well-respected police officer with commendations for bravery and experience of working with the FBI defends herself against an intruder in her home, an intruder intent on framing her for murder purely to protect the failing reputation of the woman he loves…That’ll play beautifully in court, don’t you think?’

Carol wished she could cover her ears and shut out the insidious poison coming from Jan Shields’ mouth. ‘Like I said, save it for the interview room. I hope you’ve got something put aside for a rainy day. Bronwen Scott doesn’t come cheap.’

Jan chuckled. ‘Oh, I think I can afford a few hours of her time. That’s all it’ll take before Mr Brandon realizes what a trumped-up mess of lies there is against me. And who’s behind it.’

Carol was spared listening to any more by the hasty arrival of Kevin and Stacey. She summoned them with a jerk of her head. ‘Cuff her and caution her, Kevin. I only got as far as “suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder”. You might want to throw assault in for good measure. Tony, you can move away now,’ she said. She waited till he was clear and Jan was flanked by the other two before she rolled off Jan’s legs and got to her feet.

‘I’m sorry you’re being forced to take part in this charade, guys,’ Jan said apologetically. ‘I keep telling Carol I’m the victim here, but she’s got her own reasons for preferring to believe Tony, hasn’t she?’ She smirked at Carol as she spoke.

‘Get her out of my sight,’ Carol said, crossing to Tony. ‘As soon as we get some uniforms here, I want her taken back to HQ and banged up till I’m ready to talk to her.’ She took in his pallor and pulled a dining chair across for him. He slumped on the chair, holding his hand against his blood-soaked sweater. ‘How bad is it?’ she asked.

‘It hurts like hell. Won’t stop bleeding.’ Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Carol hurried through to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of dishtowels from their hooks. She folded them into pads and made him press them against the long slash that transversed his hand.

After a couple of minutes that felt much longer, flashing blue lights washed across the front window. ‘That’s the ambulance,’ Carol said. ‘Come on, let’s get you on your feet.’

By the time the paramedics had loaded Tony into the ambulance, Kevin was escorting Jan into the back seat of a police car. Stacey was about to climb in with them when Carol called her name. ‘I need you back here,’ she said. Stacey followed her into the house. ‘There’s a laptop picking up a webcam feed with live pictures of Paula. I need you to find out whatever you can, Stacey.’

The younger woman nodded. ‘I’d be better off taking it back to the station,’ she said. ‘That way I have access to all my diagnostics.’

‘Fine. Just do it as fast as you can. Paula’s still alive. It’s obvious Jan’s not going to give her up, so we need to do whatever it takes to find her before that changes,’ Carol said bleakly. She watched Stacey packing up the laptop, thoughts tumbling over each other in her head. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever faced so complicated an endgame. It should have scared her, but instead it exhilarated her. She was definitely herself again. ‘Oh, and Stacey–when you get back, can you call Don Merrick on his mobile and tell him I need him here. I’m going to the hospital to take a statement from Tony. I want Don to run the search here.’

Fifteen minutes later, she was addressing a mixed team of SOCOs and detectives. ‘We need to find where Paula is. There must be something–a rent book, a utility bill, something. You have to be fast, but you also have to be unimpeachable. I don’t have to tell you how vital this search is. Do what you need to do. Take up the carpets, shred the cushions if you have to. I don’t care if you leave the place looking like a war zone, find Paula for me.’

She turned away and spoke to the senior officer at the scene. I’m going to the hospital to take a statement from Dr Hill before I interview Shields. As soon as you get anything, call me. I’ll have my phone switched on. To hell with their bloody heart monitors.’ She stopped on the threshold and gave the team a last level stare. ‘I know I can rely on all of you. And so does Paula.’

Tony sat on the edge of the examination couch, a polystyrene cup of some indeterminate brownish liquid in his left hand. He’d waited less than ten minutes to be seen by the medical staff at Bradfield Cross A&E. Something to do with the amount of blood on his sweater, he suspected. Since then he’d been given a local anaesthetic, eight stitches and a cautious opinion that he probably hadn’t done any permanent damage to his hand.

The curtains surrounding his cubicle moved and Carol’s familiar face appeared in the gap. ‘Hi,’ she said. She slipped inside, closing the curtains behind her. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’ll live,’ he said.

Carol hitched herself up on the bed beside him. ‘I need to take a statement from you.’

He gave a tired, sad smile. ‘What do you need to know?’

‘I need to know what happened between you and Jan. The earlier stuff–how you got there, what the hell you thought you were playing at–that can wait for later. But I want to know how it went down.’

‘I couldn’t think of a way to make you believe me other than hard evidence,’ he said. ‘My failure.’ He sipped from the cup. Tea, he thought, though he wouldn’t have been willing to wager anything he cared about on it. ‘Inside a file case that was hidden in her wardrobe, I found a bunch of photos and some DVD-ROMs. Photos of the victims before they were discovered. Photos presumably taken by Carl Mackenzie.’

‘You know about Carl?’

He nodded. ‘Jan told me the bare bones.’ He continued with the story, up to the point where he had turned to walk away.

‘She came after me,’ he said. ‘I thought she would. I wanted to make her feel powerless, to lose control. That was my only chance of finding a chink in her armour that might have got me out of there alive.’ He smiled. ‘And that’s when you arrived.’

‘She didn’t actually confess?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Sorry. She was already practising the line she used on you.’

‘Never mind,’ Carol said. ‘We’ll nail her.’

‘Paula?’ Tony asked.

‘We’re looking. We’ll find her.’ He could see the restored confidence in her face and hear it in her voice.

In spite of his concerns for Paula, part of Tony rejoiced.