Dead Scared

THE HIGH-PITCHED BEEPING of a text message woke Evi from an uncomfortable slumber at around four o’clock. She turned over on the bed and picked up her phone. It was from Laura.

Called back to London and transferred to another case. Powers that be don’t consider this one worth pursuing further. Suggest you refer any ongoing concerns to local CID. Good meeting you. Take care. Laura.

Not fully awake, Evi read the text again. Laura had gone. Evi sat upright on the bed. Most of the light had gone from the day outside and her bedroom was filled with shadows. She realized she’d slept through the entire afternoon, missing two supervisions and a two-hour stint at the clinic. And yet no one had phoned her. It was as though no one had even noticed she was missing.

She got up and made her way to the kitchen, knowing something else was wrong, just unable to put her finger on what it was. Only when she saw the empty space in front of the cooker where she’d put Sniffy’s rug did she realize. The rug was no longer there. Neither were the food and water bowls that she’d put by the sink. And neither was Sniffy herself. All traces of the dog were gone from the house. She might never have existed.

*

The fresh cold air of the early evening stung Joesbury’s face but helped to clear his head. A little way ahead he could see a wooden bench where a solitary smoker sat huddled in his dressing gown. Sitting down felt like a very good idea, except he wasn’t sure he’d ever get up again.

Getting out of hospital before the doctor in charge was willing to release him hadn’t been easy but Joesbury had insisted. He’d waited till just after his prescribed dose of painkillers and had managed to dress himself. Now, he needed a phone.

Conscious of bloodstained clothes and a bruised, battered face, he turned and made his way to the corner of the street. Two hundred yards away was a row of public telephones. There was no response on the first number he tried. He tried again, gave up after the third attempt and dialled Scotland Yard.

‘Jesus, Mark, what’s going on?’ DCI Phillips said, after the phone call to SO10 had been accepted. ‘We expected you twenty-four hours ago.’

He listened while Joesbury explained about the accident, how both his and Lacey’s laptops and mobile phones were missing, even his cover ID.

‘Were you ambushed?’ Phillips asked, when he’d done.

‘Traffic officer who came to see me said all four tyres were in ribbons. Draw your own conclusion.’

‘Looks like we’re into damage limitation. I’m pulling everyone out.’

‘Hang on, guv. DC Flint had information for me. Names and a possible location. Shit, it’s gone.’

Heavy sigh down the line. ‘You didn’t write it down?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my memory when I’m not concussed,’ Joesbury said. ‘We had a trace on her vehicle. Is it still operational?’

‘Give me a sec. And I’ll organize someone to pick you up while I’m at it.’

Joesbury waited, whilst the world around him became less focused. He closed his eyes, opening them only when he knew he was about to fall over.

‘I’ve got it,’ Phillips told him. ‘What do you need?’

‘Can you give me her movements since yesterday first thing?’

Another second passed. Then, ‘She spent the night at Endicott Farm, between Burwell and Waterbeach. Did you know about that?’

Joesbury felt his headache press down. ‘Yeah. She was back at St John’s just before nine, then she went to the hospital. What next?’

‘Went to St Clement’s Road just off the town centre. Stayed about forty minutes.’

‘That’s it,’ said Joesbury. ‘Scott Thornton, number 108. I was going to have it watched. Shit, we’ve lost twenty-four hours.’

‘Want me to organize a search warrant?’

‘I think so. She’s also worried about Nick Bell and Megan Prince, two local medics. And somebody called Thomas. Ianto? Iestyn. That’s it, Iestyn Thomas. Where did she go after that?’

‘A five-mile trip out of town to a village called Boxworth. Stayed in the high street for ten minutes, then went back into town and parked outside Evi Oliver’s house for a few minutes. Back to the hospital and then on to Queen’s Road. Didn’t move from there for the rest of the night.’

‘Guv, can you have someone find out who lives in Boxworth near where she parked? See if any names ring a bell?’

‘Anything else?’

‘What’s she been up to today?’

‘This morning, no movement until 10.17 a.m., when the car was driven out of town,’ continued Phillips. ‘She went towards the Bell …’

‘Bell Foundries Industrial Estate. Unit 33,’ said Joesbury. ‘She saw Scott Thornton going inside earlier in the week. Please tell me she didn’t.’

‘She parked on the B1102, about half a mile away. Stayed there for eighty minutes, so it’s anybody’s guess what she got up to. After that, she drove out to Endicott Farm again.’

Bell’s place again. Could she not stay away from the twat for five minutes?

‘Then what?’

‘It was there for nearly thirty minutes, then went back to St John’s. Which is where it remains.’

‘She’s at St John’s?’

‘Car is.’

‘Can you get George looking for her?’

‘He’s already on his way to pick you up. I’ll get someone else to do it.’

‘Guv, I need something else. That phone we gave her yesterday. Can you give me its recent use?’

‘You’re stretching my technical skills, buddy. Hang on.’

Joesbury waited, hearing Phillips call to one of the clerical staff. Then, ‘One incoming text late last night,’ said Phillips. ‘Can’t give you the details, just the number it came from.’

‘Nobody should have been texting her. Nobody had that number but me.’

‘It was from you.’

Joesbury leaned back against the Perspex wall of the kiosk, telling himself that throwing up right now would do nothing to improve the situation. ‘Late last night I was bleeding on to a hospital pillow,’ he managed. ‘Somebody was using my phone to text Lacey. Anything else?’

‘An outgoing text late this morning, that one also to you. I assume you didn’t get it. And one more, a couple of hours later. An incoming call this time from a listed number.’

‘Nobody had her number. No one could call her but me.’

‘Hang on, I’ve got it. Here we go. She was called by a local GP. A Dr Nicholas Bell.’

Silence.

‘You still there, Mark?’