Waking Broken (27 page)

‘Psycho killer,’ repeated the artist.

‘I’m… sorry. What…?’

‘Psycho killer,’ said Cash again.

He paused. ‘That song by Talking Heads. Don’t you know it? I was trying to remember how it went.’ The artist frowned. ‘Ah yes. “
Run, run, run, run away. Chase all the women. Got to make them pay. I hate people when they’re alive.”
’

The artist shrugged. ‘Something like that anyway. Ring any bells?’

Cash was still grinning as they left the former church and got back into the Rolls. Harper looked at him and frowned. ‘That’s not how
Psycho Killer
goes.’

The artist shrugged. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? I doubt if Van Hulle will know the difference.’ He smiled. ‘But he didn’t like those lyrics. I could see it in his eyes.’

Cash was silent as he started the big car and manoeuvred it around the tight space before aiming for the far end of St Bartholomew’s Yard. ‘That was interesting,’ he said as they drove away from the former church offices and headed towards the open daylight of Ferdinand Street. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, though; there’s something very odd about that Van Hulle character.’

Harper nodded and closed his eyes. The dark was appearing in the corners of his vision again: the fog building its strength. Harper licked his lips and gripped the edges of his seat. He was starting to know what to expect.

Friday, 7.03pm:

Louise stood for a moment, waiting for her heart to calm and breathing to slow. Her shoulder ached where it had hit the concrete and the grazes on her hands, elbows and knees were beginning to hurt. So far, she had fallen at least a dozen times but she was not going to give up. While there was strength in her limbs, she refused to admit defeat.

Reaching into the darkness, she felt for the bed frame. Her fingers closed around the now-familiar metal shape. The frame still stood upright and seemed as solid as last time. She shuffled round to face the springs and moved closer. With a deep breath, she reached for the foot of the bed and carefully put her right foot through the springs. She pulled up: lifting her left foot, trying to keep her weight balanced and stop the bed from swaying too much.

The idea had come a couple of hours ago, not long after the last of the faint light coming in through the opening in the cell roof faded. Stood on end, the metal bed provided a crude, if unstable ladder: one that offered the potential to get her most of the way from the floor to the ceiling of her cell. The frame of the head end even gave a kind of base on which to balance the bed.

In theory it was simple. She simply needed to climb up the springs, reach up into the opening above her head, hold the sides while she balanced the bed and climb up out of the cell. In practice it was not quite that easy. The higher she climbed, the more the metal frame rocked. Plus, now it was totally dark she was unable to even see the opening above her head.

Last time though, she managed to hold the concrete walls briefly before she slipped and fell. She was getting the hang of the balancing trick needed to perch on the bed frame and was confident her plan could still work. It must work. Not just for her sake but for the boy. He had been unconscious for a while now. She had made him as comfortable as she could but the last time she checked on Ahmad his skin was burning hot. Louise did not know how bad his injuries really were. Something told her, however, that he would not last long stuck down here in his present condition.

She had no choice but to keep trying. If her captor came back there was no way of knowing his intentions. Or what his reaction would be to finding the boy here. And if having been attacked by her last time, he decided not to come back, their chances were possibly even worse. If the boy was right about where they were, the pair of them were trapped in a disused building that may not be visited for weeks or even months. The likelihood of either of them surviving that long was too miniscule to contemplate.

Louise bit her lip. For the thousandth time she wished she had stayed at home with Oscar instead of going out with the girls.

She hung for a moment on the bed, mental and physical strength flagging. But then she shook her head. Louise pressed her body to the springs, trying to let the bed lean so it was against the support of the head end, slid her right foot out of the springs and moved it up another few inches. Letting her legs do most of the work, she pulled her shoulders upwards. Her chin reached the top of the frame and she paused, letting the wobbling bed find a new balance.

That attempt ended in failure. As did the next and the one after. But on about the twenty-third attempt, Louise found herself crouched precariously on the end of the metal frame, arms inside the concrete shaft. She pressed her hands to opposite sides and pushed hard, bracing herself as she tried to keep her legs straight, using her limited remaining strength to keep the bed upright.

And it held.

Louise breathed out slowly, relaxing just a fraction. She needed to move: the muscles in her right leg were starting to tremble under the strain.

Cautiously, trying to keep up the pressure that was maintaining her balance, she shuffled her hands up the shaft, straightening her body as she did so. Her left foot still locked into the springs, she pulled the right one free and gently lifted it up onto the end of the bed, keeping it bent.

She paused. It was now or never. She was not sure how far the shaft extended. In theory, if she wedged her body into the opening she could climb it like a chimney. An old boyfriend of hers was a climber and she had seen him do similar tricks in the past. But she doubted whether she possessed the strength or ability. Her only hope was to use the bed frame as a launch pad, lunge up and hope to reach the top of the opening. Then she could hopefully drag herself up. The only trouble was, she would probably only get one attempt. The moment she tried to propel herself up through the hole, the bed would probably crash over and there would be nothing to support her if she missed and slid back down.

