The Sister(180)

‘You have a name? Why didn’t you say so before? Who is it?’

‘Until you finished I couldn’t be sure – it’s William Shaw, also known as Martin Boyle. We had a hell of a time tracing him.’

‘Wait a minute – who’s we?’

‘A contact I have in the job.’

‘In the police?’

‘Yes.’ She knew he’d ask anyway, so she told him. ‘It’s Tanner.’

Since Tanner had given him Carla’s number, he was only mildly surprised. ‘Carla, have we got an address?’

‘No, we found out who he is, but he’s always on the move, even his own people never know where he is. He’s a bare-knuckle fighter, at least he was. Something of a legend, by all accounts. It’s rumoured he owns several properties, but we haven’t been able to trace any so far. Not under that name.’

‘I’m sure you have already, but I have to ask; have you checked under his mother’s maiden name?’

‘No, but what makes you ask?’

‘It’s just a hunch, that’s all.’

‘I’ll see what I can find out.’

‘Carla...you and Tanner?’ He let the question hang.

‘Oh, Bruce.’ She laughed. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’ Although she didn’t deny it, she did not confirm it either.

No nearer to finding Stella, an odd mix of emotion washed over him. Desperation and despondency combined with relief and elation, as he finished the call.





Chapter 142



Stella woke up on a filthy mattress on the floor. At first she didn’t move. She checked her body over, mentally feeling for anything untoward. I'd know if he’d raped me, wouldn’t I? She couldn’t be sure. Her head pounded in a strange way. She felt disconnected and numb.

Looking around, she realised she was effectively in a cage; the front wall of her enclosure consisted of floor to ceiling round steel bars; the heavy drape curtain the other side, kept them hidden. She tried to call out, but her dry throat managed only a hoarse whisper.

She noticed a bucket next to the toilet on the back wall. There’s water in it! The film of scum on top revealed it wasn’t fresh.

She tried to produce enough saliva to lubricate her throat without success. She took a deep breath and put a hand into the bucket, wetting it and cautiously sniffing it before scooping a handful to her mouth and sipping. It tasted like goldfish water; she resisted the urge to spew it back out and swallowed.

She realised she couldn’t seem to focus for more than a few seconds at a time. How did I get here? Pinching the bridge of her nose used to help her concentrate when she was at school; she squeezed hard. That’s it! A large white van had pulled up next to her as she came out of her garden gate onto the street; she thought it was a delivery for someone else. She heard the rumble of the side door sliding back. Somebody had grabbed her, hauled her inside. Something put over her mouth…couldn’t breathe...and now she was here.

She tried to shake the fuzziness from her head – so damn tired! She sank back to the floor, dragged down into sleep again.

A metallic clunk followed by the dry scraping of a heavy bolt roused her. He pulled the curtain open only enough to allow him in, he was holding something; she backed away into a corner as he grabbed her by the back of her neck. He pushed her face down into the filthy mattress; she gagged dryly as he penetrated her forearm with a sharp needle.

She bucked against him. He pinned her with his weight. The vacuum from the syringe drew out a swirl of her blood into the mixture, filling its chamber before he plunged it back into her.

‘What’s that you’ve just put in me?’ she demanded, outraged.

‘That? Don’t you worry about that!’ He cupped his groin. ‘When I recover from this dog bite, you’ll get a better injection than that, if you know what I mean. You’ll be begging me for it soon enough.’ His eyes were cold; his fleshy lips pulled tight against his teeth, baring them. ‘It hurts too much, but it’s nothing a Viagra couldn’t sort out.’

She shrank into the corner of the cage, terrified.

He taunted her in a camp voice, ‘Frankie says, relax. Enjoy the ride.’

Frankie? Who the hell is Frankie? A wave of nausea washed over her. She only just made it to the toilet before the contents of her stomach expelled themselves.

With no windows, her sleep patterns disrupted, Stella lost track of how long she’d been there; it could have been days, or even a week. He'd bring small portions of food and water three times a day as far as she could tell and stay to watch while she ate. After, he’d inject her before leaving. She realised it was pointless to resist. The combined food, drink, injection routine had a strange effect on her. She began to look forward to it and the warm escape to oblivion that followed.

At first, she told herself Miller would find her quickly. He’d miss her, realise she’d gone and start on her trail, after all that was what he did – find missing people. Where are you, Miller?

Had he even realised she was missing? Her mind strayed into other areas of possibility, opening up new thoughts, but never for long. The drug he’d given her made it impossible to think about anything for any length of time. She concluded it must be heroin. Is he trying to make me an addict?

It was the last thought she had before drifting out of consciousness. She dreamt she was a little girl again, eight years old and on holiday with her parents; she ran over the shale on the beach, eager to reach them, so happy to see them again. She slipped on the gravel and grazed her knee. Her father scooped her up, and she wrapped her arms around him, weeping softly into his neck. ‘Daddy, it hurts so much!’