“We’ve catalogued Madison’s photos, sir,” Imogen told him. “We can account for them all in terms of who they are. I don’t think she had one of him.”

“Careful bastard, isn’t he?”

Chapter 19

“I don’t feel right! Jack—I need my medication.”

Where was he? She’d been alone for hours now, or so she thought. She had no real way of knowing. She’d been sleeping again and had woken up feeling weird. She wasn’t sure she could remember things correctly; she had a headache and felt dizzy. It could be the drugs he’d given her, but Patsy had felt like this before and knew what it meant. She also had a sore place on the inside of her cheek where she’d bitten it, so she must have had a small fit whilst she’d slept. If she didn’t take her medication soon, then she’d go on to have a major seizure.

She crept around the perimeter of the dark room, carefully feeling her way. He’d dressed her; she was wearing a loose top and jogging bottoms, but they weren’t her own.

“Jack! I need to speak to you.”

“I’m busy, Vida.” He stood in a doorway high above her, surrounded by a pool of light. He looked to be at the top of a staircase. “I must get on with this. I don’t have time to fool around.”

“I need my tablets! I have to take medication regularly or I’ll get sick.”

“Your imagination, Vida. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re as fit as a fiddle—look at all the exercise you get at the gym.”

Patsy started to cry. “I’m not Vida and I do need my tablets. I get seizures, Jack.”

He moved a little closer, halfway down the staircase and pointed a finger at her. “Shut it, bitch—or I’ll make sure you never say another word.”

He was covered in mud. His boots were caked in it and his hands were filthy. What was he doing out there? Patsy shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. He wasn’t going to listen. She’d made the worst mistake of her life in trusting him: this man was evil.

He bent down and dragged something inside. A shape—an old rug, she thought, as he bumped it down the stairs. Whatever it was must be heavy because he was out of breath. He stood for a moment, wiped his palms down the sides of his jacket and left her alone again.

He was up to something—digging. Patsy crept closer to the bundle he’d left behind. She took one of the tiny candles and held it up so that she could see. It was wrapped in an old blanket, not a rug. She took hold of one end and shook it. It didn’t move. She put the candle down and, taking the ends of the fabric in both hands, pulled vigorously. The thing rolled forward making her jump away in fright. It smelled to high heaven. She bent down and moved the fabric a little more. There was something inside—something hideous, she could sense it. The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling. Another tug and her eyes widened.

The blanket was full of bones, old bones with ragged bits of putrefying flesh still attached to them. And if that wasn’t terrifying enough, there was the skull. For a moment it caught the flicker of the candlelight and seemed to leer at her, taunting. She couldn’t help but look a little closer. The thing had no teeth. The instruments in the cupboard! She began to feel very sick.

Patsy felt the room swirl around her. She had to keep her nerve.

She knew with absolute certainty now that she would become that thing lying on the floor if she didn’t do something. She had to get out of here. She had to seize any opportunity that presented itself.

It did just that a lot sooner than she expected. It had only been minutes since she’d found the bones, when the silence was broken by the sound of voices outside. Patsy closed her eyes to listen.

Someone else was up there arguing with Jack. She saw faint moonlight filtering through the door at the top of the staircase. So he must have left it ajar—and it must lead outside. She heard the voices again, swearing, and then a high-pitched wail. Jack was fighting with someone. This was her chance.

It was a risk. If Jack caught her, he’d kill her, she knew that. But what did she have to lose? Patsy crept up the stone steps, eased the door just wide enough and darted through it. She felt the cold night air envelop her body and she ran as fast as her legs would allow. She’d no idea where she was or where she was going, and each time the moon was obliterated by clouds, she was thrust into pitch blackness.

She ran blindly in what she thought was a straight line. She couldn’t hear anything behind her. She was soon gasping for breath and stopped for a moment, bending over with her hands on her knees. She still felt weird—she’d not had her medication and she had a pounding headache. But she daren’t stop. Wherever she was, Jack would know the lie of the land better than she, so he could be on her within seconds.

Patsy ran on. She had no awareness of time passing, just the rush of wind through her hair and the ache in her legs. Suddenly she came to an abrupt and painful halt as she crashed headlong into a hedge.

She hit her leg on a tree stump and ripped the jogging bottoms on thorns. She fumbled about wildly, trying to free herself, frantically trying to untangle her hair from the grip of the bushes.

Then she fell like a stone onto her front, winded. She closed her eyes and took a moment to recover. This was no good. If Jack’s place was in an enclosed area, then she wouldn’t be able to get out.

Perhaps that’s why he’d not bothered to chase after her.

She scrambled to her knees and felt along the ground—it was just grass. Patsy crawled on her hands and knees, disappearing into the dense hedgerow. The twigs and branches of the hedge dug into her body and scratched her face but she didn’t care, she had to keep going. She tore at the undergrowth cutting and scraping her hands, until finally her palms hit tarmac. She was out. She’d stumbled upon a gap in the hedge and had made it onto the roadside.

Patsy lay still listening to her heart race. She felt dizzy and sick and there was a smell—the one she knew only too well, the one that always heralded a seizure. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Within seconds she lost consciousness.

* * *

Calladine was late home again. When he entered the house, both Zoe and Jo were back, sitting chatting with Lydia.

“You’re a dark horse! Zoe called out as he walked into the sitting room. “Why didn’t you say you were expecting a guest?” She winked.

“Because I wasn’t.” He rested the envelope Monika had given him on top of his writing bureau. “You came as a huge surprise—didn’t you, Lydia?”

She smiled up at him. “You should have known I wouldn’t stay away for ever. I mean, how could I?”

Calladine knew very well that she could have stayed away quite easily. But she wanted something from him. Information about his renegade cousin.

“We’ll talk about that later. But before you get too comfortable, I should tell you that I won’t help you with you know who. So if that’s what you want from me, then you’re barking up the wrong tree. My advice is to leave him well alone. He’s about to get a nasty surprise anytime now, and I don’t want you involved.”

Lydia stuck her pretty nose in the air. “I’m going up to have a shower. When I’m done we’ll talk, Detective.” She frowned at him and stalked upstairs.

“I don’t get it.” Zoe shook her head. “What are you doing? This gorgeous woman turns up on your doorstep and you go all difficult and uncooperative. You don’t know when you’ve got it made.”

“And you don’t know what she’s like.”

“I know you’re making her feel uncomfortable, and that’s not fair. She’s only here visiting friends before she starts her new job.”

“If she says so.” He glared at her. He knew better than to take on Zoe in this mood. Soon she’d have Jo at him and then Lydia would have all the back-up she needed.