The meeting with Sadiq was all Chelle had needed to convince her she should run. Knowing what had happened to Abid had, for the first time in years, brought in her a deep sadness. Abid had been kind to her. He had told her he loved her and he was gentle. He had shared a secret and then the tattoos. His idea. His were completed first and strangely he had not taken her to the same artist, but to a friend. She had found that odd but was happy not to ask the reason. She looked at her hand and with a finger traced the shape of the gecko. Salty reminders of his laughter filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks before she wiped them with the back of her hand. She studied the fingers of her left hand. The marks were just above the nails, the numbers he had asked the artist to tattoo. We’re a team. They can never split us up and this is our bond, our security key. It’s a recipe when we put them together. He would slide his fingers between hers and whisper each number in turn.
She had asked more than once what they meant but he had never revealed their significance. He just raised his finger to her lips. Our secret – only we know. They spell an important word if you know where to look. Tell no one, at least not yet. Tell only when you are really frightened.
She had noted the marks on the small piece of material taken from his clothing, she never wanted to forget the way that he read them to her, the whisper, the energy as if he were exorcising some demon.
She had gone to the new flat, done as she was instructed – as she always did. That was how life was now. The nagging, gnawing fear filled most of her thoughts taking the edge off her capacity to work efficiently. The Southport flat was on a street running parallel to and just behind the sea front, if you could ever call it that. The sea was always a stranger there too. It was situated on the third floor of what might once have been classed as a holiday boarding house; lace curtains, landlady and dinner gong were distant memories. It was neither tidy nor clean. Positioned near Lord Street, the area was filled with carparks and a number of bars. One disconcerting feature that greeted her on arrival was a large, grey painted face adorning the gable end of one of the houses. West Street seemed cold, wet and to her wild. The consolation, if there could be one, was that it was away from their main hunting ground and was easily accessed by road, bus and rail. Escape routes need, on occasion, to be plentiful. There were people there who assured her that they would care for her but she knew they were more like supervisors.
The next couple of jobs had been easy, candy from babies, she sang to herself in one of her rare, lighter moments. She had taken the train, always conscious of the cameras as she had been advised, and met the van in different locations. For a while it made her believe that she might be able to weather this storm of uncertainty. The gnawing was gradually receding. She had faced adversity so often in her young life and survived and she could do it again.
It was always the thought of Abid that seemed to haunt her, bringing with it the amalgam of fear and doubt. It was his genuine kindness, his reassurance and his dreams that had made her love him. If she had been honest, he was the first person she thought about above herself. She had hoped that it might be real love, an emotion she had chased for as long as she could remember. She doubted Sadiq’s words that he had gone away on business. Abid was, she believed, in their eyes a nonentity. He was just like her, desperate, frightened for much of the time and alone.
The day before he disappeared, she had seen it in his eyes, not fear but regret, a deep sadness as if he knew he had made a fatal mistake, thrown it all away. It was never expressed in words, only in the way he touched her. He knew it might be for the last time and she had sensed it, an emotion that ran so deep it made her tingle. She had held on to him through their tears. The following day he was gone. She now treasured the piece of his clothing in the bag and occasionally she would inhale and he would be there, his smell. It gave her courage. He had told her to keep it. It would be a good luck charm, an amulet.
If they could make him disappear then they could do the same to her and any of the others with the simple act of clicking their fingers.
Two days later when the first opportunity presented itself, she packed a few things and left. She did not take the train but a bus heading away from the coast – she was alone again.
Chapter 13
The contacts with the tattoo parlours had proved fruitful. The trawl had dredged a connection linked to a small shop on County Road. The owner of Jester’s Ink had responded with the information that they had carried out a design of a gecko on the side of a man’s palm over a month ago.
Brad turned down Lind Street, the nearest side road but parking proved difficult, permit parking only was allowed. However, on finding a space he parked. The registration would show it was a police vehicle should a traffic warden happen to pass. Within minutes he
