Authors: Rhys Bowen
Evan Blessed (24 page)
“If you wanted to kill them quickly,” Shorecross said. “I doubt there would be enough air to keep someone alive overnight.” Evan thought that the bank manager shot him a look, to check out how he had fared when deprived of air in a bunker.
“If you object to coming with us, you can always just give us the keys,” Watkins said.
“Give you the keys? Good Lord, man, I'm responsible for the money at that bank. My head would be on the chopping block if I let you wander around with the keys to my vault.”
“I assure you, Mr. Shorecross, that money is the last thing on our minds right now,” Evan said.
Shorecross sighed and rose to his feet. “Very well. One must do one's civic duty, although how you think that anyone could stuff a young woman into a vault under our noses is beyond me.”
The policemen didn't reply.
“Oh dear, I can't say it looks too good, letting my neighbors witness my being bundled into a police car,” Shorecross said jovially as they came out into the street.
“You have nosy neighbors then, do you, sir?” Watkins asked.
“Not particularly. I hardly ever see them as my garage is behind the house.” He glanced back at the deserted street. “So, do you have any theories, any suspects yet in the case of these missing women?” he asked, as Watkins steered the car out into traffic. “I could tell you were interested in our Mr. Llewellyn and I must say that his hasty departure has made me a little curious also. I should try to contact him, if I were you. I always felt he was a littleâon the strange side, shall we say.”
“Good suggestion, sir. Our men are out looking for him as we speak,” Watkins said.
“Excellent. Although whether he would have returned to kidnap Miss Price is questionable. And in broad daylight, from what you are insinuating.”
“I expect whoever did it will give himself away before too long,” Watkins said calmly. “They always do, you know. One little slip. That's all it takes.”
“Really?”
Evan felt as if his head would explode, sitting in a cramped car with the man who was holding Bronwen sitting a few feet away from him. Why couldn't they just pull into a secluded byway and
knock him silly until he talked? Apart from ethical reasons, he knew why. Because men in similar situations had refused to reveal where they were holding their victims, even under the worst of threats.
knock him silly until he talked? Apart from ethical reasons, he knew why. Because men in similar situations had refused to reveal where they were holding their victims, even under the worst of threats.
He tried to breathe deeply until they pulled up at the bank. After Shorecross had disarmed the alarm system, the tour didn't take long. There wasn't much to see, although Evan noted with interest that there was a security camera over the front entrance. Shorecross opened the door to his office. The two detectives made the motions of looking under the desk and in the coat cupboard, much to Shorecross's amusement.
“All just what we would have expected,” Watkins said cheerily. “Now the vault, if you don't mind.”
Shorecross led the way. Watkins followed. Evan started to follow then returned to the bank manager's office, giving it another quick inspection. There seemed to be no camera in here. There was a velvet curtain on the back wall. Behind it was not another window, but a back entrance. When he opened the door he found it led into walled parking area, containing rubbish bins. A way out without being seen, he thought, and closed the door silently behind him. On the floor he noticed the hint of a stain on the carpet. When he touched it, it still seemed slightly damp. Cleaning fluid had evidently been used on it, judging by the smell, but he suspected that the lab boys would manage to find out what the original stain was made of. He scraped up as much as he could with his penknife into one of the paper cups from the water cooler and sprinted out to join the other two, who were just emerging from the vault.
“Satisfied, gentlemen?” There was something close to a smirk on Shorecross's face.
“Perfectly, thank you, and sorry to have troubled you,” Watkins said.
“Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get home as quickly as possible. BBC Concert Hall on Radio Four. I listen to it every Saturday.”
“You must be quite a musician, sir,” Watkins said.
“Yes, music has always been an important part of my life,” Shorecross said. “I had hoped to reach the concert stage myself one day,
but alas, it was not to be. So I content myself with listening to what others have achieved.”
but alas, it was not to be. So I content myself with listening to what others have achieved.”
Evan sat in silence as they drove Shorecross back to his house.
