Jim paused once more, this time to ferret through his paperwork.
“Bloods. What you’d expect from someone suffering extreme dehydration on a fast track to organ failure. The only unusual constituent was trace elements of benzodiazepine. I expect you’ll also find traces in her blood and stronger traces in their waste.”
Helen nodded—forensics had already confirmed traces of the powerful sedative in the excreta recovered from the diving pool. Helen suppressed her growing anxiety, but this was all heading one way now. Jim carried on for another ten minutes; then Helen called time on it. She had all she needed.
***
Against all the odds, Amy’s story was starting to stack up. Forensics had found particles of rope near a corner of the pool, tallying with the use of a rope ladder as Amy’s means of escape. Furthermore, their recovered clothes had deep soil stains on them, suggesting Amy and Sam could have been dragged from a vehicle across open ground to the abandoned pool. Could a woman have dragged Sam by herself—all twelve stone of him—or would she have needed an accomplice?
As she headed back to Southampton Central, Helen knew this would consume her totally from now on. She would not rest until she had solved this strange crime. Entering the incident room, she was pleased to see that Mark was already cracking the whip. There were numerous practical and bureaucratic issues that could stymie a major investigation like this and Helen needed things to run like clockwork. Mark was the classic DS—an abrasive but effective instrument—adept at making everyone row in the same direction. He’d rounded up a good team of officers—DCs Bridges, Grounds, Sanderson, McAndrew—in addition to support staff; already the investigation was coming to life in front of her eyes. Mark hurried over when he saw her enter.
“What are we going to tell the press, boss?”
A good question and one Helen had been chewing on since she left Jim Grieves. Emilia Garanita wasn’t going to go away and there would be others behind her. A young girl had shot her boyfriend in a deserted location. It was horrific, and thus made good copy.
“As little as possible. Until we’re in control of this, we can’t let out there’s a third party involved. So we call it a domestic but go gently on the detail. The press will infer all sorts of things about Sam and why Amy killed him...”
“But we don’t want to blacken his name unnecessarily.”
“Exactly. He and his mum deserve better than that.”
“Okay, let’s play it tight for now.”
He headed back to work. He was unquestionably rough around the edges—rangy, unshaven, rugged—but on form Mark was a good copper to have on your team. Helen hoped it would last.
Satisfied everything was in hand, she allowed herself five minutes for a cup of tea. She was tired—the interview with Amy had been grueling and the visit to the mortuary even worse. She wanted to tune out for a moment, but her brain wouldn’t let her. Sam’s awful death had got to her and she couldn’t shake the image of his lifeless, twisted face. What a thing for his mother to have to see.
She was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice Charlie until she was virtually on top of her.
“Boss. You’ll want to see this.”
The day had already been full of nasty surprises, but Helen sensed she was about to get another.
Charlie handed her a pair of photos—two smartly dressed business types, one in his thirties, one a fair bit older.
“Ben Holland and Peter Brightston. Reported missing three days ago. They were traveling back from a legal powwow in Bournemouth. Never made it home.”
A sickening feeling was creeping over Helen.
“Their car was found in the New Forest. Local plod and the park rangers have scoured every inch of the forest. No sign.”
“And?” Helen sensed there was more.
“Coats, bags and wallets still in the car. Their mobiles were found nearby—the SIM cards have been deliberately destroyed.”
Another abduction, then. And this one even stranger than the first. Two grown men—smart, strong and able to fend for themselves—had vanished into thin air.
13
How do you wake yourself when you’re dreaming? When you’re in the midst of a nightmare, how do you climb out of the abyss?
Ben Holland rolled these thoughts round and round.I must be dreaming. Iamdreaming. Perhaps Jennie and I’d hit the liquor store after work and picked up a bottle of Bison Grass? Maybe I’m dreaming a vodka dream right now? Any second now I’ll wake up with my head pounding and a stupid smile on my face...
Ben opened his eyes. He’d known all along of course—the smell down there was overpowering. How could you imagine you were anywhere else? And even if you could, then the constant whimpering from Peter would bring you back to your senses. Ever since their abduction, Ben had been a riot of anger and disbelief. But Peter had opted for despair.
“Peter, would you shut up for God’s sake...”
“Fuck you,” was the reply, spat back.Where are your leadership qualities now?Ben thought venomously.
