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  Threads of my hair felt his presence as he moved around to the back of my head. Strands snagged as he nudged the material this way and that. I flinched, but remained silent. Suddenly, the material was pulled away. I took a moment to focus. A thin layer of daylight illuminated the pit.

  I glanced up at Lonny. He was one of the richer kids, the ones with parents who gave them generous allowances, the ones who hired vehicles and took off to explore the country. We shared a couple of classes. But I knew him well enough to see how different he looked today. His usually immaculate hair was dishevelled. Spots of glue blotted his face around the mouth. His clothes were dirty, as if he’d rolled in a dust bath.

  He gave a weak smile, held a palm to his temple. “My head’s killing me,” he said.

  I glanced down and spotted a pile of duct tape on the floor. From the moment he’d been left here, he’d set to work on removing the tape, spindly fingers working back on his wrists, then his face. I raised my eyes to meet his gaze.

  He pointed at my mouth. “Shall I remove the tape?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s gonna hurt.”

  I nodded again. It was all I was capable of.

  Slowly, he pulled at the edge of the tape. I felt a tiny sting as he grasped enough to give him leverage. “Ready?”

  I blinked acknowledgement. He pulled back, short and sharp. The tear of the glue travelled like a burn across my cheek. I recoiled. Twice more, he repeated the actions, each time checking that I was ready to brace myself for the pain that was about to follow. When I was finally free, I gulped in huge mouthfuls of air before I mouthed, “Thank you.”

  He sat back on his heels and set to work on the binds around my hands. “Are you okay?” He looked up as he spoke. His eyes were soft and full of concern. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

  For a moment I couldn’t speak. I’d sat here on my own for so long, contemplating my fate, loneliness squeezing every ounce of energy from me.

  “What happened to you?” I eventually said. My words were rough and brittle and my throat hurt as I pushed them out.

  “I’m not sure exactly,” Lonny said staring into space. “It was around nine in the morning, I was walking down Alcester Road. Felt a bang on the back of my head,” he reached up and rubbed his crown, “must have blacked out.”

  I absorbed his words slowly. I wanted to hear every minute detail, every second of his capture, in the faint hope that his experience would answer some of the questions that had plagued my brain these past couple of days.

  My hands freed, I rubbed the area around my mouth and sat forward as we worked on the tape around our ankles in unison. “Maybe somebody saw you?”

  He paused, thought for a minute, his eyes searching the space in front of him, then shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t remember seeing anyone.” If he noticed my hesitation, the shadow of disappointment that crept across my face, he ignored it. “When I woke up, I was in the back of a vehicle.”

  “What kind of vehicle?”

  “I don’t know, my eyes were covered. I could hear the engine. I wanted to call out but I was gagged and my hands were tied. At first I thought I was dreaming. It seemed like ages until he parked up, the engine cut, and the door opened.”

  “That’s when you arrived here?”

  He looked across at me. “Yes. He pulled me out of the vehicle. Then, as soon as I was upright, I felt a sharp point through my t-shirt.” He leant forward and winced as he fingered the small of his back. Thin threads hung loosely where the material had been snagged. The area was circled with specks of blood, where the top layer of skin had been scratched beneath. “He didn’t speak, just led me here. But the knife didn’t leave my back. I remember being pushed down onto my knees, the jingle of metal… ”

  “The chain.” I raised my eyes to the roof. “I think it locks the grid in place.”

  Lonny wavered as he stood to examine it.

  “Hey, careful.”

  “My head feels like it’s full of cotton wool,” he said.

  “I felt like that too. I think he drugged me. Had a massive headache afterwards.”

  Lonny rubbed his forehead and looked around at the walls, then reached up towards the grill. “This the only way out?”

  I nodded and watched him grab the bars. “It’s no use. I’ve already tried.”

  His shirt flapped as he gave it a quick shake. The chain rattled like a snake in the background.

  “There must be a way,” he said.

