Scare Me (6 page)

“Where are you now?”

 

CHAPTER TEN

 

Carla stared at Will's desk telephone, her body perched on the edge of the swivel seat and her weight resting on the tips of her toes. He'd said he would call when he'd got clear of the house. Her eyes briefly shifted to the computer screen to her right. Her damp palm moved the mouse so the cursor slid to the cut out house next to the one Will had just visited. It hadn't become active yet, no red outline, no address in a box.

She had no doubt the information would appear shortly and that Will would soon be heading there. It looked like whoever was manipulating him had deftly engineered the route.

She glanced at the desk telephone and considered calling the police as she had every other minute she'd waited. The kidnappers' instructions had been categorical, but Carla doubted whoever was capable of the butchery in the family's lounge could ever give Libby and Luke back alive.

She drove the thought away before it could get a foothold. Didn't they have more of a chance of locating them if the authorities were involved? How would she ever forgive herself if she didn't give them that extra chance?

Her hand shot to the receiver and her fingertips rested on the plastic. Luke's parents? The police? The touch became a grip and she heard the click as she lifted it from the cradle. It was lightweight, but felt leaden in her wrist.

“Need me for anything else, Mrs Frost?”

The question was like a rivet shot into in her chest and she almost dropped the handset.

“Sorry.” Nissa waited for Carla to share her amusement at having made her jump, but her face blanked when it wasn't reciprocated. “Sorry.”

“That's OK. No, that's all. Please… go on home. Spend the evening with your family.”

Nissa nodded uncertainly. “OK. The other files you wanted are being sent up. Give me a ring at home if you need anything… at all. I'm there all evening.” Her tight red smile was a seal of the promise as she pulled the door shut behind her.

The sound seemed to cut her off her from everything outside of Will's office. Nissa was going home for a routine Saturday evening with her husband and boys. She wondered if she would ever have the luxury of such ordinariness again. Carla looked across the spotless blue carpet to herself smiling with Libby in the photo on the display cabinet. When she considered the photos that had just been posted, the happiness there seemed fictitious. She thought of the new life inside her daughter's drugged body and the metal ropes biting into the skin of her shoulder.

She rose and walked unsteadily to the water cooler. She put both hands on top of it and tried to take some breaths. Carla glanced at the daunting stack of folders on the desk. What did she hope to find within them? Anything but the contemplation of how the situation could end. She couldn't conceive of a world without Libby.

She'd held Jessie for less than a minute, but her absence was still a vacuum within her every time her name was uttered. They hadn't wanted to know the sex when they'd been given the choice. Had decided to name them Jessie whichever way it had gone.

Her lifeless twenty-week-old body had been placed in her arms and the midwife had persuaded them to have a picture taken. There'd been no camera. The midwife had captured it with her phone. It was the only photo that existed of her. A low resolution snap of a low resolution moment, a tiny face like a shrivelled bud that would never open. Carla had bled internally and only emergency surgery had saved her. She'd lost so much blood she'd been delirious as Will had uncertainly leaned into the pillows and circled them both with his arms.

But they'd both been glad the picture had been taken. Knew why the midwife had persuaded them. Jessie's existence in the world, however brief, had been recorded and the image had helped them both reconcile themselves with what happened. Less than a minute later the room and everyone in it had drained away and she felt Jessie's fragile weight lifted from her hands.

Jessie's brief presence still resonated profoundly with both her and Will. How could they ever withstand Libby's removal from their lives? She walked back to the desk, opened another file, but couldn't see the contents. A sense of darkness came at her from all sides and a familiar claustrophobia trickled into the joints of her shoulders.

Even though Will was being manoeuvred on the other side of the Atlantic, he was at least occupied and not imprisoned to envisage what they would have to face. She couldn't allow herself to think that way; even if the fear of it burnt through everything she tried to occupy herself with. If she folded in on herself now, it wasn't going to help Libby one bit.

She told herself she had to focus on what she could control, even if that was virtually non-existent. Every minute was valuable. Analyse the people Ingram had dealt with in Chonburi and Rayong, scrutinise the details of anyone who had recently entered their lives. She tried to perceive a presence – define a face that united outwardly harmless moments of the weeks leading to the abduction.

If Libby hadn't been taken she wondered if Will would have shown her the site displaying the photographs of their home. Would he have concealed it to protect her? And was there anything else he'd protected her from even if his motives had been honourable?

