Concrete Evidence (36 page)

Jose took out his pistol and stepped back. He used the butt of the gun as a hammer to crack the handle casing. It disintegrated beneath the blows but the lock remained intact. He pulled hard and the camper swayed slightly but the door wouldn’t open. Pointing his pistol at the door, he fired a single shot through the lock and then slid the gun back into its holster. Because of the awkward height, opening the door, holding the torch and aiming the gun simultaneously was impossible. He kept his right hand on the gun and tugged at the handle stepping back quickly as the door creaked open. The smell of must and mould and something much more sinister drifted out as if it had been waiting an age for the door to be opened so that it could escape. The smell of human decay was instantly recognisable. The sweat began to pour from his head in rivulets as Jose pulled his weapon, held his breath and looked inside.

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Becky felt like she had been hit by a bus. Her neck was bruised, the muscles taut like wire. She felt that moving her head in any direction might make them snap. Her head felt like her brains had turned to sludge. The floor that she was lying on was cold, metallic. She could feel the vibration of an engine and she had the sense of movement. Her arms and legs were dead and they ached from her fingers to her toes. Pins and needles had seeped through every muscle. It took long seconds for the seriousness of her predicament to sink in. She remembered driving home. She remembered the storm and she remembered arriving at her house. Then she remembered the feeling of being hit by a bus. The space between then and now was blank.

The fog in her mind began to clear. She had been zapped by something but what and more to the point, why and by whom? An electric shock? Maybe a Taser or maybe a cattle prod. What and why and whom? Was it a random attack or was it something to do with a case she had worked on? She had been involved in locking up some very dangerous people. The who and why would have to wait. She needed to break free and she needed to do it quickly. She struggled to move her legs but her ankles were stuck together painfully. She tried to straighten her legs to aid her circulation; pins and needles cramped her muscles. Her arms were tied behind her back and moving them sent white hot pain through her shoulders. She opened her eyes and tried to look around without moving her head. The van was cluttered with stuff but she couldn’t make out what. Metal rattled against metal. Each time she so much as flinched, pain shot up her spine to her brain. The sound of music drifted to her from the driver’s cab, although it was muffled, it was loud. It was loud enough to mask the screams of a woman in the back of a moving van. She had to think straight. She had been abducted. She was in the back of a white van, at least it was white inside and she was tied up. She was separated from the driver by a metal bulkhead and even if she could break free, there were no glass windows that she could break.

Becky tried to slow her breathing down as she worked out her options. Whoever had abducted her was taking her somewhere that she didn’t want to be. Removing a victim from their home to a second location served only one purpose and that was to take them somewhere that the abductor wouldn’t be disturbed. If this was a hit by a drug cartel, then she would already be dead. Abductions usually followed a certain series of actions. Once a victim was taken to a second location, bad things followed. If she allowed that to happen and they reached their destination then the chances were that she would never see her family again. She had to remove her bindings without the driver hearing her and if she died trying then she was okay with that because she would probably die anyway. She wasn’t going to lie there and wait for her abductor to decide what happened. No chance.

She wriggled her knees and hips and tried to reach the side of the van. The pain in her shoulders was unbearable. She felt the wall of the van with her fingertips. The panels were flat and smooth but the upright struts that strengthened the body were rough around the welds. If she could sit up, she may be able to grind her bindings against the sharp edges. Becky held her breath and brought her knees up to her chest. She twisted her waist and tried to sit up. She almost made it too but the van jolted and she fell back down onto her side. The pain from her neck and shoulders peaked and then subsided. Her breath was coming in short sharp blasts. She waited for the pain to go off a little before trying again. Becky leaned onto her knees as far as she could and then lunged all her weight upwards from the shoulder. The momentum carried her into an upright position and she used her feet to shuffle backwards until her back was pressed against the panels. She had to shift her weight to the left to position her bindings against the metal struts. She listened intently to see if the driver had heard her moving. Nothing changed. The van maintained its speed and the music maintained its volume. Her wrists felt sticky and the hairs on her skin were ripped out whenever she moved; she guessed it was masking tape that held her. She began to slide her wrists up and down against a strut. The muscles in her shoulders screamed at her and cramps ran down her triceps and forearms into her hands and fingertips. It was agony but she felt the tough sticky fibres ripping slightly. Every movement, no matter how slight, brought another wave of pain but each vertical stroke of her body split a few more strands. She felt her flesh tear on the metal and blood trickled down her wrist but she had to fight through the pain to survive. There was no other choice.

