Death Sentence (17 page)

His gaze was back on her thighs. Rebecca swallowed, fearing she was going to be sick, and then she would die, surely, choking on her own vomit.
Oh, dear God, please help me
. She squeezed her eyes closed and gulped back hard.

‘Women who wear flat shoes exercise their inner calf muscles more, see. Makes them bulk, obviously.’ He turned his attention to her other leg.

‘Can’t abide fat calves, or fat thighs. Yours are not bad. Nice and toned,’ he said, working his way upwards again.

Rebecca tried to keep breathing, short shallow breaths, attempting to filter out the sickly sweet smell of his aftershave, which was exacerbating her churning nausea.

‘Did you know wearing high heels can improve your sex life?’ He locked eyes swimming with innuendo on hers, causing her stomach to curdle.

‘You look surprised, but it’s true. It’s been scientifically proven that the muscles are more relaxed when women wear high heels. Makes sense they’d be relaxed during sex then, don’t y’think. Are yours?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Does hubby do it for you, Rebecca? Does he make you come, hey?’

Rebecca looked away, desperately trying to hold back her tears.

He reached her inner thigh, the clammy soft palm of his hand coming to rest there. Rebecca tried not to react, to supress the moan that was climbing her throat. Her hands still tied behind her, she’d stand no chance of fighting him off, though she would die trying. From the look in his flat grey eyes— deep-rooted, dark evil—she was sure that was exactly what the vile bastard wanted.

‘I thought we might test it out. See how relaxed you can be. What do you think?’

He waited.

Her heart thrumming rapidly inside her, Rebecca prayed silently, hoping against hope that he might have some shred of humanity.

‘Later, though,’ he said, standing abruptly, ‘when hubby’s here to see. Wouldn’t want him to miss out on all the fun, would we?’

Rebecca’s gaze shot back to his face.

He smirked, an ugly distorted smirk, the bruising and swelling to his jaw adding to his grotesqueness.

‘I see I have your attention,’ he said, sliding his hands casually into his trouser pockets. ‘In case you’re wondering, which obviously you would be, I’m banking on him riding to your rescue, sweetheart. The thing with Matthew Adams is he just doesn’t know when to give up, see? Persistent bugger, he is, a constant thorn in my side, trying to outwit me, trip me up, either that or fit me up, tosser. Dead irritating, he is. Even as a kid, he refused to back down. Got me into some serious grief with my old man, I can tell you.’

Shaking his head, he turned to walk over to the full length mirror adorning the wall, where he paused. His back to her, as he adjusted his tie and smoothed down his hair, Rebecca took the opportunity to glance hurriedly around, trying to imagine where she might be. In some luxury apartment that much was clear from the plush furnishings, but it could be any apartment anywhere. In London still, she guessed, but the blindfold he’d forced her to wear on the journey had ensured she had no idea where. She looked him over, taking in his designer clothes and well-groomed appearance, as he went through some obscene, self-obsessed ritual: adjusting his tie, yet again, checking his shirt collar, the cuffs. Even his fingernails were manicured and spotless. Rebecca couldn’t help but notice those as he’d pawed her. He seemed to be in no need of money. What
did
he want then? She tried to make sense of it, to assimilate, to think of anything she might use to dissuade this obviously sick individual from whatever sadistic action he seemed intent on.

Snapping her gaze away as he turned suddenly back to face her, she tried to stay calm. If she were to panic, to react, God only knew what that might drive him to do.

‘Oh, dear, you haven’t drunk your tea,’ he observed, strolling back towards her. ‘But then, I suppose you’d find it a bit difficult with tape stuck all over your pretty little face, wouldn’t you? Brace yourself, sweetheart. This might hurt a bit.’

****

‘Don’t move, Ashley.’ Matthew fixed his gaze hard on hers. ‘Stay right there, where I can see you, OK?’

The querulous look was back, he noted. ‘Matthew, I’ve got the message.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not a six-year-old.’

‘I know,’ Matthew conceded. If he wanted her to act like an adult, he supposed he should be treating her like one. ‘Just—’

‘Don’t move. Yes, I’ve got it.’ Ashley rolled her eyes, adjusted her earphones and turned her attention back to her phone.

‘I’ll be on the other side of that door. If anyone approaches you, you come straight in, pronto.’

‘I will,’ Ashley assured him.

