Target (22 page)

The smile on Dom's face died the moment he came into the room and saw my expression. I think in that moment he knew that I'd found him out.

'What is it, Rob?' he asked with a casualness that seemed forced as he put the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc down on the table.

'Where's Jenny, Dom?' I demanded.

'What are you talking about? How should I know?'

I told him about the lack of a mobile reception at Maxwell's place.

'What the hell's that got to do with me?'

'You knew where Maxwell lived, didn't you?'

'Well, yeah, but so did quite a lot of other people.'

'But none of them were intimately acquainted with Jenny, were they?'

Part of me couldn't believe I was saying what I was saying. After all, Dom was my friend of more than twenty years, a normal guy who'd lived a normal life and who'd never been in trouble before. Yet when I'd spoken to him on the phone in Dubai the other day, something hadn't rung true. It was the way he'd denied that he'd talked to Jenny for months, even though she'd told me he'd been calling her, trying to get back together. Because why on earth would she have made something like that up?

'You were lying when you said you hadn't spoken to Jenny for months, weren't you? So tell me,' I said, raising my voice now, 'where the hell is she?'

'Christ, Rob, don't be so fucking stupid. Why the hell would I ever get involved in a kidnapping? I'm a businessman, not a criminal. You're delirious, mate. You need some rest.'

He tried staring me out, wearing an expression of righteous indignation and surprise that I'd seen him use plenty of times, usually when he was trying to convince someone he was telling the truth. It usually worked, too, and was doubtless one of the reasons he'd been so successful in business. Back in the old days it had always convinced our teachers he was telling the truth. But I knew him too well. Most of the time he did it when he was lying.

As if to confirm my suspicions, the skin beneath his right eye began to twitch, a long-standing habit that invariably occurred when he was under stress.

I felt the rage building in me. 'You bastard! Where is she? Where's Jenny?'

'What the fuck are you talking about?' he shouted, his voice filling the room. 'You're fucking delirious, Rob, so don't say stuff you don't mean, all right? Why don't you just go for a lie down or something? OK?'

'Where is she? Is she still alive?'

'Shut the fuck up!' he hissed, the guilt coming off him in waves.

'I'm going to call the police, Dom. Right now. I've got the number of one of the senior guys on my phone. Maybe you can convince him you don't know what's happened to Jenny, because you know what? You're not convincing me.'

I stood up and pulled the phone from my pocket with my good hand, still finding it almost impossible to believe that this was happening. Of all the shocks I'd had recently, this was undoubtedly the biggest of all. Which was why, I suppose, it had taken me so long to work it out.

'Put the phone down, Rob,' said Dom with an icy calm. 'Now.'

'No.'

The punch came out of nowhere, connecting perfectly with my jaw and sending me crashing back on to the sofa. The phone flew out of my hand, thudding on to the carpet somewhere out of sight.

Before I could react, Dom grabbed a cushion from one of the sofas and sprang across the coffee table, his face contorted with an angry panic I'd never seen there before. He landed on top of me, one leg digging into my broken arm, and I cried out in pain, trying to avoid the blows raining down on me. Then suddenly the cushion was being pushed into my face and I could no longer see anything. I struggled under him, but he was an ex-rugby player, and even though he'd lost weight he was still a big guy, and in my condition it was always going to be an unequal battle.

I heard him grunt with exertion as he forced the pillow down hard and I felt the panic surge in me as my breath became trapped in my throat. I grabbed his thigh with my good hand, squeezing it as hard as I could. I wanted to beg him for mercy, to tell him that if only he let me go I wouldn't say a word. But only muffled gasps came out as I fought for air.

Without warning, the cushion was pulled away. Dom was staring down at me, tears in his eyes. 'You fucking prick!' he shouted, bringing back his fist. 'Why did you have to get involved? Why couldn't you have just kept out of it and got your own fucking girlfriend? Then none of this would have happened!'

I started to say something but he punched me again, full in the face, although this time there was less power in the blow. I could tell then that he was incapable of killing me. I could hardly move, and my arm was in so much agony I thought it might have been broken again. Even so, I felt hopeful, because it seemed that Dom still possessed some kind of conscience.

He stood up, breathing heavily, clenching and unclenching his fists. Thinking.

Spitting blood from my mouth, I spoke through gritted teeth. 'If you tell me where she is, Dom, I'll call the police anonymously and give them the location. I won't mention your name, I promise.'