“Thanks for your help, sir. Enjoy your concert,” Watkins called as the bank manager made for his front door.
“Oh, I will, gentlemen. And good luck in your search. As I have reiterated, my Scouts are at your disposal any time.”
Evan detected a momentary flash of triumph in his eyes as they drove away.
The moment he left her, Bronwen started working hard. Now that it was clear she was to be killed, she was determined not to give in without a fight. And that needed the removal of the tape around her wrists and ankles. Her brief chance to look at the space in which she was kept while he had the trap door open revealed a room with walls and ceiling covered in polystyrene tiles. A perfect soundproofed room. Apart from that, nothing. Smooth walls, smooth ceiling. Nothing in the room but the inflated camping mattress and the bucket in the corner. How he expected her to use it when her hands were taped in front of her and her ankles taped together, she didn't know. Men always were pretty clueless about women's bodily functions. She had positioned it in her mind while there was light in the room. She hopped over to it and found, to her disgust, that it was made of light plastic. No use as a potential weapon, but she brought it back with her to the air mattress.
The first thing to do was free either her wrists or ankles. She explored the tape around her ankles and tried to locate an end piece she might be able to pull, but it was impossible at the angle her hands were bound together. She tried digging her nails into it, but that was useless, too. He had done too thorough a job.
Her hands went up to her neck and she located the cross she always wore under her turtleneck. At least he hadn't explored her body while she'd been unconscious. That gave her a small feeling of relief. Her fingers touched the cool gold of the cross. It had been given to her by her grandmother on her confirmation. It was probably too delicate to be much good, but it was better than nothing. She pressed her fingers together around it and yanked hard. The chain cut into her throat but finally snapped, leaving the cross between her fingers.
Then she started digging patiently at the ankle tape. At last she was rewarded with a satisfying pop as the gold cross penetrated the tape. Then she worked like a terrier at enlarging the tear. She dug and scratched with her nails until finally she could stick a finger through the hole and pull and tug. She had no idea how long it took her but at last she had pulled the tape off and her legs were free. Elated with this accomplishment, she got up and moved about the room, getting the circulation back into her feet, ready for possible flight.
The tape around her wrists wasn't going to be so easy, but she'd need her hands free to defend herself, or to escape up that ladder. Now she was sitting back on the mattress, she examined the bucket again. It was cheaply made and the end surface of the metal handle, where it was bent up through the plastic side, was unfinished metal. Slightly rough to the touch. She sat down and clamped the handle between her knees, rubbing her wrists back and forth over this rough piece of metal. She felt tired and weak, conscious that she had had nothing to eat for at least twenty-four hours and only a couple of sips of water in that time before he had tipped the rest away.
They will find me, she told herself, knowing that time might be running out.
And if they don't? The thought hovered at the fringe of her conscious mind.
Then I'll have to help myself.
“We can't just let him go,” Evan said, looking back at the closed front door as they drove away.
“We have no choice,” Watkins said flatly. “If we bring him in now, we might never find out where he's hidden her.” He glanced across at Evan, who was staring out into the night with an expression of utter bleakness on his face.
“Don't worry, boyo,” Watkins said softly. “We've got the place staked out. When he goes to her, we'll follow him. That's the safest way.”
“I hope to God you're right,” Evan said. “He was so damned composed, wasn't he? So cocky.”
“If he's really the one who wrote the notes, he thinks his intelligence is superior to ours.”
“If he's really the one?” Evan demanded. “If? If? Are you trying to tell me you're not quite sure he's got Bronwen?”
“I agree he's the best lead we've got so far,” Watkins said. “We've no proof, though, have we? Just a moment, boyo.” He put out a hand as Evan squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “We had a couple of our men search Shorecross's house while we took him to the bank, so we'll know more in a minute.”
“Did you?” Evan looked impressed. “That was pretty slick.”
“Not just a pretty face, am I?” Watkins actually grinned.
“I might have some evidence of my own,” Evan said. “While you went into the vault, I stayed behind in his office. Some kind of liquid had been spilled on his floor. The cleaners have obviously tried to clear it up, but I scooped some into a paper cup, just in case.”