Still Matthew was hesitant. Checking the hospital corridor, he’d established the nurses’ station was only yards away, but even having extracted promises, he doubted the two nurses on duty and up to their eyes would be able to watch her every second. Not knowing what to expect, what condition Natalie might be in, Matthew would rather Ashley didn’t go in with him, though.

‘Matthew, go.’ Ashley eyeballed him exasperatedly as he prevaricated. ‘The sooner you’re in, the sooner we can leave, yes?’

Such was the infallible logic of teenagers. Relieved that she seemed to be acting as near to normal as possible, Matthew nodded and turned to the side room, trepidation mounting inside him as to what he would find on the other side of that door.

Steve opened it, as he reached for the handle. ‘All right, boss?’ He looked him over worriedly.

‘I think we can dispense with the “boss” bit, Steve.’ Matthew’s smile was strained.

Steve nodded and then inclined his head, indicating the bed behind him.

‘She’s just come round.’ His expression was grim, at best.

Matthew glanced past him. ‘Has she said anything?’

‘Nothing.’ Steve shrugged despondently. ‘But then, the state she’s in …’

Guessing what that meant, Matthew braced himself. ‘Keep an eye on Ashley, will you?’ he asked, nodding towards the viewing window in the door.

His heart sank as he approached the bed. Her face was deathly pale against the white of the sheets, her eyes and lips swollen, her cheek—probably broken.

‘What did you walk into this time, Natalie?’ he asked her softly. ‘An articulated lorry?’

Natalie turned her head slightly towards him, wincing as she did.

‘Don’t try to move,’ Matthew urged her. Then, seating himself carefully on the edge of the bed, he took hold of the hand that wasn’t stuffed full of tubes. ‘Was it him, Nat?’

Natalie didn’t answer, but the slow tears that trickled from the corner of her eyes told Matthew all he needed to know. He couldn’t promise her he would pull him in. That wasn’t going to happen. If it was the last thing he did, Matthew intended to make sure Sullivan never had the benefit of a solicitor or bars to protect him ever again, but … ‘He’ll get what’s coming to him, Natalie,’ he promised her instead, his voice cracking. ‘I give you my word.’

Natalie nodded, a small nod, leaving Matthew hoping she’d got some small comfort from knowing that he meant it. And he did. As God was his witness, Matthew intended to make good his promise.

‘Try to get some sleep.’ He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll drop by later. See how you’re doing.’

Steve eyed him questioningly as he walked back towards him.

Wondering how this was going to play out, Matthew guessed, motioning him outside.

‘Take a statement as soon as she’s ready to give one,’ he said, for protocol’s sake, once they were in the corridor.

‘Will do.’ Steve furrowed his brow thoughtfully. ‘Er, Matthew,’ he hesitated, ‘can I just ask, because … Well, if there’s anything I need to know …’

Matthew glanced at Steve curiously.

‘Are you and Natalie, erm …’ Looking uncomfortable, Steve nodded towards the side room door ‘… you know?’

Getting the gist, Matthew stared at him, incredulous. ‘No, Steve, categorically not,’ he assured him. ‘I offer an ear, that’s all. It helps to be a friend sometimes, rather than a copper. It’s about trust, Steve. There’s a line though. You’ll learn.’

Steve nodded slowly. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Not sure Lindsey’s going to be very impressed if I go around befriending pro …’ Glancing over to where Ashley was slouched against the wall, Steve caught himself ‘… working girls.’

‘No.’ Matthew smiled half-heartedly. ‘Comes with the job, though, Steve. Just keep your wits about you. Look, I’ve got to go.’ He glanced at his phone again. Still no call. What sadistic game was Sullivan playing? Matthew’s throat tightened. What he’d done to Natalie was a warning, a message the piece of scum knew he’d be sure to get. Matthew had no doubt about that.

‘Nothing on the nail-file yet,’ Steve filled him in as to where they were at with forensics. ‘Nicky’s backed up, but she said she’d do her best.’

‘Right.’ Matthew nodded distractedly.

‘There’s something else though,’ Steve went on. ‘Natalie’s shoe was missing.’

‘And?’ Matthew eyed him curiously, and then glanced at Ashley, who was now trying to get his attention. ‘One minute,’ he mouthed in her direction.

‘That link I was telling you about, there’s another case: similar MO to Brianna. A couple of years ago,’ Steve supplied cryptically, clearly mindful of the teenager in their midst. ‘I’ll fill you in later.’

Matthew nodded, his heart plummeting further as he realised the implication. Another case meant what had happened to Brianna had definitely been planned and executed, which meant, with or without evidence, that Sullivan fell into the category serial killer. Matthew felt the meagre contents of his stomach turn over.