She tried to concentrate on the information in front of her. Libby and Luke had to be imprisoned for a reason. She prayed a ransom demand would be issued soon but, looking at the website, it didn't seem like one was imminent. If not, there had to be a justification, some locatable motive for all this.

 

In the suffocated blue light coming through the open ceiling shutters, Tam continued his examination of the machinery. He'd watched his mother dispatch chickens using a cleaver blade to the neck, had seen plenty of them escape headless at the market. But he couldn't begin to imagine how many hundreds of birds the conveyor of hooks over the metallic troughs in front of him silenced every day.

When his mother's blade connected with the board it wasn't the squawk of the animal that unnerved him, it was the moment it stopped. That was when he held his breath; like a split-second prayer.

He looked up, hypnotized by the feathers floating in concentric rings in the currents from the fans, dirty white turning black against the hazy, teal sky outside. They were everywhere, circling the floor, brushing his face and sticking to the congealed blood on the hooks. Tam knew it made no difference how much further he went. He was far enough away from home now – beyond the rescue of his mother and father.

Light outlined a large set of double doors at the far end of the factory floor and he made towards them, his bare feet slapping the warm tiles.

He put his eye to the crack and, when he was sure there was nobody else in the cavernous area the other side, pushed the door slowly open. Tam was in an enclosed loading bay. Two delivery lorries were parked to his right, the large, red shutter behind them sealed. To his left, on a raised concrete platform, were a couple of refrigeration units. Beyond them was a flight of stairs leading down. He scurried along the metal gantry in front of them. The door to the first cold room was closed, but the second was ajar. Inside he glimpsed shelves containing crates of packaged chickens. Then he saw another entrance.

It was a small security cabin tucked at the side and the light and TV within were on. Tam looked around in panic and then heard a door slam. He located the sound. Somebody was emerging from the chemical toilet against the wall behind the parked lorries. He headed for the stairs.

He quickly descended two flights of rough concrete steps, stopping at the first to put his sandals back on. They didn't lead out onto the street though. He found himself in a warm, dark, low-ceilinged area and the sound of the frightened birds was in the air like an electrical charge. Tam worked out he was walking back in the direction he'd just come, underneath the factory floor. The odour here was like an assault and his chest tightened itself against it.

As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he could see grimy white shapes scuttling quickly out of his path. It felt soft underfoot and smelt like the bottom of his hamster's cage magnified a thousand times. He heard an impact from the level above him and trotted on. Tam thought of his bed at home and the way his parents quietly stacked the dishes away so as not to wake him and his face started to tighten. But terror held his tears inside his head and although his legs kept moving him away from one danger he wasn't sure if there was something worse waiting for him up ahead.

Something struck his face hard and he instinctively put his hands up to knock it away. His fingers closed around something solid. It was a switch on a wire hanging from the ceiling. He held it firmly in his hand and looked back. He couldn't even make out the steps. The door above must have closed. It felt like he had two hearts beating in his chest. Should he turn it on? Maybe for a few seconds, just to see where he was and if there was a way out. He could be wandering around down here forever otherwise.

The switch was stiff and the edge of it cut into the pad of his thumb as he tried to push it. Tam felt dizzy and hoped he wouldn't pass out as he had the couple of times he'd rolled too many oil barrels. Then his father had made him sit on the edge of the road with his head between his knees.

He gripped the thick flex that connected the switch to the ceiling and managed to push in. Nothing happened. Birds brushed past his bare legs as he waited at the end of the wire. Then blinding, circular halogen bulbs clicked on and his eyelids tightened against the sudden, hot light.

He squinted as the living carpet of birds tried to move away from him, their dirty feathers and burnt kneecaps wedging together. Tam saw the door to his left first; a thick metal panel on runners with no obvious lock or handle. He glanced back at the steps and was relieved to see nobody coming down them. Would he have to go back that way if he couldn't open the door from this side?

He returned his attention to the sealed exit and that was when he saw the girl sitting inside the cage.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

Tam held his breath.

It wasn't Songsuda. His sister was slender and slightly built. The girl in the chicken wire cage was slim as well, but her limbs were much more sturdy. Even though she was seated and a handful of prisoner chickens pecked around her, he could also see she was significantly taller as well. She wore a dirty blue nightdress and her tanned calf muscles were locked against the low plastic seat she was squatting on. It looked like a potty. Tam was relieved to see a large padlock on the door of the cage.

She must have heard him moving around. She was as motionless as he was. He bit his mouth shut so she couldn't hear his heart stamping his chest. Could she hear anything at all through the black hood on her head? The thick blue plastic wire that secured it around her neck reminded Tam of his mother's washing line.

