Target

There was movement outside the door, and Tina tensed as it opened, the hood over her head preventing her from seeing who it was.

For several seconds there was silence. Then she heard a sniffing sound close by her.

'Hmm, it smells like someone couldn't control herself.'

It was him. The man who'd abducted her.

Then, in one sudden movement, the hood was ripped off. Squinting against the brightness of the light, Tina saw him standing in front of her, dressed in a boiler suit and gloves, a mocking half- smile on his thin lips, a pistol with silencer in his hand.

He yanked the gag from her mouth, but she barely noticed the pain. Her raging thirst overcame everything. 'Have you got some water?' she asked, her voice a dry rasp.

Without answering, he pulled a bottle of Evian from one of the boiler suit pockets and pushed it into her mouth.

Tina drank thirstily, consuming the whole bottle in one go.

Almost immediately she experienced a powerful urge for a real drink, something that would make this horrendous situation more tolerable. 'Have you got anything stronger?' she asked before she could stop herself.

He brought his face close to hers, the saucer eyes inspecting her with interest, and she cursed herself for letting him see her weakness. 'I'm afraid not, Tina Boyd. But then, I wouldn't want you drunk for what I'm about to show you.'

She felt the fear coming then, in hard waves that tightened every muscle. 'What are you going to show me?'

He leaned down so his cheek was touching hers. It felt like rubber. 'It's a surprise,' he whispered into her ear.

A knife appeared in his free hand. He crouched down and used it to cut her free of the masking tape and the ropes, slicing them roughly yet thoroughly, yet somehow managing to avoid cutting her. When what was left of her bonds was scattered in several piles around the chair where she'd spent most of the last twenty-four hours, he stepped back and told her to get to her feet.

She did as she was told, so stiff she almost fell straight back down again. It felt strange being free. But not good, because somehow she knew that he wouldn't be tying her up again. Some time soon, maybe even in the next few minutes, he'd be finished with her. And when he was, that would be it.

'Put your hands behind your back, palms outwards,' he commanded, putting the knife away and coming round behind her. 'And don't try anything stupid, otherwise I'll make you scream.'

Tina moved her hands behind her and waited as he fitted a pair of new-style police restraints. Then finally she stood facing him, still dressed only in a blouse and socks. 'Do you mind if I put some clothes on?' she asked him. 'I'm very cold.'

He smiled. 'No. I like it when you suffer a little.'

He took her by the arm and pushed her in the direction of the open door, following behind her as she walked unsteadily through it, wondering if these would be the last steps of her life. She tried not to limp as she stepped painfully on the set of picks, which were pushing against the sole of her foot, hoping he wouldn't notice there was anything amiss.

The door led out on to a narrow balcony with stairs leading down to the ground floor on her left, and another door directly opposite.

'Keep going,' he said, pushing the silencer into the small of her back.

'Where?' she asked, standing at the top of the staircase, hating the uncertainty in her voice, because that would show him she was scared, and she couldn't have that.

'In there,' he said, pushing the door. 'Go on, it's open.'

Taking a deep breath, she went in, wondering what on earth was going to greet her.

What did was something far worse than she could have imagined.

The room was dark and fetid, lit only by a dim overhead strip light, the smell of human filth like ammonia in Tina's nostrils. A young woman, bruised and naked, with unkempt blonde hair and terrified eyes, whom she immediately recognized as Jenny Brakspear, was spreadeagled and chained to a black bondage-style contraption that had been attached to the far wall, completely covering the room's only window. A spiked collar kept her head in place and a plastic ball gag had been stuffed into her mouth to prevent her crying out. As Tina took a step closer, she saw that there were long dried rivulets of blood running down one arm. She followed them to their source and flinched when she saw that the tip of the little finger on her left hand was missing. An expensive-looking video camera on a tripod had been set up with the lens facing her to record her torment.

As the man responsible for it came into the room behind her, Jenny Brakspear moaned, and Tina recognized the sound as the one she'd heard the previous night. Trying not to gag against the room's stench, she looked at Jenny who was staring at her with pleading, beaten eyes, and mouthed to her that it was going to be all right, even though it was obvious that it would never be all right for her again.

'What do you think?' he whispered, coming close to Tina's ear. 'Aren't you lucky you're not being kept in accommodation like this.'

'Why are you doing this?' Tina asked, feeling a mixture of anger and black despair. It was difficult to believe that people as heartless as the man next to her existed. 'What's she ever done to you?'

'Would you rather I put you up there instead?'

'Just let her go, for Christ's sake!'

He chuckled. 'Ah, like I said earlier, you've got spirit, Tina Boyd. You interest me. That's why you're still alive. But this one… She's got no spirit at all.' He gave a melodramatic sigh. 'So she has to die.'

With a sudden movement he kicked Tina's legs from under her. As she fell to the floor, he raised the gun, took aim and, as Jenny Brakspear's eyes widened for the last time, shot her once in the groin, then once in the forehead.