‘Keep me posted,’ he said tightly, turning to escort Ashley along the corridor and as far away from all this as possible.

‘We’ll have to go later,’ Ashley said, as they exited the hospital.

Matthew wasn’t listening. He was trying to get his head around what was happening, hopelessly trying to get into Sullivan’s mind-set. What did he want with Becky? In exchange for what? A fresh wave of panic clutched at his stomach as he acknowledged that an exchange might not be Sullivan’s game plan. Was it purely personal, he wondered? Was it him he wanted? If so, why not just have chosen his moment and taken him out. A single shot would have done it, or a well-aimed car, the bastard. The dead of night, a quiet street: that was more Sullivan’s style, until now. None of this made sense. Suddenly Sullivan seemed as unpredictable as he’d once been predictable. As if something had tipped him over the edge, making him careless of the consequences of his actions. And that thought frightened Matthew more than anything.

‘To the care home,’ Ashley went on, her step faltering as she glanced up at him. ‘We can’t go now. You have something else you need to—’

Matthew marched her on. ‘We’re going now, Ashley. No arguments.’ Reaching the car, he opened the passenger side door first and all but bundled her inside.

‘But we can’t!’ Ashley insisted, as he headed around to his own door.

‘It’s not open for negotiation, Ashley.’ Matthew climbed in, started the engine and pulled fast out of the car park. ‘We’re going straight there. I’ll catch up with you as soon as—’

‘No!’ Ashley screamed it. ‘We can’t!’

‘
Shit!
What the … ?’ Matthew’s arm went out instinctively, stopping Ashley lurching forwards as the car simultaneously screeched to an abrupt halt.

‘You need to go to Rebecca!’ Scraping her hair from her face, Ashley turned to him. ‘You have to go!’ she repeated, her expression desperate, her voice frantic.

Matthew swallowed back his own desperation, looking astounded from Ashley, who was clearly disturbed, to the dead lights on the dashboard.

‘She has my phone,’ Ashley continued nonsensically, as Matthew tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened. ‘Becky, she has my old phone!’ Ashley pulled the hand nearest to her from the steering wheel, demanding his attention, as Matthew turned the key in the ignition and got no response.

Not even a flicker,
Goddammit!
He tried the ignition again, and then delved frantically under the dash for the release to the bonnet.

‘You’re not listening to me.’ Ashley refused to let go of his other arm, as he reached for the door, trying to figure out where to start assessing what had gone wrong mechanically, wondering where his breakdown card was.
Christ,
he didn’t need this. Not now.

‘Ashley, for God’s
sake!
’ he yelled, as she tugged.

‘It has a ‘Find my Phone’ app on it!’ Ashley yelled back, tears springing from her eyes.

Matthew stopped dead. ‘What?’ He stared at her thunderstruck.

‘Becky has it in her bag and I think I’ve located it.’ Ashley blinked at him over the sleeve she was dragging under her nose.

Chapter Thirteen

Matthew watched Ashley carefully as he waited for Steve to come back on the phone, noting the curtain of hair over her face, her retreat from anything she might find threatening. What the hell had just happened with the car, he couldn’t fathom; his gaze strayed from Ashley to the now illuminated dash, which had pinged into life as mysteriously as it had died the second she had his full-on attention. That was nuts. He was losing it, going out of his mind, must be. Condemning his imagination, which was running all sorts of riots, Matthew turned his attention back to Ashley. ‘Okay?’ he asked her.

Ashley nodded fervently.

‘Sure?’ Matthew pressed her, remorse that he’d snapped at her, adding to his already overwhelming guilt.

Ashley glanced up at him at last. ‘Yeah, I’m good.’ She shrugged awkwardly. ‘Sorry I yelled.’

‘Me too.’ Matthew offered her a smile and then sat to attention, as Steve came back on, finally.

‘It’s a rental property,’ he gave Matthew the information he’d asked him for, ‘on application to PL Property Consultants, Mayfair. Penthouse suite, apparently. Nice pad, if you’ve got the odd few million lying around. Currently unoccupied from the looks.’

‘Do we know who owns it?’ Matthew asked.

‘Not listed. I can find out, but I’ll need to do a bit more digging; client confidentiality and all that crap.’

‘Great, thanks. Can you send me the spec?’ Matthew asked. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it yet, but knowing what the layout of the apartment was would be a definite plus.