The Collared Collection (36 page)

‘I’ve found a great little pub,’ he said as they drove away, headlights off. ‘The menu looks reasonable and they’ve got a decent choice of wines.’

‘Anywhere will be great; it’s just such a relief to feel normal again. They’re a miserable lot I have looking after me – the only one with a sniff of personality is Barney.’

‘You could have invited him along.’

She laughed. ‘He’s not that indulgent.’

‘Protection officers aren’t chosen for their charisma and eagerness to please. Have you met Heather?’

‘Blimey, yes.’

‘That’s one very scary mamma.’

Callie had to agree.

The Cooked Goose pub was worth the long drive. It had atmosphere, friendly staff and customers, but best of all, there was a roaring open fire – even though it was only September and the weather hadn’t yet turned chilly.

‘You’ve chosen the perfect place, thank you.’

‘My pleasure. Do you want to eat here in the bar – where everything comes in a basket – or move into the restaurant?’

‘Oh, here please – I don’t want to leave the fire.’

‘Surely you can’t be cold?’

‘No, I just find the flames hypnotic, the same as watching waves on the seashore, or fish swimming in a tank.’

‘Suits me. I’ll grab a couple of menus when I buy the next round.’

‘You must let me buy you a drink to say thanks. I don’t have any cash, but I’ve got my bank card.’

No, I won’t hear of it,’ Mike said firmly. ‘This is my shout.’

‘Well … thanks again.’ She lifted a large glass of Merlot. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers, Callie. Here’s to freedom, just around the corner.’

They both chose fillet steak with fries and onion rings and shared a mixed salad. Though it was the most food she’d devoured in one sitting for a very long time, she still managed to find room for a slice of apple pie, though she refused the offer of cream to go with it.

‘Jeez, that was good.’ she said, laying her spoon and fork in the dessert dish, before dabbing her mouth with a paper serviette.

‘Yeah, I’m stuffed. Glad you enjoyed it – we’ll do it again soon.’

‘You’ll have to let me starve myself for a few days first,’ she giggled, the wine taking effect. She excused herself to go to the Ladies – or ‘Ganderettes’, as it was there.

‘Shall I get another glass in while you’re gone?’ he asked.

‘Mike! I won’t be able to walk at this rate.’

‘Go on, it’s a treat!’

Totally bereft of self-discipline, she relented, ‘OK … but just a small one this time, please.’

She returned to find another large glass sitting on her side of the table.

‘Sorry, I forgot to say small,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

She’d almost finished the wine and they were thinking about leaving, when the landlord approached, holding an A5 piece of card. ‘Evening folks,’ he said. ‘Was everything to your liking?’

‘Oh yes,’ she slurred, ‘delicious food, good wine, and a lovely fire. I’ve had a great time, thanks.’

He probably thought – correctly – that she didn’t get out much. ‘Good, glad to hear it, I hope you’ll come again?’

‘I hope so too,’ she said. She meant to rest her elbow on the table, but missed.

The landlord chuckled – at least she thought he did; his face was dancing in front of her eyes somewhat. ‘In that case, I wonder if you’d mind taking a minute to fill in our hospitality questionnaire – it’s for the brewery.’

Mike said, ‘Sure, no problem. Give it here.’

‘Thanks – it’s mainly multiple choice, with space for additional comments at the end. Just leave it on the bar when you’ve finished.’

‘Will do.’ Mike read out a series of statements, with which they had to agree or disagree in varying measure. They ticked all the glowing boxes.

‘Aren’t we going to add our comments?’ she asked.

‘Do you think we should?’

‘Why not … we’ve had a brilliant time.’ She knew she was seriously drunk – the room wouldn’t keep still.

‘If you insist.’

He read out what he’d written and Callie agreed with every word, then he added their details with a flourish. ‘You never know, we might get a free drink next time.’

‘I must go to the loo again. I’ll put it on the bar as I go past.’

Later, she couldn’t recall what had made her look at the paper, but that was when the realisation hit that she’d just been wined and dined by none other than Balaclava Man.

Chapter Fifty-nine

Though she couldn’t think or walk straight, somehow she made it into a cubicle. Her heart raced, her head was spinning, and she was more frightened than she’d ever have thought possible. He had her – and she’d been stupid enough to offer herself up to him as a sacrifice.