  “There isn’t.”

  Lonny rubbed his hands up and down his face, covering his eyes. He wobbled again.

  “You’d better sit down. I felt very dreamy at first. Like a hangover I had to sleep off.”

  He sat and rested his head on the concrete wall. Silence filled the pit for several minutes. Finally, he looked across at me. “What about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How did you get here? We all know you disappeared after leaving the Old Thatch Tavern on Monday evening. It’s been on the news, the radio. Everyone’s talking about it. The police are crawling all over the college. What do you remember?”

  “What day is it today?” I asked, ignoring his questions.

  “Thursday.”

  Thursday. That meant I’d been cooped up in this hell hole for three nights now.

  I looked across at Lonny. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Of course the police would have been alerted to my disappearance. But being encased in this dark cell for the past couple of days had played tricks with my mind. There were times when I felt so alone, like I’d been forgotten, as if the world had pushed me aside and moved on without me. In a way it was heartening to think that they were looking. But why hadn’t they found me? And why was he here now?

  I relayed the story of how I arrived here and, as I mouthed the words, I was reminded just how little I knew about our captor.

  Lonny listened intently, waiting for me to finish before he spoke. “They thought you’d been murdered like that other girl.”

  I jerked my head to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she disappeared for a week before they found her body. People thought you might be another victim.”

  A shiver slipped down the back of my neck. We sat quietly for a while and I became aware of how thick the atmosphere of the pit had become, now that two people vied for a lungful of air.

  “Why do you think we are here?” I eventually asked.

  He took a deep breath and thought for a moment. “Ransoms? Both our families might be considered wealthy.”

  “Mine aren’t. Their money is tied up in the factory.”

  He shook his head, his face blank as if he’d run out of ideas.

  “And even if it was kidnap, as you suggest,” I raised my arms wide, “why put us together? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe he thought if we were tied up and gagged we wouldn’t be able to communicate.”

  The thick air was mingling with the heat now and the dual effect was stifling. I fixed my gaze on the wall in front. “He.”

  Lonny twisted his head. “Sorry?”

  I returned his gaze. “You said, ‘he’.”

  A few seconds passed before Lonny spoke. “Well, I presume he must be male. To have the strength to lift me into the vehicle and manoeuvre me across to here.”

  I glanced back at the grid above us. “Yes,” I said, as if I was speaking to myself. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jackman slowed right down as he passed the Volkswagen parked in Clifford Chambers’ main street. The white van with yellow and blue signage read ‘C Ward Plumbing Solutions’ next to a blue water droplet. Dots of yellow painted vapour sat above the symbol. He looked at the petrol cap – no rust circle. But he’d seen that symbol before somewhere.

  He pushed the thoughts aside, continued to the end of the road and pulled up beside a police car. It was parked behind two police-
issue Land Rovers, a Transit van and a black Audi. The sight of the Audi puzzled him. What the hell was Reilly doing here? He slammed the car door behind him and headed up the track that led out of the village and into a farmer’s field.

  Jackman had picked up Davies’ excited voicemail after he’d left Broom Hills and dropped Celia back home that morning. ‘A possible lead to the victim in the woods just above Clifford Chambers’. He’d tried to call her back, but when the line went to voicemail, he sped straight here. Keane updated him from the incident room as he drove: Davies had responded to a call this morning, a potential sighting of the white van near Clifford Chambers village. A search team had been called out to examine some disused water tanks in the nearby woods.

  Jackman raised his badge to the uniformed officer guarding the gate to keep unwanted dog-walkers and nosey villagers away, and looked up at the wood as he climbed the uneven hill. Having walked Erik over these fields in the past, he knew this area well. Halfway up he paused and glanced around dubiously. A race track was situated behind the wood, a road beyond that. It was well-frequented by dog-walkers and children played up in the woods in the summer. To store a body here seemed a risky plan.