He looked at her boobs. Quickly first and then allowed himself a more lingering examination. Songsuda's were only tiny bumps like his mother's. These stretched her nightshirt as her chest heaved for breath.

He quickly surveyed the rest of the chicken house. The halogen bulbs had illuminated a large stack of cages at the far wall, but they were all empty. The girl was alone here.

He remained frozen and tried to estimate how much noise he'd already made. He'd agitated the chickens, but his feet had made hardly any noise on the soft layer of litter and droppings. Had she heard him turn on the light?

Her head suddenly twisted left and she leaned forward on her perch as if trying to listen through the hood. He gritted his teeth and crouched low, but didn't know why. She couldn't see him. Why was she wearing the hood? Was she so ugly that she had to conceal her face? Tam remembered the old lady who used to live in their old complex. Her bottom jaw had been missing. His mother and father had always shown her great respect, as if somehow they couldn't see her hideous appearance.

Maybe this girl had the same problem. Perhaps that's why she was locked away here. He wished the old lady had been. He and Songsuda had dreaded meeting her on the stairs.

The girl swivelled her head the other way and he could hear bubbles rattling in her nostrils and mouth. She spoke, shortly and sharply. Tam couldn't understand what she said. He was sure it was the language of the tourists, but it was muffled, as if she had something in her mouth. From the tone, he knew it was a question though.

She repeated it, but he didn't respond.

The girl locked rigid and the hood suddenly exploded with anger. The words vibrated from her chest, her voice rusting in her dry throat and her body thrashing on the seat. For a moment he thought she had no arms from the elbows down. But as he took a few paces back he could see her wrists were tied behind her spine.

She was dangerous. That was why she was locked up like this. Could she escape? His imagination raced as he envisaged what would happen if she broke out of the flimsy wire cage. This was a place he shouldn't have seen until he was much older. It was time to run.

Tam snatched air into his chest. He realised he'd have to pass in front of the cage to get to the sliding door behind it. The chickens inside and outside her cage babbled louder and flapped up loose feathers, echoing the frenzy in her voice as she screamed at him again. This time the alien words were fractured by sobs. The noise was sure to bring someone down to investigate. They'd probably call the police. How would he ever explain to them or his father what he was doing here in the middle of the night?

Tam made a dash for the door, not even peeping at the cage as he passed it. He could hear her yells burning at his back as he looked for a handle or lock, but the metal in front of him held only a distorted reflection of his terror. He anticipated the hood appearing beside it and feeling her hands at his shoulders.

He looked down and saw the pedal. It was a black and circular and jutted from the bottom of the door. Tam stamped it with his foot and felt its solid impact reverberate in the bone of his leg. But the door didn't shift.

He remembered a similar mechanism in the cold room of one of the restaurants he and his father delivered to and put his toes underneath the pedal. He prised it up, pressure against his bare toes as it refused to give. Then there was a sudden hollow click and bottom of the door was released. Tam got his fingers around the edge of it and yanked it along the runner.

He heard something heavy and metallic rolling in the loading bay above and remembered he'd left the lights on. If the person from the security cabin came down they'd immediately know he'd been there. He turned, spotting the switch swinging on the wire.

He closed his eyes and bolted back to it, his toes connecting with the soft bodies of the chickens. He didn't open them until he'd used both thumbs to push the switch back off and everything was in darkness again. The girl didn't stop screeching as he swerved around the cage and sprinted back to the door.

Tam didn't feel safe until he'd passed through the gap of gloomy light the other side of it and had slammed it back into position. He could still hear the girl, but the depth of the door and the sound of the chickens smothered her. Cool air goosebumped his bare arms and legs. He realised he was outside and at the bottom of a tarmac ramp.

The door juddered back so a small gap let the screams escape again. As he ran Tam didn't pause to consider what was at the top of the road.

 

Will squeezed himself into a tight cubicle in Burrito Joe's and looked at the plate of food he'd picked at random from the buffet counter. It was ludicrous to try and eat after what he'd just seen. But he knew the light-headedness he was experiencing was because his body was refusing to function on caffeine alone.

He took a bite from a meat-filled pancake, ground it, but couldn't swallow. A rotund and goateed diner sitting in the far cubicle watched his attempts. A waitress refilled the man's cup, but he didn't break eye contact with Will.