She was going to die.

Instinct told her to scream and rant, but that would waste valuable time. She had to find a way out. If she made a big fuss and asked the bar staff for help, Mike could easily laugh that off as her being under the influence and/or a nutter. She tried to pull herself together, to formulate a plan – but her brain wouldn’t function. She still had the questionnaire in her hand and she focused as best she could on the damning evidence: M. Durant and C. Ashten. There was no mistake.

Mike would smell a rat if she took too long, but what could she do? There weren’t any windows in the toilets – she had to go back the way she’d come. She tried to pee but couldn’t, even though she felt she needed to. If she’d had a pen, she could add an SOS to the questionnaire, but she had nothing on her; just her bankcard, which wouldn’t even scratch the mirror. No soap, either – she should have given them a black mark for that.

Think, Callie! She was beginning to feel she was in a hall of mirrors, with everything changing shape before her eyes and the walls closing in. She could pretend she’d been taken ill – no good, Mike would take charge and assure the landlord he’d taxi her home and look after her. She had only one thing – the bankcard … and what use was that?

She wanted to hold Sam and Alex, for one last time.

She wanted David …

The only thing she could think of was to brazen it out so as not to alert Mike, place the questionnaire on the bar, and hide her card under it. Eventually, someone would work out where she’d been and join the dots to Mike, though it would surely be too late for Callie. There was no obvious alternative. Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn’t allow them to fall – she mustn’t betray to him that she knew. There was a very slim chance that if she played it ultra-cool and didn’t inadvertently warn him he’d been rumbled, he’d return her safely to her minders.

Literally staggering, she made it back to the bar, where Mike stood waiting for her. She stared at his several dancing heads – he’d killed Ginny. He’d killed Elizabeth and Sally. How could they all have been fooled so decisively into trusting him and allow themselves to be won over by his shallow charm? David had been right about him …

‘Are you alright, Callie? You’ve been a while.’

Somewhere, she found a voice, ‘Fine. Ooh, nearly forgot this.’ She was horribly aware that because of her total lack of co-ordination, she put down the questionnaire in a clumsy, exaggerated movement – it wouldn’t do for her plastic to be spotted too soon. She hoped no one else noticed.

Blotto though she was, she saw Mike’s eyes dart to the writing, to check nothing had been added. He put his arm round her, ‘Let’s get you home, shall we?’

The pleading look she zapped to the barmaid didn’t seem to register.

She felt sure she was a goner.

And she couldn’t even remember leaving the pub.

Chapter Sixty

When she woke, it was daylight – though she didn’t have a clue which day that would be. A steamroller had run over her body and reversed to make a good job of it. When she struggled to move, she couldn’t … It slowly registered her hands and wrists were secured to the bedposts with strips of torn material. And she was gagged. Everything felt unreal, except the military tattoo beating behind her eyes. Only vague, wispy memories of what had happened came back to her – and those in a frustrating mish-mash, devoid of any logical or chronological order.

She was lying on an unmade single bed in a small, shabby room she hadn’t seen before. She felt cold and needed the bathroom fairly urgently – she desperately tried to think of something, anything, else. Her mouth tasted vile, her tongue coated by some form of fungus – and the headache really was a killer. Every nerve ending in her body screamed for attention. Oh – and she felt very sick. There was going to be no dignity in her death.

Ignoring the thumping in her skull, she used what little manoeuvrability she had to check out the room, thinking maybe she could spot clues as to where she was being held … for all the good that would do. Her eyes fell upon a cheap, pine veneered dressing table against the far wall … her bank card was propped there to taunt her. Mike couldn’t resist showing her how clever he was and how hopeless her situation was. Nobody would have a clue as to where she’d last been seen alive. The maxim of some organisation she couldn’t recall ran through her head; Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here.

She lay still, listening. The house had to be on a busy road, because the traffic noise was constant. She could also make out distant voices, though they could have been coming from any direction – not, she thought, from within the building. Just as she felt sure she would wet the bed, she heard a key in the lock. As Mike approached with a knife, she said goodbye to Sam and Alex.

‘I expect you need the bucket?’ he asked.