'I don't fucking know, all right!' he shouted, pacing the room. 'I haven't got a clue where she is!'

'So what's going on, Dom? Tell me. Please. I'm your mate.'

He gave a sort of groan. 'You were, Rob. But not any more.'

'I can help you. Honestly.'

'No, you can't. You most definitely fucking can't. The only people who can help me are not going to want you shooting your mouth off.'

'I'm going to leave now,' I said, getting unsteadily to my feet, ignoring the way the room was spinning. 'I won't say a word. I promise.' But my plea sounded hollow, and we both knew it.

Dom shook his head firmly. 'I'm sorry, mate, but I can't allow you to do that.'

Knowing I had no choice, I started towards the door, giving him the kind of anguished, vulnerable look I hoped would make him feel sorry enough for me that he wouldn't intervene.

He blocked my path, and I saw that his expression was hard and determined.

I went for the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc on the coffee table, but the booze and pills had made me way too slow, and he knocked me out of the way and grabbed it himself.

'Don't!' I yelled, throwing up my hands to protect myself but unable to stop the bottle connecting with my temple.

Something in my head seemed to explode, and my legs went from under me. I landed hard on the sofa, the back of my head smacking painfully against the armrest, the blood already pouring into my right eye while the vision in my left began to swim.

I saw a wobbling, swirling image of Dom take a mobile from his pocket and, just before unconsciousness finally enveloped me, I heard him speak four words to the person on the other end with an eerie, unnerving calm that chilled my bones.

'We've got a problem.'

There was movement outside the door, and Tina tensed as it opened, the hood over her head preventing her from seeing who it was.

For several seconds there was silence. Then she heard a sniffing sound close by her.

'Hmm, it smells like someone couldn't control herself.'

It was him. The man who'd abducted her.

Then, in one sudden movement, the hood was ripped off. Squinting against the brightness of the light, Tina saw him standing in front of her, dressed in a boiler suit and gloves, a mocking half-smile on his thin lips, a pistol with silencer in his hand.

He yanked the gag from her mouth, but she barely noticed the pain. Her raging thirst overcame everything. 'Have you got some water?' she asked, her voice a dry rasp.

Without answering, he pulled a bottle of Evian from one of the boiler suit pockets and pushed it into her mouth.

Tina drank thirstily, consuming the whole bottle in one go.

Almost immediately she experienced a powerful urge for a real drink, something that would make this horrendous situation more tolerable. 'Have you got anything stronger?' she asked before she could stop herself.

He brought his face close to hers, the saucer eyes inspecting her with interest, and she cursed herself for letting him see her weakness. 'I'm afraid not, Tina Boyd. But then, I wouldn't want you drunk for what I'm about to show you.'

She felt the fear coming then, in hard waves that tightened every muscle. 'What are you going to show me?'

He leaned down so his cheek was touching hers. It felt like rubber. 'It's a surprise,' he whispered into her ear.

A knife appeared in his free hand. He crouched down and used it to cut her free of the masking tape and the ropes, slicing them roughly yet thoroughly, yet somehow managing to avoid cutting her. When what was left of her bonds was scattered in several piles around the chair where she'd spent most of the last twenty-four hours, he stepped back and told her to get to her feet.

She did as she was told, so stiff she almost fell straight back down again. It felt strange being free. But not good, because somehow she knew that he wouldn't be tying her up again. Some time soon, maybe even in the next few minutes, he'd be finished with her. And when he was, that would be it.

'Put your hands behind your back, palms outwards,' he commanded, putting the knife away and coming round behind her. 'And don't try anything stupid, otherwise I'll make you scream.'

Tina moved her hands behind her and waited as he fitted a pair of new-style police restraints. Then finally she stood facing him, still dressed only in a blouse and socks. 'Do you mind if I put some clothes on?' she asked him. 'I'm very cold.'

He smiled. 'No. I like it when you suffer a little.'

He took her by the arm and pushed her in the direction of the open door, following behind her as she walked unsteadily through it, wondering if these would be the last steps of her life. She tried not to limp as she stepped painfully on the set of picks, which were pushing against the sole of her foot, hoping he wouldn't notice there was anything amiss.

The door led out on to a narrow balcony with stairs leading down to the ground floor on her left, and another door directly opposite.

'Keep going,' he said, pushing the silencer into the small of her back.

'Where?' she asked, standing at the top of the staircase, hating the uncertainty in her voice, because that would show him she was scared, and she couldn't have that.