Louise gritted her teeth.

She closed her eyes, gathering her strength. She had one chance to get it right: one chance to get out of this evil place, get the boy to hospital, call the police, call Oscar. One chance to escape, save herself and hopefully catch the sick bastard who had chucked her into this hole in the ground. She needed to get it right first go.

Louise pushed with her legs and lunged.

Friday, 8.47pm:

The prints from the Smith Street sewer remained on the wall but were now to one side. In the centre was a map of the city centre. One pin marked Smith Street but there were also several others. One indicated the railway station, another the hotel to which Stacey Cole had been called on the night she disappeared.

Arranged around the map were a number of photographs. Stacy Cole smiled out of one; another was the wedding picture Glasgow had shown to Camille at the women’s refuge. There were also three pictures of other women: a couple of them family snapshots taken in happier times.

The big man in the ageing suit glanced at the pictures. ‘So Rob, bring me up to speed. What have you got?’

Glasgow nodded. ‘Sir. I’ll start with the women. The facts we’ve got.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay. On the right here: pictures of Amy Black and Kim Smith. Streetwalkers who worked the Union Road area: both known to us, both regular drug users. Black had some minor form for shoplifting. Reported missing by their families: Black nearly two months ago, Smith a couple of weeks later.’

Glasgow shrugged. ‘We made a few routine inquiries at the time but there was nothing to go on. None of the other girls on the street had seen them recently but there was no suggestion of any kind of foul play. Neither family had regular contact with the girls and, to be honest, anything could have happened to them. Both files were left open but they weren’t active. The likelihood was they did a flit for some reason, maybe moved on to another town. Or took an overdose and are still lying somewhere waiting to be found.’

The older man nodded. ‘And now? Are you linking them?’

Glasgow shrugged. ‘No. Not for definite anyway. We’ve still got no conclusive evidence to change our original guess. But.’ He paused. ‘Now we’ve got more concrete evidence about these other girls it makes sense to keep them in mind. I don’t want to overlook any leads.’

‘Good. What about the others?’

‘Next is Stacey Cole; nothing much to add on what I told you earlier. We’ve checked out her brother’s statement and followed up the leads that gave us. The room at the Royal Hotel was booked with a stolen credit card. We’ve got the note telling her to meet the client at Moody’s Bar. I’ve asked for CCTV footage from the hotel and outside the bar but it’s nearly three weeks since she disappeared and I’d be surprised if they’ve still got anything that old. I’ve also got a team making inquiries along The Parade but it’s a bit of a cold case. We’ll be lucky to get anything there.’ Glasgow paused. ‘It’s a shame he didn’t report what happened at the time.’

The big man sucked air through his teeth. Superintendent John Black was one of the force’s divisional commanders. He largely ran policing in the city and, as an ex-detective, he liked to come and chew over details with his junior officers but his input was seldom resented. He knew how things worked on the streets. He was a hard man with shirkers or those that messed up but equally, when he knew it was needed, he was capable of making sure operations were not controlled by rule books.

Glasgow watched Black study the pictures and the map.

The superintendent shook his head. ‘And the Latvian?’

‘Probably our strongest evidence,’ said Glasgow. ‘She caught the train from Birmingham New Street. It arrived here at eleven fifty-two. We’ve got footage of her leaving the station and we picked her up on two cameras along Union Road shortly after.’

‘Hmm.’ The senior officer pursed his lips. ‘So that gives you a possible link with the two streetwalkers then.’

Glasgow nodded. ‘Exactly. Although there’s no sign of anything having happened while she was in camera shot. She was on foot and there’s no sign of anyone with her or following. But it’s a straight line up Union Road, across Caledonia Way and up Ebony Hill towards the women’s refuge. As far as we’re aware, she’d never been here before so we can only assume she’d got directions on how to find the place. There’s no obvious reason for her to take a detour. Having passed the two cameras along Union Road, she should have come up on the one at the Ebony Hill roundabout. But she never appears. So…’

‘If something did happen to her, it was probably along the top end of Union Road.’ The superintendent frowned. ‘What’s up there now. Big building site isn’t it?’

Glasgow nodded. ‘We’ve taken her picture around and talked to the workers but nothing so far.’

‘And the husband?’

Glasgow shrugged. ‘Unlikely. He claims not to have known she was gone until he woke up the next morning. He works shifts at a local meatpacking factory. He was there at six the next morning. He doesn’t have an alibi up until then but on the other hand he doesn’t have a car. It’s possible he could have got hold of one but it seems unlikely. There’s also no evidence he was on the same train and, like I said, there was no sign of anyone following her from the station so it’s hard to see how he could have ambushed her.’ He shook his head. ‘He might have been knocking her around but I don’t fancy the husband for this one.’