Assuming he meant to use as a toilet, she nodded her head, causing excruciating spasms of pain to reverberate around what was left of her brain.

Had she been able to, she would have gasped when the knife glinted near her face. Instead, she made pathetic, muffled noises. ‘Relax,’ he sneered, ‘I’m going to alter your restraints.’ He cut through the bindings on her left wrist, then both ankles; he yanked her bottom to the edge of the mattress so she was able to stand up. She felt dizzy and retched, but managed to stop herself actually vomiting, which would have choked her.

‘That’s the Rohypnol,’ he explained, all matter-of fact.

The words Date, Rape, and Drug shot through her mind. Oh God, had he raped her? She told herself no … surely she would have felt sore, or violated? She was determined to stay the right side of positive. He dragged a metal pail from under the bed and gestured that she should help herself. Undoing the fastenings on her jeans with one shaky hand wasn’t easy. While she availed herself of the ‘facilities’, Mike had the decency to look away – she seemed to pee for England.

He dragged her up. ‘Feet together.’

She had little choice but to do as she was told, which enabled him to secure her ankles with a plastic tie – it was every bit as effective as any padlock and chain, and it dug into her flesh where he’d pulled it as tight as possible.

‘What was it? The way I fucked up spelling your name?’

She dipped her head carefully.

‘Funny, I never noticed it was O-N before. A stupid mistake, but it doesn’t matter, I was growing tired of the game anyway … all that play-acting, dressing up. It’ll be over soon.’

Her eyes pleaded,
no
.

‘You have to admit I’m damned good, though – I might get nominated for an Oscar. What do you think?’

She made a noise that he could interpret anyway he liked.

He leered. ‘You know, in a perverse sort of way, I like you, Callie. And because I do, I’ll make yours a quick death; not drowning, not a car smash – although that was very satisfying, and quite spectacular.’ He looked at the knife, tested its sharpness with his thumb. ‘I won’t even stab you in the back. No … I’ll think of something appropriate. But we can have some fun first … Bloody nuisance I was called away last night.’

An involuntary shiver ran right through her.

‘Meanwhile, I have to get back to the office – all hell’s broken loose now we’ve lost someone we were meant to be protecting.’ He threw his head back and laughed – a coarse, sardonic noise, ‘Especially as the DCI was sweet on her – they weren’t a match made in Heaven, though. It’s for the best. He’ll move on, just like me.’

And he was gone. She heard the key secure the lock once more.

She was trapped – there was nothing in the room with which she could break her ties. In fact, there was very little in the room, save the bed, bucket, and dressing table. ‘Sparsely furnished’ in the extreme. Concentrate, Callie! There was a small window, but it was too far away for her to reach, while she was secured to the bed. What little view she had, however, confirmed she was being kept in an upstairs room – perhaps two or three storeys up. She tugged at the Victorian bedstead, discovering it weighed a ton – way too heavy for her to drag anywhere.

She was sure she could – given time – undo her gag one-handed, but she wouldn’t be able to do it up again if he returned unexpectedly before she was ready to run. She could pull it down onto her neck perhaps, but ditto, so she decided to leave it in place, until she’d worked out a master plan. She slept again.

Mike returned when it was dark, though she’d no idea of the time. Traffic noise was much-reduced to the occasional car engine, so it could be quite late. He’d brought sandwiches and a bottle of water; he’d have to remove the gag. ‘You promise not to scream and yell?’

Callie indicated yes and he undid the cloth – she massaged her numb lips back to life. She had to stop herself firing a volley of questions at him – he’d said he liked her and she had to cling onto that, doing everything possible to keep on his good side, not jar him in any way, to make him decide that she’d become superfluous to requirements. She didn’t dwell on the fact that he’d more than liked Ginny, but had nevertheless killed her in a savage, sadistic and premeditated manner.

‘I thought you might need these.’ He opened his hand to show her two white tablets. She must have unwittingly betrayed doubt because he added, ‘Go on, they’re only aspirin, for your head.’

‘Thanks.’ They looked, smelled, and were stamped like aspirin, so she risked taking them because she could well do without the debilitating headache – and swigged them back with several sips of the water. Her mouth was chronically dry and her lips felt chapped and swollen, but she rationed the water, in case she didn’t get any more.