Twenty-Two

Lucas refreshed the web page on his screen. ‘That’s it, they are racing.’

‘How do you know?’ Garcia asked.

Lucas pointed to the top of the page ‘Race status: racing’.

Everyone stood motionless; all eyes fixed on Lucas’s computer screen as if they could all see the race track. For an instant it felt like no one was breathing. Garcia shifted his weight to his left leg, but no position was a comfortable one. The tension inside the office was palpable.

Hunter was starting to get restless. He didn’t like this. Why was the killer playing games now? Did the killer know that one of the detectives was a gambler?

The silence in the room was broken by Detective Maurice’s voice. ‘Refresh it,’ he said excitedly.

‘It’s only been about ten seconds since they started racing.’

‘Refresh it anyway.’

‘OK, OK.’ Lucas clicked the button on his browser. The webpage refreshed in less than a second. Race status: racing. ‘See? No result yet.’

The anxiety was making everyone uncomfortable. People were starting to get fidgety, but all eyes were still on Lucas’s computer screen. The seconds went by like hours. Garcia started massaging his forehead and temples. Maurice was done biting his nail on one thumb and had now moved to the other one. Hunter hadn’t said a word since the race started.

‘Can’t we call the track and explain that someone is gonna die if dog five doesn’t win,’ Detective Maurice offered.

Garcia laughed. ‘Yeah, of course we can, they won’t just think you’re some crazy gambler who has bet all your life savings on that race. Think about it.’

Maurice realized how stupid his suggestion sounded.

Lucas refreshed the webpage once again. Still no result.

‘This is taking quite a long time, isn’t it? It’s been about two minutes since the race started,’ Garcia said with a worried look.

‘I know, and I don’t like that,’ Lucas replied.

‘Why not, why not?’ Maurice asked, unable to contain his concern.

‘Usually when it takes too long it means the result went to the judges, two or more dogs crossed the finish line together so they have to look at a photograph to decide who the winner is. If they can’t tell the dogs apart, they might call a dead heat.’

‘What the hell is a dead heat?’

‘You know nothing about races do you, Garcia? It’s like a draw, two or more dogs are declared winners.’

‘What happens then?’ Garcia’s question was directed at Hunter who had no answer.

The room fell silent again and everyone turned back to the computer screen. Maurice had stopped biting his nails and had placed both of his hands in his pockets in an attempt to stop them from shaking.

‘Let me try one more time.’ Lucas clicked his mouse and waited. The page reappeared on the screen and this time they finally had a result.

Twenty-Three

Darkness – that was all that surrounded George Slater as he regained consciousness. An unbearable pain shot up from his groin. His head was throbbing, making him dizzy. Everything was unsteady. His legs. His body. His memory. He tried to remember what had happened, but his brain wasn’t cooperating.

Where the hell am I?

How long have I been unconscious?

How did I get here?

Very slowly his memories started to form. The knock on the door. The excitement of seeing Rafael again. The strange intruder that had shown up at his rented apartment. The one-sided struggle, the confusion, the pain and then – the syringe.

He felt dizzy, weak, hungry, thirsty and scared. His hands were resting over his chest, but they weren’t tied. He tried to move them, but there simply wasn’t enough space. They touched what felt like unplaned wooden planks, his fingers feeling the splintery texture. He made an effort to scream but the gag in his mouth kept him from making a sound.

George tried moving his legs, but he could only manage one inch or so before they hit another wall in front of him.

A box, I’m inside a wooden box, he thought as panic started to take over.

I’ve gotta get out of here.

He jerked his body violently from side to side, his legs trying to kick out, his hands scraping away on the wood until all his nails were broken, but his efforts were not rewarded. He started to feel claustrophobic, making him more desperate.

He knew panicking wouldn’t help. He needed to work with whatever little knowledge of the situation he had. He took a moment to calm himself down. Concentrating on his heartbeat he took deep breaths. After a minute it started to work. George urged his brain to think. He tried to gather all the information he had so far. He’d been attacked, drugged, taken hostage and placed inside some sort of wooden box. He could feel the blood flowing normally through his body, and that told him the box was in an upright position instead of lying down. That brought him some relief. If the box had been in a horizontal position it could mean he was underground – buried alive inside some kind of coffin, and that petrified him. From a very young age George had been terrified of confined spaces. He was only ten when his mother beat him senseless and locked him inside a wardrobe for twelve hours with no food and no water. His crime – falling off his bike and tearing his brand-new pair of trousers at the knee.

He kicked his legs against the wooden walls again. They felt solid, as if the box had been nailed shut.

‘Would you stop making all that noise?’

The voice took George by surprise. Someone else was there. George’s heart started beating faster. He tried to scream once again, but the gag in his mouth was too tight and he produced only a muffled grunt.

‘It won’t be very long now.’

George could feel the panic coming back. What wouldn’t be long? Until he was freed or until he was dead? He needed to get rid of the gag in his mouth. He knew that if he could speak he would be able to reason with whoever else was there. That’s what he knew how to do – talk to people. As a lawyer he had negotiated million-dollar deals. He had convinced juries and judges that his side of an argument was the correct one. If he was given the chance he was sure he could reason with his captor. If only he could speak.

He jerked his body once again, making even more noise, hysteria starting to take over.

‘That won’t help you.’

Suddenly George froze. He knew that voice, he was sure he’d heard it before, but where? He made more noise.

‘Suit yourself, if you wanna make noise, go right ahead.’

There was no doubt in George’s mind anymore. He knew that person. He closed his eyes in an effort to search his memory. Where had they met before? In the office? In a court of law? Where? George implored his memory to help him.

‘Jesus!’ he said, shivering and reopening his eyes. It had been at a party, a BDSM party. It all came back to him. He could clearly picture the person’s face in his mind.

‘I know you… I know who you are…’

Twenty-Four

Lucas stared at the race result on his computer screen. Garcia was trying his best to look over everyone’s shoulders and get a glimpse of it. Hunter kept his eyes shut, too nervous to look.

‘We lost,’ Lucas’s voice croaked. ‘Trap two won it, trap five got second.’ He had to force himself to look at Hunter.

‘No,’ Garcia said, his voice barely audible. He made an effort not to be sick and tasted his breakfast rise in his throat.

Captain Bolter pushed Lucas aside so he could get a better look at the screen.

‘Shit! I should’ve picked trap two, I was between two and five – I should’ve gone for two,’ Lucas said, collapsing onto his chair.

Captain Bolter’s eyes were still on the screen. The result read: 1st trap two, 2nd trap five, 3rd trap eight. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he finally said, placing a friendly hand on Lucas’s shoulder.