Shatter

YOUR PRECIOUS WIFE SO DEEP YOU‘LL NEVER FIND HER BODY.’

I can imagine his mouth twisting and flecks of spit flying. Brakes squeal and a car horn sounds in the background. He’s losing concentration.

Oliver Rabb is also talking to me.

[‘He’s just been handed on to a new tower. Signal strength five dBm and falling. Radius three hundred yards. You have to make him stop moving.’]

I nod through the glass partition.

‘Calm down, Gideon.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do. Put Chloe on the line!’

‘What do I get in return?’

‘You get to choose if your wife or your daughter survive.’

‘I want both of them back.’

I hear a tight-lipped laugh. ‘I’m sending you a souvenir. You can have it framed.’

‘What sort of souvenir?’

The mobile vibrates against my ear. I hold the handset at arm’s length, as though it might explode. An image appears in the small backlit square. Julianne, naked and bound, her body as pale as candle wax, lies in a box with her mouth and eyes taped shut and clods of earth crumbling over her stomach and thighs.

A thin rancid stink of fear fills my nostrils and something small and dark scuttles inside my chest, burrowing into the chambers of my heart. I can hear it now: the sound Gideon talked about. A tiny creature crying softly into an endless night. The sound of a mind breaking.

‘Stay with me, Joe,’ he says, in a soft insinuating tone. ‘She was still alive when I last saw her. I’ll still let you choose.’

‘What have you done?’

‘I gave her what she wanted.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘She wanted to take her daughter’s place.’

The grotesque image is beyond words. My imagination paints pictures instead. And in my mind’s eye I see Julianne’s breathing body, sipping the darkness, unable to move, her hair spread out beneath her head.

‘Please, please, don’t do this,’ I beg, my voice breaking.

‘Put my daughter on the phone.’

‘Wait.’

Ruiz is standing in front of me. Chloe and Helen are with him. He pulls two chairs to the desk and motions for them to sit. Helen is dressed in jeans and a striped top. Clutching Chloe’s hand, she sits with her head drawn down between her shoulders, her face a crumpled mask. Worn down. Defeated.

I cover the phone. ‘Thank you.’

She nods.

Chloe’s blonde fringe has fallen across her eyes. She doesn’t push it back. It is a physical barrier she can hide behind.

‘He wants to talk to Chloe.’

‘What’s she going to say?’ asks Helen.

‘She just has to say hello.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Yes.’

Chloe rocks her legs beneath the chair, chewing at a fingernail. A baggy green cardigan hangs down to her thighs and narrow jeans make her legs look like sticks in denim.

I motion to her. She circles the desk on tiptoes, as if frightened of bruising her heels. I cover the mouthpiece and silently mouth the words I want her to say.

Then I raise my hand to Oliver, giving him a countdown by closing my fingers one at a time. Five… four… three…

Chloe takes the handset and whispers, ‘Hello, Daddy, it’s me.’

…two… one…

I drop my arm. Through the window Oliver presses a button or flips a switch and a dozen mobile phone towers are silenced.

I can picture Gideon staring at his handset, wondering what happened to the signal. His daughter was right there but her words were snatched away. Fifteen police units are within a hundred and fifty yards of his last known location, near the Prince Street Bridge. Veronica Cray has gone to join them.

Chloe doesn’t understand what’s happened.

‘You did really well,’ I say, taking the mobile from her.

‘Where’s he gone?’

‘He’s going to call back. We want him to use another telephone.’

I glance through the window at Oliver and Lieutenant Greene. Both seem to be holding a collective breath. It has been two minutes. We can’t keep the phone towers blacked out for any longer than ten. How long will it take Gideon to find a landline?

Come on.

Make the call.