“No… thanks,” he said, as she came over to Will's table. Hearing his own British accent made him feel even more conspicuous. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket, dialled and used it as an excuse to turn away from his observer.

“I'm clear,” he said, as soon as Carla picked up.

The line fizzed. “Are you… OK?” Her tone said she knew what a hopelessly inadequate question it was.

“I can't really talk.” How suspicious did that sound?

“Have you called the number?”

“Just about to.” He hinged open the lid of his laptop.

“Shall I do it?”

He visualised her sitting alone in his office. “No. I will.”

“It was still engaged a couple of minutes ago, but maybe they'll only receive calls from your mobile. Try to reason with them…”

“They haven't spoken to us yet. Look, I really can't talk here.”

“I'll keep an eye on the website. Call me if you do make contact with them.”

“I will.” He couldn't think of anything else to add.

Nor could she. They both hung up at the same time.

He waited for the laptop to boot up and glanced around. He'd scarcely taken in the place as he'd entered. Just beyond his studious observer was a dimly lit Internet café, but the two men having a low conversation there didn't look as if they were surfing. On the radio Tom Petty was “Free Fallin”.

His shivered at the thought of his drop from the gate. He took a second mouthful of the pancake and tried to choke it down. The smell of stale fat was suffocating and the hollowed out eyes of the family he'd left behind bored into his memory.

He was just accessing his emails when a hiss announced the presence of someone standing beside him. He turned to find a frown of hostility. The short stack of a man was at eye level and had his remaining straggles of hair pulled into a tight ponytail.

“Sorry, sir, you'll have to use the computers provided.” He sucked another breath from his inhaler – the source of the hiss – and nodded to the area at the back of the restaurant.

“It's OK. I'm nearly finished.” But Will sensed his transgression had already attracted unwanted attention from the other diners in the restaurant.

“It's ten dollars an hour. You can pay me now.”

“There's obviously coverage here. I'm happy to pay, but can I just finish off what I'm doing at this table?”

“This is an eating area. That's the Internet area. Not my rules. I'll take the ten dollars and you can finish in there. You can take a beverage with you, but no food.” He hinged the lid of Will's laptop shut like he was grinding an insect flat.

Will sat motionless momentarily and then rose without a word and pulled the money out of his wallet. “Ten dollars.”

“Another ten bucks if you need more than an hour.”

“I won't.”

‘Most of the guys here don't. There's no safe browsing here. Knock yourself out.” He smiled without using his eyes.

As Will picked up his laptop the two men rose and moved past him. He seated himself in front of the first computer in the row of four. He used the grubby keyboard to sign into his emails via his Ingram account and found the image of Libby.

He entered the digits on the sign round her neck into his mobile so he wouldn't have to look at it each time. But then maybe that's what he needed to see. He dialled.

There was a beeping sound from the cubicle opposite and Will made eye contact with his fellow diner again. He'd pulled his paunch from behind the table and was standing up to reveal the dark blue police uniform he was wearing. The walkie-talkie clipped to the belt of his trousers had been responsible for the noise. He slowly rolled his sleeves down over his tattoos.

Will turned away again pretending to study the computer screen, but saw nothing but the footprints of blood he'd left out of the house, up the driveway and through the gates of the murdered family. He'd wiped his shoes in the dry grass at the roadside, but now he wondered if there were any other droplets on his clothes, any telltale signs that he'd just fled a crime scene. Through the corner of his eye he could see the policeman dump some coins onto the table and take his time cleaning his moustache and goatee with a napkin.

The sound of caged birds poured into his ear again.

“I have the bracelet. Stop this,” Will whispered into the mouthpiece.

The policeman paused and Will wondered if he'd overheard. He was trapped between recoiling from his presence and reaching out to him. He could tell him exactly what had happened in North Vine Street. Lead him to the location so the family could be released from their sick tableau.

The sound of panicked birds cut out.

The policeman dabbed at the hairs of his face. Will could hear the bristles against the cheap paper.

No police. And even if he told this officer everything, his tip-off and his obvious presence at the scene would necessitate him being taken into custody immediately. He looked up from the greasy monitor and the officer sauntered away from his cubicle and then angled his waist against the counter while he chatted to the cashier.

Will typed his name into a search engine, his fingers sticking to the keys. He opened up the website. There were six houses in the row besides his, one down and five to go. As soon as the police got into the villa and started to investigate, Will would quickly be implicated in the crime. The longer the family remained undiscovered the better it was for him. All he could do was wait for his next address.

The door slammed shut as the policeman left.