'In there,' he said, pushing the door. 'Go on, it's open.'

Taking a deep breath, she went in, wondering what on earth was going to greet her.

What did was something far worse than she could have imagined.

The room was dark and fetid, lit only by a dim overhead strip light, the smell of human filth like ammonia in Tina's nostrils. A young woman, bruised and naked, with unkempt blonde hair and terrified eyes, whom she immediately recognized as Jenny Brakspear, was spreadeagled and chained to a black bondage-style contraption that had been attached to the far wall, completely covering the room's only window. A spiked collar kept her head in place and a plastic ball gag had been stuffed into her mouth to prevent her crying out. As Tina took a step closer, she saw that there were long dried rivulets of blood running down one arm. She followed them to their source and flinched when she saw that the tip of the little finger on her left hand was missing. An expensive-looking video camera on a tripod had been set up with the lens facing her to record her torment.

As the man responsible for it came into the room behind her, Jenny Brakspear moaned, and Tina recognized the sound as the one she'd heard the previous night. Trying not to gag against the room's stench, she looked at Jenny who was staring at her with pleading, beaten eyes, and mouthed to her that it was going to be all right, even though it was obvious that it would never be all right for her again.

'What do you think?' he whispered, coming close to Tina's ear. 'Aren't you lucky you're not being kept in accommodation like this.'

'Why are you doing this?' Tina asked, feeling a mixture of anger and black despair. It was difficult to believe that people as heartless as the man next to her existed. 'What's she ever done to you?'

'Would you rather I put you up there instead?'

'Just let her go, for Christ's sake!'

He chuckled. 'Ah, like I said earlier, you've got spirit, Tina Boyd. You interest me. That's why you're still alive. But this one . . . She's got no spirit at all.' He gave a melodramatic sigh. 'So she has to die.'

With a sudden movement he kicked Tina's legs from under her. As she fell to the floor, he raised the gun, took aim and, as Jenny Brakspear's eyes widened for the last time, shot her once in the groin, then once in the forehead.

Blood sprayed the board and Jenny's body shivered violently for several seconds before finally her head tilted forward and she was still.

'You fucking bastard!' screamed Tina, trying to scramble to her feet.

Stepping easily to one side, he kicked her in the side of the head, sending her sprawling, then grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to her feet. 'Do you want to die too, Tina Boyd?' He laughed, a mad, sadistic ecstasy in his voice. 'Do you, darling? Like her?' He dragged her forward so she was right in front of Jenny's corpse and could see the blood running down the board behind her head. 'Or are you going to beg?' He let go of Tina's hair and threw her against the opposite wall, pointing the gun at her face with a steady hand. The joy on his face was frightening to behold. 'Well, Tina Boyd? What's it going to be? Beg or die?'

She stared down the barrel. Thought of all the people she'd lost down the years.

Hold it together, Tina. For Christ's sake. Think.

'Please don't kill me,' she whispered.

'Sorry? What was that again?'

'Please don't kill me.'

'So you're going to do what I tell you?'

She swallowed. 'Yes.'

He smiled. 'Good. That's what I want to hear. Get on your knees.'

Tina hesitated, her mind a whirl of thoughts. Trying desperately to come up with some kind of plan of escape.

'On your fucking knees. Now.'

Slowly she lowered herself, catching sight of Jenny's corpse out of the corner of her eye, head slumped forward, the blonde hair hanging down over her face like a forlorn shroud. She didn't want that to be her.

He took a step forward, unzipping his fly.

And then stopped. A loud shrill ringing was coming from his boiler suit, its sound filling the room. Keeping the gun trained on Tina, he checked the screen, frowning as he put it to his ear.

He listened for several seconds, looking annoyed, before finally speaking. 'Text me the address. I'm on my way.' He put the phone back in the boiler suit pocket and regarded Tina with an almost scientific interest, moving the gun ever so slightly so that the barrel was pointed directly at her forehead.

She swallowed hard, waiting for him to decide her fate.

'We'll have to wait a while longer for our fun, I'm afraid,' he said, lowering the gun. 'You can wait here with Jenny.'

Tina didn't say a word. Just watched as he walked to the door and turned the handle, thinking of the set of picks in her sock.

'Oh, one thing,' he said, as if as an afterthought. 'Stand up a moment.'

Slowly, Tina got to her feet and stood facing him.

'Thanks for that,' he said with a smile, and shot her in the foot.