Caged (32 page)

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Authors: Hilary Norman

BOOK: Caged
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‘Why did you bring the notebook here?’ One last piece of curiosity striking him. ‘Why didn’t you leave it at your place? I’d never have known.’
‘I thought Sam or the public health people might go to my place.’ She paused. ‘And I didn’t think you were the type to go through my things, Al. I thought you were a gentleman.’
‘Guess you were wrong about that,’ he said.
‘Maybe you’re wrong too,’ she said, ‘about Sam.’
‘Get out,’ he told her again, feeling nauseous.
‘Goodbye, Al,’ she said.
And went.
All alone again now in his bachelor pad.
He’d taken a closer look at his mother’s old painting after she’d gone, had seen that one of the little stones in the engagement ring had torn a small rip in the canvas, and that had triggered some tears, but they hadn’t lasted long, and he was composed again.
Sam and Grace would be back soon, so he guessed they’d come visiting.
He didn’t have a shred, not so much as a fragment of doubt over what Jess had said about Sam.
Martinez knew Sam would never have done that in a thousand years.
But what did it say about him, he wondered, that he’d been so much faster to believe in his friend than in his fiancée?
More to the point, what did it say about his relationship with her?
Not a whole lot, that was for sure.
NINETY-SEVEN
B
y the time Sam got home, most of the day had gone.
Which was not the way he’d planned their homecoming.
First, he and Grace had gone together to the station, partly so that Sam could catch up on the investigation – nothing new, Alvarez had said, had told him to finish up and get home while he could – but mostly because they’d needed to make an official report of Cooper’s survival and possible presence, the previous night, on the
Stardust
.
Then they’d driven up to Golden Beach to see David and Mildred and bring Joshua and Woody home. After which, concerned by the way Martinez had sounded on the phone when he’d called, Sam had gone to visit his partner.
He listened, feeling anger at Jessica Kowalski, then a little compassion for one screwed up young woman.
What he felt most was sorrow for Martinez.
‘I’m real glad to see you, man,’ he’d told Sam. ‘Even if my ex-fiancée does claim you made a pass at her.’
Sam had a moment of real loathing for Jess then – until he saw the expression in his friend’s dark brown eyes and saw humour there along with the sadness.
‘Not for a single second, man,’ Martinez said.
‘Thank Christ for that,’ Sam said.
‘I was going to say she had better taste,’ Martinez added, ‘but then I remembered she prefers rats.’
NINETY-EIGHT
‘
C
athy called,’ Grace told him when he got back to the island. ‘She’s getting us some takeout, said there’s no way I should be allowed to cook tonight.’
‘It’s a shame.’ Sam sank on to a kitchen chair. ‘We shouldn’t be feeling like this today.’
‘We wouldn’t be,’ Grace said, ‘if it weren’t for Jerome.’
‘I need to tell you about Martinez,’ Sam said. ‘But first, I need a drink.’
‘Let’s both do that,’ Grace said. ‘Joshua’s sound asleep, Woody’s fed and watered. Let’s open a bottle, wait for our dinner to arrive and pretend we’re still on the ship.’
They were in the den, napping on the couch, when they woke to hear the car and familiar voices.
Then the front door.
Not just Cathy.
‘Special treat,’ she told them as Dooley and Simone came in behind her, carrying insulated food containers into the hallway. ‘I brought your car home, by the way,’ she told Grace.
‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ Grace said, and went to kiss her.
‘Guys,’ Sam said. ‘You shouldn’t have done this for us.’
‘You never do takeout,’ Grace said.
‘Cathy bent our ears a little,’ Simone said, ‘so we stole these from the Italian down the street, and here we are.’
‘Kitchen, please?’ Dooley said.
‘Down here.’ Sam led the way.
‘Wow,’ Grace said. ‘This is just amazing.’
‘What about the café?’ Sam asked.
‘Closed for a couple of hours,’ Dooley said. ‘We’re never busy Monday evenings.’
‘I’ll bet that’s not true,’ Grace said.
‘You two look so tired,’ Cathy said. ‘It’s such a shame about Cooper.’
‘We are pretty bushed,’ Sam admitted.