  He was about to continue when he spotted Davies in the distance making her way down the hill. The gradient was such that her step quickened and she almost appeared to be running, out of breath by the time she reached him. “False alarm, sir,” she said.

  Jackman looked past her to see Reilly emerge from the wood, mobile phone glued to his ear. “What’s he doing here?”

  Davies rolled her eyes. “No idea. He arrived at about the same time as the search team.” She cut off as Reilly reached them.

  “Ah, Jackman,” he said just as his shoe caught a rogue clod of earth that set him off-balance momentarily.

  “You organise this?” Jackman lifted his head towards the direction of the wood.

  “Yes,” Reilly said as he steadied his footing. “I was with Superintendent Janus when the call came through. Thought I’d lend a hand. One of the tanks had been disturbed recently, we needed cutting gear to get into it.”

  Jackman gave a short nod. “Anything there?”

  “It appears not.”

  Jackman looked back up at the wood. “How did you get on with the restaurant?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “In the Readman case?” Reilly shook his head. “So many people pass through there. My detectives have tracked down the staff who worked on the nights when the girls were meant to be there, but they don’t remember them specifically.”

  “Mr Ward was really talkative until his son arrived,” Davies said. Her face was confounded, as if she had been working it through in her mind and hadn’t heard a word of their conversation. “He seemed quite insistent he’d seen a van, and mentioned the rust mark around the petrol cap too. Then his son arrived and he seemed to get side tracked. Went on about what a ladies’ man he was and how much he liked girls with dark hair.”

  Davies prattled on, relaying her interview with Graeme Ward, but Jackman was no longer listening. The image of the water droplet symbol had crept back into his mind. He was turning the symbol over and over. Suddenly he felt a strange sense of foreboding as he remembered where he’d seen it before.

  “That van down the road,” Jackman said. “The plumber’s van. Does that belong to Ward?”

  Davies looked taken aback at the interruption, “Yes. Well, not Graeme Ward. It belongs to his son, Carl.”

  “And his son’s a plumber?”

  Annie nodded.

  Jackman switched his gaze to Reilly. “I’ve seen the symbol on the side of that van before.”

  “Where?”

  “It was on a fridge magnet at the house Ellen Readman shared with her friend. I’m almost certain of it.”

  “And Ellen Readman had dark hair,” Davies interjected.

  Jackman faced her. “What?”

  “Mr Ward said his son was a ladies’ man, likes girls with dark hair,” she repeated.

  “Get some urgent background checks done on Carl Ward,” Jackman said. He turned to Reilly, “I think we need to have a word with Mr Ward junior.”

  Reilly stepped back. His voice faltered as he spoke, “I’ll get the checks organised.”

  Jackman gave him a hard stare. “Annie’s got it in hand. Come on!” He pulled on his arm, forcing him into a reluctant jog.

  They raced down the hill leaving Davies behind. Jackman sped up as he reached the gate and headed for the village, leaving Reilly to stumble along behind. A couple of dog-walkers deep in conversation eyed him suspiciously as he passed them and headed up the main street.

  Jackman’s mobile buzzed as he approached the plumber’s van, still parked on the main street of Clifford Chambers. ‘Davies’ flashed up on the screen. He paused to catch his breath and clicked to answer, “What have you got, Annie?”

  “Plenty of intel, sir.” Her voice was puffed as if she was rushing. “Ward has previous – assaulting an ex-girlfriend in 2006 and in 2009 he was arrested for rape, which the complainant later dropped. Last year uniform were called to a domestic at his home in Stratford. His wife refused to press charges, but there’s still a ‘violent’ marker on his file.”

  “Right, thanks.”

  Jackman ended the call, slipped his phone into his pocket and rapped the front door of the cottage. Reilly had reached him now and was bent over holding his knees, gasping for breath.

  The chain on the back of the door rattled as it opened. A tall man with dark eyes and a bald head appeared. He raised his eyebrows at Reilly who immediately hauled himself to a standing position.