“Well done.”
“Oh, and there's a way out behind the curtain. He could have taken Bronwen out that way without being noticed.”
“So, the next thing to do is to establish whether the young lady at the bankâHillary Jones, is it?âsaw Bronwen come in yesterday afternoon, and whether she saw her leave. I'll get someone onto that right away.” He glanced at Evan again as they drove into the car park. “Only hopefully none of this will be necessary and he'll
lead us to her himself soon. My bet is that we have rattled him and he'll want to make sure she's well hidden and safe orâ” He stopped abruptly. As Evan read the rest of the sentence, “or he'll want to finish her off quickly,” the words played through his brain.
lead us to her himself soon. My bet is that we have rattled him and he'll want to make sure she's well hidden and safe orâ” He stopped abruptly. As Evan read the rest of the sentence, “or he'll want to finish her off quickly,” the words played through his brain.
They got out of the car. Watkins strode out toward the police station entrance. Evan lingered outside, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his racing mind. Something hadn't been right. Something was lurking, just out of reach, in his head. Somewhere in those dealings with Shorecross he had spotted a clue. He went through the whole encounter again, sighed, and followed Watkins into the building.
Roberts, the forensic tech, was sitting in D.C.I. Hughes's office.
“No luck so far, then?” Hughes asked as Watkins came in, followed by Evan.
“Nothing concrete yet,” Watkins replied, “although Evans managed to scrape up traces of liquid spilled on the floor at the bank. We can get that analyzed. What about you, Roberts? Did you manage to get into the house?”
“Oh yes. No problem.” Roberts grinned.
“I always thought you had criminal tendencies,” Watkins said. “Did you find anything?”
“A blond hair on the hall carpet. Of course, we won't be able to identify it for a while and he could have picked it up from a customer at the bank. But apart from that, nothing.”
“No attic or cellar?”
“The trap door to the attic has been painted over and not disturbed for years. Those houses don't have cellars. Just an old coal hole in most of them, but this one has been bricked over. Oh, and there was a separate garage behind the house, off a back alley. Nothing in that either apart from his car. The rest of the house was all neat and tidy. Bloody great piano he had, didn't he?”
Watkins nodded. “He claimed he was studying to be a concert pianist at one stage.”
“So what now?” Hughes asked.
“We have two men on surveillance,” Watkins said. “They'll follow
the minute he leaves the house. And we need to get that liquid tested and to establish that Miss Price was seen at the bank yesterday. Evan, why don't you go to interview Hillary Jones?”
the minute he leaves the house. And we need to get that liquid tested and to establish that Miss Price was seen at the bank yesterday. Evan, why don't you go to interview Hillary Jones?”
Evan nodded. “All right. I'd rather be doing something than sitting around and waiting.”
“Oh, and Evansâ” Watkins called after him. “Don't give anything away. She might be loyal to her boss and tip him off. I can trust you, can't I?”
“Don't worry. I won't do anything that might put Bronwen in more danger.” Evan called over his shoulder as he left the room.
“You shouldn't really keep him on this case,” he heard Hughes saying as he reached the front doors. “No good can come from an officer being personally involved.”
Evan lingered.
“Have a heart, sir,” Watkins said. “He'd go crazy if you made him sit at home and wait. He needs to think he's doing something.”
Evan nodded to himself and pushed open the door. His shoulder, forgotten during the tension of the last events, reminded him painfully that he shouldn't be driving. Immediately, he thought of Bronwen. Was she in pain at this moment? He'd kill the bastard if he'd hurt her. His mind pictured knocking Shorecross to the floor with one mighty blow, then kneeling on his chest while he throttled the life out of him. Instantly he was ashamed that he had such violence in him. Wasn't that why he'd joined the police force in the first placeâto make society a civilized place where thugs and violence didn't rule? But monsters shouldn't be allowed to exist, he argued with himself. Men who seemed civilized on the outside, who played the piano and wore tweed jackets ⦠.