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At first glance, Jose wasn’t sure what he was looking at. The floor of the camper was knee deep with fast food wrappers. A double bed was covered with old clothes and a knitted blanket. He made out a shape beneath the bedding. Jose gripped his pistol tightly and aimed at the figure in the bed. The torchlight illuminated the shape. Sitting up against a pillow was a skeleton, the ribcage bones were brown with age but slivers of rotted flesh still clung to them in places. The skull wasn’t attached but he didn’t have to look far to find it. As he scanned the torch to his left, he saw that it had been placed on a dressing table in front of a mirror, which was daubed with some words that he didn’t recognise. The writing was smeared on the glass with a black substance, which he assumed was congealed blood. The stench of decomposition became stronger as he stepped closer to the vehicle. Scanning the interior again, he realised that the headless skeleton had been poised as if it was reading in bed; a book lay open in the bony hands. He shook his head and relaxed a little. It was gruesome find but the dead were harmless.

The British detectives had done a good job. Their killer had obviously been to Benidorm and he hadn’t come for a holiday. He had come to Jose’s city to ply his evil trade and he was mocking the police. He was a devout catholic and he thought that posing the victim was hideous. It was sacrilege; no respect for the victim in life and even less in death. Jose made the sign of the cross on his chest and took the crucifix that he wore around his neck between his finger and thumb and placed it to his lips. He shone the torch at the floor and saw two metal steps, which made it easier to climb into the campervan. He put his left foot onto the step and used the doorframe to pull himself inside. The vehicle rocked with his weight and he heard the rusty suspension springs creaking. As he looked around a sense of dread filled him. Whatever evil had dwelled there had left its presence. In the enclosed space, he could feel the desperation that the victim must have felt. It pervaded the very air that he was breathing. The torchlight picked out stainless steel tools on the dressing table. A scalpel, hooks, picks and bone saws glinted in the torchlight. They were caked in dried blood from a long time ago, years he guessed. He tried to ignore the skull’s reflection in the mirror. Its ceaseless grin made his hands tremble. A glass container caught his eye and he picked up a large jar that was next to the skull and held the torch to it. The liquid inside was brown like vinegar and the contents were floating freely. He shook it to get a better view and an eye floated against the glass. It stared accusingly at him. Behind it was a lump of furred pinkish flesh, which was unmistakably a tongue. Jose slammed the jar down in a panic and backed away from it as if the contents would jump out and attack him. He tripped over a discarded can and nearly lost his footing. Jose swore beneath his breath and staggered to one side of the camper, as far from the jar as he could. He leaned against the wall and wiped sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. His weight caused the balance of the vehicle to shift. The camper creaked and tilted to one side. He heard a metallic ‘click’ and then a metallic rolling noise from above the cab and deep inside the living space he saw a green LED light switch on.

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Becky felt the tape cracking above her wrist but she still couldn’t move her hands. She took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. Sweat trickled from her temples as she began to rub the bindings once more. The rough metal was grating against her skin and she felt blood running from her right wrist across her palm and down her fingers. It was acting as an unwanted lubricant but she ignored the dull pain and carried on. Another strand cracked and split spurring her on. She closed her eyes and took her mind to another place as she continued to grind her arms against the metal. There was a ripping sound as a layer was cut, then another snap as the layer beneath was severed. She flexed her muscles painfully and she could twist her arms an inch. She gritted her teeth and increased the speed and the pressure. The weld ripped through the tape and her flesh with equal distain. Tears formed in her eyes and she gave one last Goliath effort. She closed her eyes again and felt the salty liquid running down her cheeks as she pumped her arms against the metal struts relentlessly. Another crack. Another strand split. Another crack and the next layer of tape gave way. She felt it ripping and tearing. Her wrists could move and rotate and then with a last snapping noise, her hands were free.

