She called Wyre. ‘Have you seen Noah Ashmore recently? I know you’ve been updating him.’
‘Yes, guv. I’ve just got back. Jade Ashmore’s parents were with him and his own father turned up with some groceries.’
‘Anything look out of place?’
Wyre paused. ‘No, guv. He’s turned down all our help and the family seem to be grieving. They want to know who killed Jade, obviously. He’s angry, upset, exactly as we’d expect.’
‘Was Tiffany Gall anywhere to be seen?’
‘No.’
‘Thanks, Wyre.’ She ended the call and began twiddling her pen around in circles on her fingertips, as a random collection of thoughts battled in her mind.
Her office phone began to ring. She grabbed the receiver. ‘DI Harte.’
‘We have a woman called Nicole on the phone. She’s asked for you specifically. It’s about Aimee Prowse.’
‘Thank you. Put her through.’ Nicole, the name wasn’t familiar to her but the mention of Aimee’s name set her heart racing.
‘Hello, DI Harte. How can I help you?’
There was a slight pause. ‘I’m concerned that my friend Aimee didn’t come home last night. It looks like there is a bit of damage in the kitchen. I tried to call her all night, then I found her phone in the living room with no charge. I’m worried something has happened to her. I’ve called her family, clients and friends, no one has seen her.’
‘We’ll send someone over right away.’
On hearing the news, the adrenaline coursing through her body was soon replaced by an undertone of nausea. Aimee had been missing all night.
Sixty-Two
‘Wake up, bitch!’
Aimee woke with a start as the bucket of freezing cold water sloshed over her face. His voice faded as the sound of her thumping heartbeat filled her head. Dark, it was still dark. How could he see? Slowly, her vision focused on a dim industrial light in the corner of what looked like a workshop. ‘Let me go,’ she yelled as she failed to stand. He laughed as she fell back into place. All those years of core strengthening hadn’t prepared her for a situation such as this. The cold, the shaking fingers, the tremble in her legs and trunk. The weakness she felt from not eating sickened her. As she rocked back and forth in her crumpled up position within the wall, she knew this might be her only opportunity to get out. Placing one hand in front of her, she tried to grip something, anything. Crawl, she had to move, keep warm.
‘Going somewhere?’ A heavy boot crunched the fingers of her left hand. The cold didn’t do a good job of protecting her from the sheer agony of a couple of broken fingers.
Whimpering, she tried to look him in the eye, plead with him. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’
Laughter erupted from her captor’s mouth, first a cackle, then huge hysterics that filled the air. ‘You really want to know. I thought Jade was different, then she turned up at that party. It had been a long time but I’d recognise her anywhere.’ He pulled a tiny piece of paper from his pocket and stared at it. ‘See, that was her back then. Can you believe I spent all these years feeling sorry for her, only to see her turn up for a cheap shag? When you’ve put someone on a pedestal and they let you down—’
‘What has any of this got to do with me?’ Tears cascaded down her cheeks. She swallowed and the walls of her throat almost stuck, causing her to gasp. She needed water.
‘It’s got everything to do with you. The wholesome lifestyle you portray to the outside world – a lie. Clean living when you sleep with all these people. Nothing but a cheap liar. I admired you, you know. Your dedication to purity and cleanliness that you portray on YouTube, but you’re dirty, just like the others.’ He held the photo closer to her eyes, then pulled out another photo.
She squinted in the low light. It was definitely a younger Jade. As she cast her eyes on the other photo, she gasped for breath. Her throat was sticking, closing. He’d been watching her. He’d killed Jade and now it was her turn. She kneeled up and thrust her upper body forward, pushing as hard as she could. His laughter filled the air as her stiff bones managed a few shuffles along the concrete floor. Bits of wood pierced her leggings and stabbed her knees. Flashes filled the room, blinding her as he took photos of her misery. He was enjoying every moment, torturing her with a small chance of freedom.
He gripped her curls in his tightly clenched fist and dragged her along the floor, back into the tiny upright grave.
‘No, don’t shut me in there. Please, I won’t try to escape, just let me stay out here.’ Her sodden teary face gathered bits of wood shaving as he let go of her hair and began dragging her by her feet. She tried to reach out and grab the leg of the workbench. Pain flashed through her cracked fingers, up her arm. ‘I want to go home.’
‘She wants to go home,’ he mimicked, trying to imitate her voice as he slammed the heavy wooden door shut. The lock came across and she heard him scraping something across the floor. He was pulling furniture across the secret door, she knew it.
Once again, crunched up in the tiny crevice, the cold dampness penetrated her clothing, clawing under her skin. With chattering teeth, she tried to yell and cry out but nothing was happening. With her strength diminishing rapidly, she knew her time would be up soon. She recognised the symptoms of hypothermia. Soon she’d seize up and drift off into her death sleep. She heard a distant slam followed by the pulling down of a roller shutter. He was gone and he’d left her there to die.
She tried to pull at her vest top, crying as her broken fingers became tangled in her spaghetti strap. Strip off, she needed to lose the cold clothing. It was too cramped. Her fingers were stuck. She was stuck. She exhaled, blowing the sawdust from her mouth.
The life she was leading flashed before her. Nicole, her lodger and best friend, would be missing her. She only hoped she’d called the police and they were looking for her. Hopelessness set in as she wondered how on earth they would ever find her here. So much of their focus had been on finding Rhys and this man was right under their noses all the time, existing without suspicion.
The other photo he’d showed her pushed to the front of her mind. He’d taken that picture while she’d been out running, bending over tying up her laces. She tried to think back and couldn’t pinpoint the exact time when it might have been taken. That was one of her usual routes. He could have been watching her for ages. Her heart rate slowed down as her limbs numbed. She was losing it, slowly slipping into unconsciousness.