‘Would you rather not eat?’ Dooley asked. ‘We won’t be offended.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Sam said.
‘Then you both go sit down while we dish up in here,’ Simone told them.
‘What have you made?’ Sam asked.
‘Comfort food,’ Dooley said. ‘You’ll see.’
‘Go rest while we take care of this,’ Simone said.
‘And then we’re all leaving,’ Cathy said. ‘Simone and Matt will give me a ride home.’
‘You have to stay and eat with us,’ Grace said.
‘Stop being polite,’ Cathy told her. ‘One night only, you do as you’re told.’
‘You eat, then you go to bed,’ Dooley said. ‘No worries about washing up either. We’ll pick up the dishes tomorrow, put them in the machine at the café.’
‘I’m sure I can manage a little clearing up,’ Grace said.
‘No need,’ Simone said. ‘All part of the service.’
‘How much do we owe you?’ Sam asked.
‘It’s our gift,’ Dooley said.
‘But that—’ Sam caught Grace’s eye, stopped. ‘It’s very generous.’
‘Much too generous,’ Grace said.
‘We’re very grateful,’ Sam said.
And kissed his daughter, then Simone, then shook Dooley’s hand.
NINETY-NINE
‘
T
his is so good,’ Grace said, about an hour-and-a-half later, at the kitchen table. ‘And so kind of them.’
‘Matt was right about comfort food,’ Sam said.
They’d eaten chicken braised in wine with mushrooms, served with mashed potatoes and assorted vegetables, all of it delectable, and now they were looking at a good old apple pie topped with meringue.
‘Except I’m too tired to eat any more,’ Grace said.
‘Me too,’ Sam said, sleepily. ‘But is our daughter a sweetheart or what?’
‘The best,’ Grace said.
‘I love you,’ Sam told her. ‘I’m so sorry your birthday was spoiled.’
‘Only the very end of it,’ Grace said. ‘Everything else was perfect.’
‘Like you,’ Sam said.
‘You look tired enough to fall asleep at the table,’ Grace said.
‘You too,’ Sam said, fuzzily.
It started to come to him then.
Mashed potatoes . . .
‘Oh, Christ,’ he said.
‘Mm?’ Grace said.
Sam tried to get up, his fogging mind fighting to put the truth together.
His knees buckled.
‘Gracie,’ he said.
She didn’t answer.
And he was already sliding.
Going down.
ONE HUNDRED
W
hen Cathy called to say goodnight, there was no answer from her parents’ house, just the machine kicking in.
Only ten o’clock, and they never got to sleep this early.
Though they sure had looked beat.
At least this way, they’d both be back on form in the morning, and then she looked forward to hearing every last romantic detail of the cruise – romantic, she guessed, until that bastard had done his best to wreck it.
More good people in the world than bad, Cathy reminded herself.
She smiled, winged silent renewed thanks to Dooley and Simone.
Whatever became of her new career, she’d always be grateful for them.
The fact was, the more knocks you took in your life, the greater your appreciation for the good guys.
She doubted they came better than Matt Dooley and Simone Regan.
ONE HUNDRED AND ONE
March 3
S
am knew almost as soon as he came to.
Felt instant despair at his own sheer, breathtaking
stupidity.
‘Grace,’ he said.
His voice sounded thick, unclear.
He tried to move, to get up, but his head was muzzy, his left leg seemed heavy, pinned down, and his vision was fuzzy.
Grace.
He struggled to a sitting position, looked to his left, saw her on the ground eight or nine feet away, still sleeping, still out of it.
She was naked and chained, by a shackle around her right ankle, to a run of iron bars behind her – and he was naked and shackled too, but seeing Grace that way drove something sharp right through his heart.
‘Grace,’ he said. ‘Grace, sweetheart, talk to me.’
She stirred, but did not respond.
Terror, sour and violent, filled him. He pulled at the chain, and the shackle bit his ankle, but nothing gave. ‘
Grace.
’
She gave a small moan, started to come to.
‘Thank God,’ Sam said. ‘Grace, don’t be scared.’
If he’d ever said anything more foolish, he could not recall it.
They were in some kind of a cage measuring about fourteen feet by ten. Steel bars behind and in front of them, a steel gate in the middle.