Becky felt the blood returning into her shoulders and arms as she brought them in front of her. She rubbed her wrists and clasped her fingers together to aid the circulation. Adrenalin coursed through her veins and she felt a surge of energy pulsing through her muscles. She had to control her breathing again and take stock of what she needed to do next. Tugging at the tape around her ankles, she quickly realised that undoing it would waste valuable minutes. She looked around at the contents of the van. There was something bulky in the corner to her left and the dark circular window at the centre told her that it was a washing machine. She reached out to her right and grabbed at a strip of angled metal that was rattling against the floor. It looked like a piece of shelving of some kind. Maybe the van belonged to an odd job man or a scrap dealer, not that it mattered but her inquisitive detective’s brain was working overtime.

She slipped the angle iron beneath the tape and used it in a sawing action. The tape ripped easily and within thirty seconds, her legs were free. She felt like screaming with frustrated delight but her dilemma wasn’t over just yet. Becky searched for her handbag even though it was highly unlikely that her kidnapper would have put it in the back of the van with her. She cursed as she remembered that her mobile had been in her hand when she was zapped. As she felt around, there was no sign of her bag.

She crawled towards the back doors on her hands and knees and stumbled into a cardboard box. She searched inside and felt crockery. Cups and plates and a couple of old vases. “Brick-a-brack is just what I need,” she murmured to herself. She had to keep her spirits high. “Maybe he’s taking me to a car boot sale.” She pulled the box out of the way and scrambled to the doors. Grabbing the internal handle, she twisted with all her might but it wouldn’t budge. She was locked inside.

Becky felt her way along the side of the van and fumbled around at the contents. She felt an old golf bag with a couple of clubs in it. The side pocket held four golf balls and some tees. Next to it was an ironing board and a basket full of material. She couldn’t see exactly what it was but guessed it was curtains. It seemed to be a random load from a house clearance or something similar. There was no sign of her handbag.

Her heart sank but she searched on and when she couldn’t find anything to help her open the doors, she went through her coat pockets as an afterthought. When her hand touched the familiar shape of her Blackberry, she could have cried. Her breath stuck in her chest as she took it out and looked at it. Could it be her phone? Would her kidnapper have been so stupid? She was scared that it might be a mirage or that it might turn out to be a bar of chocolate or something equally useless. She was convinced it was a Blackberry and when she took it out, she knew that it was. She clicked on the light and her eyes could hardly make sense of it until she noticed the screensaver. It wasn’t her Blackberry. She was as confused as she was pleased. Her head couldn’t compute what had happened. It was a Blackberry but it wasn’t hers.

Becky frowned and scrolled through the numbers and quickly realised that she had picked up the DI’s phone by mistake. Her own phone was in her hand when the kidnapper struck. She must have picked up the DI’s phone and put it into her coat pocket as she had left work. If ever there was a mistake to make, it was that one. She continued to scroll down until she recognised the number for the MIT office. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks as she pressed dial.

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Jose was rattled to the core by his discovery. He felt ice cold to his bones as he looked from the severed eyeball to the green light. He was confused and frightened by his discovery but not by the light. Bespoke campervans would have been manufactured by skilled coach-fitters. It would be full of appliances and gadgets to make a camping trip as homely as possible. The light didn’t concern him as much as the contents of the jar had. He picked up the torch and turned it towards the source of the light. He could see there was an inverter and some wires. He followed the wires, which ran into three green plastic containers. Jose recognised them as five gallon petrol canisters. He frowned and wondered why anyone would wire them to an inverter but before he could fathom it out; the heater coils reached ignition temperature and the fuel exploded. He tried to scream but as he opened his mouth the flames scorched the soft flesh of his trachea and lungs silencing him. The inferno engulfed him in a millisecond. As his flesh blistered and sizzled, he felt evil touch his soul.