He broke off in mid-thought. He had been trying to picture Shorecross playing the piano and he now knew what was wrong. The piano had been oddly placed in the room. If it was the only piece of furniture, why not in the middle, instead of over to one corner with the keyboard facing out into the room? Surely it would be awkward to play from that position? If he tried to play the highest or lowest notes, he'd hit his elbow on the walls.
Evan's heart started beating faster. The piano had to be in that position for a reason. And there had been a vacuum cleaner in the room. Was that to get rid of the marks when a piano was moved?
He swung off the A55 at the last moment.
Neville Shorecross stood with his forehead resting against the smooth cool surface of the front door until he heard the police car drive away. Then he went through into the dining room and poured himself a sherry. His hand was trembling so much that the crystal stopper clinked musically against the carafe. Music. He needed music to calm him. He switched on the radio and the strains of Tchaikovsky's Seventh Symphony filled the room. Not what he would have chosen. The finality and overwhelming melancholy hit him like a stab in the chest. He would have to do it now. No turning back. On the long roller coaster ride to destruction.
But they didn't suspect, he told himself. They had no clue what they were looking for. Idiots, all of them. He had thought that he might just leave her there, forget about her until it was too late. Now he realized he couldn't risk the house being searched. He would do the deed before they came back and then he could bury the body at his leisure under the cellar floor. Then he'd seal off the room forever and nobody would ever know. His hand shook violently as he contemplated this. It was one thing stringing a wire across a path where a young woman would be riding. It was one thing tampering with the brakes on a car so that his father lost control on a dangerous hill. But it was another to be physically involved in taking a life. Could he do it? Could he actually put his hands around her neck and squeeze until there was no more life left in her? Or smother her? He had no choice. He couldn't let her go, so he had no choice.
Another drugged drink, then. That would make it easier on both of them. He'd offer her a cup of cocoa and when she was asleep, he'd smother her. Thus satisfied, he went through into the kitchen to put some milk on the stove.
Bronwen lay on her mattress, staring into darkness. She had no idea if it was day or night or how long she had been there. Hallucinations floated in front of her eyes. Tiredness overcame her and she drifted in and out of sleep. It was hard to tell the sleep from the waking, except that in the sleep Evan was there. “Don't worry,
cariad.
It's all a bad dream,” he was saying, but then she woke and knew that it wasn't a bad dream. It was reality.
cariad.
It's all a bad dream,” he was saying, but then she woke and knew that it wasn't a bad dream. It was reality.
She reached out and touched the bucket beside her. She was ready for him when he came. But he might not come for hours, or days. He might never come. Just leave her there to die slowly. That was the biggest fear of all.
She must have dozed off again when she was woken by a sound. Slowly, a square of light appeared above her head. Bronwen sprang to her feet, grabbed the bucket, and stood in the shadows in one corner as the square of light became bigger and the ladder was lowered. She watched him come down, step by step.
“Here, my dear,” he said. “My conscience got the better of me. I've brought you a drink. You see, I am a humane man, after all.”
She waited. He lowered himself down the last step, the cup in one hand. “Miss Price?” he asked, looking around and surprised not to see her on the mattress.
She stepped from the shadows and swung the bucket at him with all her force. She aimed directly at the cup in his hands. Shorecross let out a shriek as the hot cocoa splashed over him. The cup clattered to the floor.
Bronwen raced for the ladder and started to scramble up. She had reached the top rung and was attempting to haul herself out of the hole when his hand grabbed at her foot. She kicked out but he held on ferociously. Then he grabbed the other ankle and pulled with all his weight.
Gradually she felt her hands losing their grip until she let go and fell to the floor. The fall knocked the breath out of her. Shorecross loomed over her. “You stupid female,” he said. “You've ruined a
good jacket. I thought I was going to regret killing you, but I have to tell you that now it will be a pleasure.”
good jacket. I thought I was going to regret killing you, but I have to tell you that now it will be a pleasure.”
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