The Sister(183)

He couldn’t recall another time he’d experienced rain like it apart from the time Kirk had given him a lift many years before. Kennedy! The last time I saw him it rained like this.

Whichever way he turned in his investigations into Stella’s kidnapping he couldn’t tune in, and he couldn’t focus. The awareness that trickled in through dreams, the shadowy perceptions – had all left him. All signals were jammed.

His car door suddenly opened, and a soaking wet Kennedy got in.

Miller clutched at his chest. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack! We’re going to have to stop meeting like this, John.’

‘Yes, I’ve been trying to reach you for a few days – couldn’t get through,’ he chuckled. ‘Listen, I know where Stella is.’

Miller turned his full attention to the DCI, ‘Where?’

‘We don’t have much time. Come on, drive. I’ll show you where.’

Miller crunched out of the car park.

‘Turn left,’ he said.

‘Where am I heading?’

‘Grays.’

Once on the main road Miller put his foot down. For the first time since she’d vanished, he felt connected to her. She was alive, but in great danger.





With Stella securely bound and gagged upstairs, Boyle decided to check on Cathy. She was still unconscious. Turning to go back up, he reached the bottom step and froze. The bolts on the inside face of the door are drawn back! Puzzled, he knew he’d secured them when he returned earlier. He climbed the stairs, pausing on the loose step, shifting his weight. That squeak from just now – it cannot be. He sped up the remaining treads and checked Eilise’s door. Locked!

‘Eliza, are you in there? Answer me.’ Met with silence, he unlocked the door feverishly. He howled in disbelief when he saw that she’d gone. He thundered across the floor looking everywhere for her. Cathy mercifully remained unconscious, Stella, hovering on the brink of another world, imagined she heard him cursing and growling. The thread she’d floated away on tautened. She stopped, held in limbo. Something is happening. She didn’t want to die. Hand over imaginary hand she began clawing her way back.

Martin was in Eilise’s room. She’d been unable to escape with her bags; he’d rifled through her meagre possessions before, but he had no reason to look beyond what was in front of him. This time he tipped everything out onto the floor and began sifting through everything, examining her clothes, turning out pockets on a hunch. He was amazed at how little she possessed; even for a runaway. She’d obviously packed only what she needed. He held up a pair of patchwork jeans that were clearly too small for her. What did she need these for? His hands crumpled over every inch of them, and then turning them inside out; he found a secret pocket had been stitched in, using an old silken scarf. He felt something under his fingers, and defined the edges before tearing the lining away to reveal the contents. A note, folded in half, written on the smallest piece of paper possible, revealed a name and address. He scratched his head and pondered. Why hide it? If you lost your jeans and wanted them back, you'd put the address in an obvious place. The answer dawned on him quite suddenly. I know where you’re going, and I’m coming to get you back.

But first, he’d f*ck Cathy’s sister. With Eilise gone, the prospect now excited him more than anything; his upper lip pained as he grinned. They had no idea how close they'd come to being reunited.

He couldn’t wait to see the look on Stella’s face when he told her.





Chapter 145



‘There! Over there. That’s the block of flats.’ Kennedy pointed to a parking space. ‘Pull in, pull in.’

Miller brought the car to an abrupt halt. The two men leapt from the car and ran up to the entrance; the DCI unlocked the communal door with a fire brigade key. Once inside they charged through the lobby, hesitated by the lift and decided to take the stairs.

‘You go on ahead, Miller,’ he said, already breathless. ‘It’s on the seventh floor. Number seventy-one. Quickly!’

All that working out on the treadmill is paying off today, he thought as he left Kennedy behind. After what seemed an eternity, he reached the seventh floor and burst out of the lobby into the corridor looking left and right for the flat numbers. Someone had removed them from the walls. He started in the wrong direction. Kennedy emerged behind him. ‘It’s that way,’ he said with a jerk of his thumb.

Although the numerals were missing, Miller located the door easily.

‘Do I knock?’ He looked at Kennedy.

‘No time. Break it down!’ Miller shouldered the door; it gave much easier than he expected, and he stumbled half-falling into the passageway.

‘She’s upstairs!’ Kennedy shouted.

He took the stairs two at a time and sprang through the first open door.





Boyle towered naked and fully erect over Stella, with his unbuckled belt in his hand. A thin trickle of blood ran down the inside of her forearm, an empty syringe lay discarded beside her. Bound hand and foot, and stripped of her clothes, she leaned sideward against the sofa, her face filled with fright and desperation. Her eyes fluttering as she tried to stay conscious, lit briefly as she recognised him, and then shut. Her head slumped forward.

Boyle turned, calmly wrapping the belt around the fist of his right hand, confident the smaller man was no threat to him. ‘I told you didn’t I?’ he snarled, licking his lips, ‘if you came looking, I'd kill her. I’ve given her enough horse to stop a f*ckin’ rhino. Now, it’s your turn.’ Cold-eyed and ugly, he fixed Miller with a stare and advanced towards him.