Locked, he presumed. Not that he could get to it to find out.
The only light came from a single overhead low-wattage bulb.
Impenetrable darkness beyond the bars ahead of them.
Shackled and naked in a cage.
Naked.
The latest couple.
Matt Dooley’s and Simone Regan’s.
Never, since this had all begun, had they even entered his radar.
‘Sam?’ Grace’s voice was hushed, frightened. ‘Sam, what’s happened?’
‘Dooley and Simone,’ he said. ‘They put drugs in our food.’
Temazepam, same as the others, maybe a bigger dose.
The truth hit Grace, hard as a wall.
‘My God, Joshua.’ She sat up. ‘Where’s Joshua?’
‘Not here,’ Sam said. ‘They won’t have touched him.’
‘What about Cathy?’
‘Not her either.’ Sam paused. ‘They only take couples, remember?’
‘Yes,’ Grace said. ‘Loving couples.’
They both looked around, but there was little to see, just something that resembled a coiled snake over by the wall eight or nine feet away from him. The visible walls, beyond the bars behind them and to both sides, were padded, probably soundproofed, and a semi-transparent screen ran a foot or so across the front of the left-hand wall, just beyond Grace.
Like a lanai screen, maybe, Sam thought, processing facts despite the thick fuzz in his head, because only one thing mattered now, and that was getting them out of here, before . . .
He suppressed a shudder, went on looking, wondered if the walls behind the padding were concrete or cinder block or brick, scanned the cage for anything he might use as a tool if he managed to free them of the shackles.
Nothing.
The floor beneath them was concrete and cold, and the place smelt of damp.
Of something else, too.
Glue.
‘Sam,’ Grace said softly. ‘I am scared.’
‘Me too, Gracie.’
The snake was a hosepipe.
He didn’t want to contemplate what that had been used for, but his cop’s eyes were already roaming the floor and walls – for here, finally, was their crime scene – for telltale bloodstains or anything that would ultimately help build the case against these bastards.
‘You think we can get out of here?’ Grace said.
‘Damned straight we can,’ he said, and Lord knew he didn’t have the smallest idea how, but he meant it.
Grace fought against the urge to weep, did as he had, tried to yank the chain from the bars, gave a small cry of pain and frustration, then saw Sam’s face.
‘I’m OK,’ she said, and took a deep breath. ‘If we turn ourselves around and stretch our free legs as far as we can, maybe we could touch.’
They tried it, touched toes.
It was uncomfortable, but it felt like an achievement, something almost auspicious.
‘That’s better,’ Sam said.
He wondered abruptly if
they
were watching, if that was part of the reason they’d left a light on, though maybe they had night vision goggles, or maybe they were not watching at all. But they must have debated whether the terror of total darkness would be as satisfying to them as having their victims
seeing
the hopelessness of their predicaments.
‘They took my watch,’ Grace said.
‘Mine too,’ Sam said.
He looked at his left hand, said nothing.
‘And our wedding bands,’ she said softly.
‘I know.’
‘I think,’ Grace said, ‘I could stand this more if we weren’t naked.’
‘You’ll stand it because we’re together,’ Sam said. ‘And because we are going to get out of here.’
She was silent for a moment.
‘What if Joshua wakes,’ she said, ‘and we’re not there for him?’
Sam pictured their son awake and clutching the side rails on his crib and calling for them, maybe scared by now and screaming.
He wanted to kill Dooley and Simone.
‘He’ll be OK, sweetheart,’ he told her.
‘What if Simone’s there with him?’ she said, and began to cry. ‘What if
no
one’s
there with him?’
‘Don’t cry, Gracie,’ Sam said, and stroked her toes with his own.
‘I’m all right.’ She willed herself to cut out the tears. ‘Except how will anyone know that he’s all alone or where we are, when we don’t know ourselves?’
‘We have clever, caring people in our lives,’ Sam said. ‘They’ll work it out.’
‘I hope so,’ Grace said.
She waited another long moment before asking her next question, uncertain she was ready for the answer.
‘I know the others were naked, too,’ she said. ‘But you’ve never said, and the reports never mentioned . . .’ She stopped.

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