Dead Man's Grip

93

Grace dashed around to the rear of the taxi, just as Glenn Branson leaned into the boot.

The man inside looked terrified and there was a sour reek of urine. His fleshy face was pale and clammy. Duct tape was wound around his arms, legs and mouth, the same kind of tape that Evie Preece had been bound with, Grace clocked, as he fished out his warrant card and held it up to give the man reassurance.

‘Police,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe. We’ll get you out of there.’

He turned to Branson and to Inspector Sue Carpenter, who had joined them.

‘Let’s get the tape off his mouth first. Sue, call for a paramedic and POLSA and a search team, and get someone to bring some water, or tea if you can. And I want this level of the car park closed, as well as all the stairwells, in case they left by foot.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Then he leaned in and, as gently as he could, got his fingertips in the join in the tape. It would have been easier without his gloves, he knew, but he kept them on and finally managed to start peeling it off, mindful that although it would be extremely painful for the man, at the same time he needed to preserve it as best he could for forensic analysis.

As he peeled it away from his mouth, the man shouted out in pain.

‘Sorry,’ Grace murmured.

The tape went all the way around the back of the man’s head and he didn’t want to hurt him any more.

‘Mike Howard?’ he asked.

‘Yes! Jesus, that hurt,’ the man said, then smiled.

Grace folded the tape back on itself. ‘I’m sorry. We’re going to lift you out. Are you injured? In pain?’

He shook his head. ‘Just get me out.’

Mike Howard was a big, heavy man. With considerable difficulty, between himself and Glenn Branson they managed to manoeuvre him forward to the edge of the boot. They freed his arms and legs, and tried as best they could to remove the rest of the tape around his head. Then they stood him up and walked him around a little, supporting him until the circulation was back in his legs and he was steadier. But he was wheezing, close to hyperventilating, so they sat him down on the Skoda’s rear bumper.

‘Can you tell us what happened?’ Grace asked him gently.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I pissed. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t keep it in any more.’

‘It’s OK, don’t worry. Are you able to tell me what happened?’

‘What time is it?’

‘Half past one,’ Glenn Branson said.

‘What day?’

‘Friday.’

The man frowned. ‘Friday? Friday morning?’

‘It’s afternoon, lunchtime.’

‘Holy shit.’

‘How long have you been there?’ Grace asked.

Mike Howard took several deep breaths. ‘I was working nights. I was just heading home – about 1 a.m. – and this man hailed me along the seafront.’

‘Where exactly?’

‘Just near the Peace Statue. He got in the back and told me to take him to Shoreham Airport – said he was working a night shift there. I remember turning into the perimeter road – and that’s the last thing.’

Grace knew that road. It had no street lighting.

‘The last thing you remember?’

‘I woke up being shaken about. I could smell diesel and fumes. I figured out I was in the boot of my cab. I was terrified. I didn’t know what was going to happen.’

‘Can you remember what this guy looked like?’ Grace asked.

‘He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low. I tried to get a look at his face – you always do in this game when you pick someone up late at night off the street. But I couldn’t see it.’

Grace was relieved that the taxi driver seemed to be cheering up a little.

‘What about his accent?’

‘He didn’t say much. Sounded English to me. Do you have any water?’

‘There’s some on its way. Do you need anything to eat?’

‘Sugar. I’m diabetic.’

‘An ambulance will be here any minute – they’ll have something for you. Will you be all right for a few minutes?’

Mike Howard nodded.

Grace continued his questioning. ‘We think the man who did this to you has kidnapped a child and we need to find him urgently. I know you’ve had a horrendous ordeal, but anything you can tell us, anything at all that you can remember, would be valuable.’

Mike Howard eased himself forward and stood up. ‘Agggghhh,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the most terrible cramp.’ He stamped his foot, then stamped it again. ‘I’m trying to think. He was short. A short, thin little fellow, like a weasel. Promise me something?’

‘What?’ Grace asked.

‘If you find him, can I get him to pay me what he owes me, then thump him one, really hard, where it hurts?’

For the first time in what felt a long while, Grace smiled. ‘You’ll have to beat me to it,’ he said.

‘I will, mate, don’t you worry.’

Glenn Branson then said to the driver, ‘Is there someone you’d like us to contact and tell that you’re safe?’

Grace looked at his watch pensively. Almost two and a half hours since Tyler Chase had been picked up. Why was he brought here? His assumption was that the abductor had a car parked here, with luck the rental Toyota Yaris, choosing this as a good location to attack and disable the boy, then switch vehicles. Even more ideal with its CCTV cameras out of action. Inspector Carpenter might think it was scummy Brighton vandals, but he didn’t. He had a feeling he was starting to recognize the killer’s handwriting.

He did a calculation in his head. There were roadworks along the seafront clogging up the traffic, badly. The journey from the school would have been in the region of fifteen to twenty minutes, assuming they came straight here. The pervert seemed to like to film his victims dying. Grace was able to make another assumption, that he had not done that here. From the image he was building of the man, this wasn’t his style of location. He was going to take the boy somewhere he could film him dying. And he sensed it would be somewhere dramatic. But where?

Where in this whole damned city – or beyond?

He studied his watch again. If he’d brought the boy in here around 11.20 a.m., it was likely he’d not hung around. He would have left again within a few minutes. Certainly within half an hour.

Two paramedics, accompanied by a uniformed officer, were running towards them. Grace edged Glenn Branson to one side to make way for them, then he said the DS, ‘We’re out of here.’

‘Where to?’

‘I’ll tell you in the car.’