Blood sprayed the board and Jenny's body shivered violently for several seconds before finally her head tilted forward and she was still.

'You fucking bastard!' screamed Tina, trying to scramble to her feet.

Stepping easily to one side, he kicked her in the side of the head, sending her sprawling, then grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to her feet. 'Do you want to die too, Tina Boyd?' He laughed, a mad, sadistic ecstasy in his voice. 'Do you, darling? Like her?' He dragged her forward so she was right in front of Jenny's corpse and could see the blood running down the board behind her head. 'Or are you going to beg?' He let go of Tina's hair and threw her against the opposite wall, pointing the gun at her face with a steady hand. The joy on his face was frightening to behold. 'Well, Tina Boyd? What's it going to be? Beg or die?'

She stared down the barrel. Thought of all the people she'd lost down the years.

Hold it together, Tina. For Christ's sake. Think.

'Please don't kill me,' she whispered.

'Sorry? What was that again?'

'Please don't kill me.'

'So you're going to do what I tell you?'

She swallowed. 'Yes.'

He smiled. 'Good. That's what I want to hear. Get on your knees.'

Tina hesitated, her mind a whirl of thoughts. Trying desperately to come up with some kind of plan of escape.

'On your fucking knees. Now.'

Slowly she lowered herself, catching sight of Jenny's corpse out of the corner of her eye, head slumped forward, the blonde hair hanging down over her face like a forlorn shroud. She didn't want that to be her.

He took a step forward, unzipping his fly.

And then stopped. A loud shrill ringing was coming from his boiler suit, its sound filling the room. Keeping the gun trained on Tina, he checked the screen, frowning as he put it to his ear.

He listened for several seconds, looking annoyed, before finally speaking. 'Text me the address. I'm on my way.' He put the phone back in the boiler suit pocket and regarded Tina with an almost scientific interest, moving the gun ever so slightly so that the barrel was pointed directly at her forehead.

She swallowed hard, waiting for him to decide her fate.

'We'll have to wait a while longer for our fun, I'm afraid,' he said, lowering the gun. 'You can wait here with Jenny.'

Tina didn't say a word. Just watched as he walked to the door and turned the handle, thinking of the set of picks in her sock.

'Oh, one thing,' he said, as if as an afterthought. 'Stand up a moment.'

Slowly, Tina got to her feet and stood facing him.

'Thanks for that,' he said with a smile, and shot her in the foot.

Fifty-six

The clock on his office wall said five to four as Mike Bolt finished on the phone to yet another estate agent. He'd spoken to forty-five of them in all since he'd started checking for suspicious building rentals in the area of north-west Essex where the blue Mazda had last been sighted. He'd already overshot the time limit Big Barry had given him by close to two hours, and he knew he was going to get pulled off it soon to join Mo and the rest of the team in the next room where they were trawling through endless CCTV footage in the hunt for the lorry. But he was also sure he was on the right track. He would have bet a month's wages that Hook had his base somewhere within those 190 square miles.

He stretched in his seat, ignoring the exhaustion he was feeling, and took a gulp of lukewarm coffee. 'How are you getting on?' he asked Kris Obanje, who was sitting opposite him, wading through all the property details they'd been sent and dividing them into separate piles. 'Remember we're looking for properties that are big enough to store kidnap victims, and possibly even a lorry, and where the occupants aren't going to arouse suspicion from any nosy neighbours. That's got to narrow it down a bit, doesn't it?'

Obanje was a big man with a powerlifter's build and his chair creaked as he sat back in it and removed the thick-rimmed glasses that always gave him an intellectual air. 'So far I've got fifty-nine properties let in the area in the last six months where the monthly cost is over fifteen hundred a month. I don't think there's much point looking at anything for less than that.'

'Neither do I. But I'm thinking they wouldn't have let anywhere six months in advance. There wouldn't have been much point. How many of those have been let in the last three?'

'Twenty-five. And of them I reckon nine are promising, i.e. they're big enough to store a lorry and don't seem to be overlooked, and they're all let to people or companies not known to the agent.' He picked up one of the piles and handed it to Bolt. 'Have a look. I've spoken to the agents involved and apparently they all look like legitimate lets.'

Impressed with Obanje's organizational skills, which were far superior to his own, Bolt sifted through the details. They were a mixture of warehouses, industrial units, farms, a couple of grand country dwellings, one of which boasted a shooting estate, and a rundown cottage with fifty acres attached. All of them would have made perfect hideouts.

'Hook's a thorough man,' said Bolt, 'so if he's let one of these, it'll all look above board. But I bet if you dig a little it won't take long to find that the ID of the company or individual on the contract is bogus. So, I want you to check out each of the tenants of those nine properties, and see what you turn up. In the meantime there are still a few agencies that haven't sent through their details yet, and a couple I haven't been able to get hold of, so I'm going to chase them. Then I'll help you. OK?'