‘So…’

Glasgow pulled a face. ‘A couple of Stanley’s guys have heard odd rumours from around Union Road over the past month or so about girls going missing but there’s been nothing we can substantiate. These four are the o
nly ones where we’ve got any evidence at all of women having disappeared.’

‘And Smith Street.’ The big man leaned in close to look at the picture of the manacles fixed to the sewer wall. His nose wrinkled with distaste. ‘That’s nasty.’

‘Yes.’

‘And this was a tip-off from the journalist?’

‘I believe so.’

‘And what do you know about him?’

Glasgow pointed to the fifth snapshot on the wall. ‘Daniel Harper.’ He shrugged. ‘The tip-off was anonymous but I’m certain it was him. I’ve listened to the recording and I’d swear it’s the same guy.’

‘You’ve met him?’

‘Briefly: on Wednesday night. He was the one Cole’s men caught sneaking around the back of his sister’s place.’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Besides,’ said Glasgow. ‘The caller gave a name. Said to call him ‘Dusty’. We’ve spoken to his ex-girlfriend and not only has she confirmed that it’s his voice but apparently it’s an old nickname of his.’

Black raised an eyebrow. ‘Why ‘Dusty’? As in Dusty Miller?’

‘No.’ Glasgow smiled. ‘Jim Stanley got it right. It’s as in Dusty Springfield.’

The superintendent frowned. ‘What’s the connection there?’

‘The song:
Son Of A Preacher Man.
Apparently Harper’s father is some kind of preacher. Quite heavy duty from what he told his girlfriend: bit of a fire and brimstone type. When he was a kid some of his friends used to call him Dusty.’

‘And where is he now?’

Glasgow gave a humourless smile. ‘Avoiding us. We went round to his flat but what we didn’t realise was that the ex lived next door. He was in there talking to her and did a flit down the fire escape when we called. We’re looking for him now. I’ve got a couple of addresses to check out.’

‘You reckon he’s your man?’

‘I’m not sure. But he knows something. It’s hard to think how else he would have known about Smith Street but then why tell us about it? There’s one other thing though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Well, the girlfriend said he’s always been a bit erratic. Heavy drinker, prone to mood swings, done the odd disappearing trick on her.’ Glasgow shrugged. ‘Nothing conclusive: the relationship broke up anyway so it might just be sour grapes on her part. Although, she did say he was behaving oddly when he came round this afternoon. She asked him about it and he said he’d been in an accident and his memory was playing tricks on him. They never got to finish the conversation because he ran off down the fire escape.’

The detective sighed. ‘I don’t know if it adds anything anyway. He told her the accident happened on Monday and some of these disappearances go back further than that.’

Black raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe his memory of when the accident happened isn’t right either.’

‘Could be.’

‘Well, let me know when you find him.’

‘I will do.’

A frown crossed the superintendent’s face. He pointed at a photograph on the far side of the board. ‘What about the other woman?’

‘Ah yes.’ Glasgow nodded. ‘Louise Brent. Not sure whether she fits into the jigsaw puzzle or not.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Journalist at
The Post
. Went out with friends on Tuesday night but never came home. If we’ve got a killer who’s targeting prostitutes then she doesn’t fit the profile but then neither does the Latvian woman.’

‘Partner?’

‘Live-in boyfriend. We’ve spoken to him. He’s the one reported her missing but there’s nothing to suggest she’s dumped him and done a bunk or that he’s topped her and stuck her body under the floorboards.’

‘Connection with Harper?’

‘Works for the same paper. Nothing else we know about.’

‘Hmm.’

Glasgow shrugged. ‘Like with the others, we’ve got nothing definite. Just another woman who’s disappeared.’

‘From our streets.’

‘Quite.’

Black nodded. ‘Well, as you know, I can’t give you much of a budget or a lot in the way of manpower until you give me something concrete. But keep trying to see if the dots join up. If there is something — or someone — behind this then we don’t want to let them slip through the net.

‘Sure.’

‘And keep trying to find your friend Dusty Harper.’

Glasgow watched as his superior turned to leave. He straightened his back and cleared his throat in a discrete cough. ‘Er… sir? There was one other matter.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Something I should warn you about.’

Black looked wary. ‘Go on.’

‘It’s Cole. He’s got some footage he says he might use against me.’

‘Footage of you?’

‘Yes.’ Glasgow nodded. ‘Nothing too serious.’

‘How serious?’

The detective spoke with his usual confidence but he looked slightly uneasy as he made the admission. ‘Well… I’m not quite sure but probably some girls. Maybe some drugs. You know how it is: these people trust bent cops. I’ve had to prove I was bent.’

Black nodded slowly. ‘So is this a formal warning or something to hear and forget?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Glasgow. ‘I don’t think he’ll use it. I’ve got a feeling he was just pushing me to see whether I’d do as I was told or not.’

‘Right.’ The superintendent nodded. ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t. Make sure you keep it that way. I’ll forget this conversation for now but, if the situation changes, I’m the first person you’re going to call.’