  Jackman held up his card and introduced them both. “Carl Ward?”

  “What is this?” Ward said. “Your lot have already been here today. My father needs to rest.”

  “I wondered if we could have a word with you this time, Mr Ward?” Jackman said.

  “What about?”

  “Could we come inside?”

  Ward looked from one detective to another. He then stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “We can talk out here.”

  Ward folded his arms across his chest as he vehemently denied any association with Ellen Readman. When given her address, he recalled being called out to mend the heating system at her housemate’s home earlier that year, but claimed that he had never actually met Ellen. His manner was calm, he spoke with ease. But there was something about him that made Jackman edgy. He looked back at the van. “Do you mind if we take a look inside?” he said.

  Reilly shot him a warning glance and he knew why – he had no warrant and no grounds to search. In fact, all he did have was a tenuous link with the victim through work and Ward’s father’s line about his son liking girls with dark hair.

  Carl Ward hesitated for the briefest of seconds. “I’ve nothing to hide.” He dug into his pocket, retrieved a bunch of keys and sorted through them. Jackman exchanged a look with Davies who had now joined them as he unlocked the back doors and flung them open.

  The smell of bleach assaulted Jackman’s senses as he climbed inside. He felt Ward’s thick presence beside him as he stood and looked around. Apart from an array of tools that hung on a rack on the inside wall and a large toolbox in the corner, it was empty.

  Jackman noticed Davies look from the scruffy stature of Carl Ward to the inside of the van and back. “Do you always keep it this clean?” she said.

  He blinked contemptuously. “I like my work ordered.”

  Jackman could feel Ward’s gaze on him as he scanned the area and was aware of Reilly staring in from outside. A sense of urgency filled the air. He was desperately searching for something but he had no idea what it was.

  “Right.” Ward checked his mobile phone. “If you’re finished, I need to get back. I’ve got another quote to do this evening.”

  With much reluctance, Jackman followed him to the door. He was about to climb out when he turned at the last minute, just as a flash of gold caught his eye. He moved back,
approached the rear of the front seats and bent down. Something was wedged between the seats. He poked it. It felt like a tiny line of plastic. He leant in a little closer.

  “Oi! That’s enough.”

  Jackman ignored Ward’s call, pulled his torch out of his pocket and shone it on the area. A gold spot glinted back.

  “I said that’s enough!” The sound was followed by a thud and suddenly Jackman felt a weight crash into him as the raw edge of Ward’s anger exploded. A fist was thrust into his gut, a hand gripped his neck, pressing hard on his vocal chords. As he fought to pull the hand away, he looked up to see a wrench moving toward his forehead. Jackman summoned all his energy, ducked back, the hand still around his throat, and kneed Ward in the groin.

  The clatter of the wrench crashing to the floor of the van reverberated around the whole area. Jackman heard shouting and felt a force yanking Ward away. He recovered himself and looked up to see a couple of the search team had now joined them and secured Ward, helped by Davies.

  He stood and rubbed his neck as Ward was dragged out the back of the van. “Get out of there!” Ward cried. “You’ve got no right.”

  Jackman stared at him, moved forward and jumped down onto the pavement. “I’ll see you at the station.”

  Curtains twitched, windows were flung back and doors opened as the commotion quickly attracted the interest of local residents. Within seconds, it seemed a crowd had gathered near the van, heads at the back craning their necks for a better view.

  It wasn’t until several officers had wrestled Ward into handcuffs, Davies had officially arrested him and they’d pushed him into the back of the car that Jackman returned to the van, donned his gloves and managed to retrieve the thin piece of plastic from between the seats. He smiled inwardly as he peered down at the SD memory card.

  Jackman heard the door click closed behind him as he entered the interview room. The eyes of Carl Ward, his solicitor and even Keane who was poised over his notes, were on him as he pulled out a chair, placed the pink envelope file tucked underneath his arm carefully on the table and re-started the tape.