Suzanne was once again aware of nothing but the sound of her own breathing.
The other woman’s voice, her fellow captor – if that’s who she was – had kept her word and not spoken after her outburst. In the silence that followed, questions had massed inside Suzanne’s head, fizzing and spitting like frenzied bubbles in a boiling pan. Questions, fears, screams… but not hope.
Anything but hope.
She tried moving around, making herself more comfortable, relieving pressure on her back and sides, stopping her muscles cramping. There was just enough room to do that but any movement was temporary. Lack of space made sure her body always came back to rest in its original position.
She didn’t know how long she had been there. Could have been minutes or hours or days. No. Couldn’t have been days. Because she hadn’t eaten since she had been put in here. And she was getting hungry now. Not to mention wanting to pee.
As if on cue, her stomach growled.
And the pressure on her bladder increased.
Panic gripped her again as the reality of her situation took hold once more. She tried moving around, looking for a way out, throwing her tied hands against the ceiling of her chamber, hitting, hitting, breathing heavily, adding a few grunts and shouts, helping the exertion.
Nothing. She lay back, heart hammering, panting, the sound of her breathing an almost physical thing in there with her.
‘It’s better if you just lie there… makes it easier…’
The voice was back.
‘But I’m… I’m hungry. I need to, to go to the bathroom.’
‘Just hold it in. Hold it in.’ The voice, cautious, quiet and steady. Balanced on a tightrope where a slip would involve a long, screaming fall.
‘Hold it – how long? I can’t…’
‘They’ll let us out at some point. Hold it in till then.’
‘What? When?’
‘Don’t know…’ The calmness in the voice was beginning to crack. It struggled to return resolve. ‘They will. He will. Just, just hold on.’
Suzanne sighed, closed her eyes. It made no difference.
‘And, and don’t make so much noise.’ The voice, pleading with her. ‘Please.’
‘Why not? Maybe someone’ll hear, come and rescue us.’
‘No.’ The voice, strong now. ‘They won’t.’
‘But how do you know?’ The other voice talking to her, making some kind of communication, knowing she wasn’t alone… Suzanne was starting to feel hope well up inside her. She ignored the danger of that, kept talking. ‘Look, if we both do it together, shout at the same time, maybe someone will hear-’
‘No.’ The voice emphatic, almost shouting. ‘No. We can’t.’
‘It’s worth a try.’
The voice laughed. ‘That’s what the other girl said. Look what happened to her.’
‘But… we have to try…’
‘That’s what she said.’ The voice fell silent for a few seconds. Suzanne thought she had disappeared once more but when she spoke again it was clear from the quaver in her tone that she was just trying to hold herself together. ‘Yeah. What she said. Exactly what she said. D’you want the same thing to happen to you?’
Suzanne didn’t answer. Couldn’t face giving an answer.
Silence fell again.
Suzanne couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t lie in the dark any longer and not communicate. She had to talk and make the other woman talk. Whether she wanted to or not.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘please. Talk to me. I can’t… if we’re here we may as well talk. Please.’ The final word echoed round her box.
Silence.
‘Please… don’t leave me on my own. Please…’
A sigh. ‘How do I know you’re not a plant?’
Suzanne almost laughed. ‘A what?’
‘A plant. They’ve put you in here to see what I’m goin’ to say. You’re one of them.’
She did laugh this time. There was no humour in it. ‘I could say the same about you.’
Silence once more.
‘Look,’ said Suzanne, ‘we’re stuck here. Let’s just talk. Please.’
Another silence.
‘All right,’ the voice said eventually. ‘But if they say anything I’ll tell them it was your idea.’
‘OK.’ Suzanne nearly smiled. The hunger, the pressure on her bladder were almost forgotten with this small victory. ‘Good. Well. My name’s Suzanne. What’s yours?’
Silence.
Sadness began to envelop Suzanne. Even blacker and heavier than the darkness in the box. ‘Oh, come on. Please. You said you’d talk to me…’
A sigh. ‘I’m taking a risk here. A real risk.’
‘I know. Just tell me your name. Then I know who I’m talking to.’
Another sigh.
‘Julie. My name’s Julie…’
45
‘What are you doing?’
Fiona Welch turned, stopped. She was kneeling on the counter in Paula Harrison’s kitchen, hands in the overhead cupboards. A jar of instant coffee lay on its side, still rolling, spilling brown granules as it rocked from side to side.
‘I’m… just getting something… for the tea…’
Phil closed the kitchen door behind him so Paula couldn’t see in. He crossed the small kitchen until he was standing directly in front of her. She turned, still kneeling, and towered over him.
Phil’s hands were balled into fists at his side. He flexed, unflexed them. ‘Get down.’
‘I think I’ll stay here, thank you. Harder for you to be angry with me if I assume a physically dominant position.’
‘Get down.’
The sultry librarian smile appeared again. ‘Don’t you like dominant women?’ She frowned, quizzical. ‘Is that a police thing, d’you think? An alpha male response?’
He was shaking with anger. He managed to keep his voice steady. ‘If I have to come up there and get you down, you won’t like it.’
He stared at her. She locked eyes with him.
Eventually she looked away. Climbed down.
Phil made no attempt to help her.
When she was on her feet he grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is someone’s house. Someone whose daughter’s gone missing.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Fiona said, picking up his rage and flinging it back at him, her voice an angry hiss, ‘I was looking for clues, evidence. Anything that I could find to help me build a fuller picture of Adele Harrison. I mean, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing, isn’t it? Putting together a profile?’
‘Of whoever’s taken her. Of whoever killed Julie Miller. Not…’ – he gestured round the kitchen. The coffee had stopped spilling out now, the jar motionless – ‘… this.’
Fiona Welch looked unrepentant. ‘Did you see the living room? Not a single book on a single bookshelf. DVDs, yes, but no books.’
