Causing the wires to tear from their anchor points took only a fraction of the energy I applied, with the result that I flew backward, tripped, and slipped on the plaster detritus. I landed on the bed.
The door popped open with an audible click.
The Sandman. Listening. Friday, December 23rd 2011hrs
Listening intently to the sounds coming from Jane’s cell, the Sandman stirred a small spoon around a china cup then set it delicately on the saucer. It was disappointing that he could not see her efforts; she was being thoroughly industrious if her grunting and straining were any indication.
Normally, by now he would have sung her to sleep, but using her as bait was keeping the Blue Moon team in the game. They had led him to Karen Gilbert already, but it was clear they knew too much so now he needed to ensure what they had discovered died with them.
His acolytes had a busy night ahead.
Once or twice, it had been necessary to postpone his gift and keep his chosen lady safe for the night in one of his purpose-built rooms. He liked when they tried to escape though, it was most entertaining to watch their endeavours. That was what he was doing now or would be if Jane hadn’t found a way to black out the camera. None of the previous chosen had ever done that.
By the sounds of it, she was untied and trying to break out of the slumber room. It was an almost hopeless endeavour but not one he was going to attempt to stop. The more time she wasted the more tired she would be and thus the more she would welcome him singing her to sleep when the time came.
Soon he would travel to Harrietsham. Karen was waiting for him. His acolytes were already there, poised but awaiting his instructions. The finesse he would usually apply was no longer tenable and that irked him. However, the mission was more important than his personal desire for artistry.
Karen had to be saved.
Lost inside his own head, he jerked forward in his seat when he heard the door to Jane’s room pop open. She’d been calling it a cell; a cruel term for what he regarded as a slumber zone. She, like all the others, could use the time to get some well-earned rest, yet he had come to accept that none ever would. They would fruitlessly try to escape the peace he promised them.
Sitting forward with keen anticipation, he saw Jane emerge from her room. The corridor outside was dimly lit – enough light for her to see by and enough for him to be able to see her delicate features and the emotions crossing her face.
A frown creased his forehead when he saw that she had not been crying. She was the first to ever escape the slumber zone, and she was the first to ever show such control over her fear. More often than not, when they awoke in the darkness, they curled into ball and sobbed until he came for them. Then they would beg and offer him things he didn’t want.
Jane was doing neither thing, and appeared to have ripped a length of cable conduit from inside the wall. It wasn’t much of a weapon, not wielded by a woman, but yet again, hefting a weapon was a behaviour he hadn’t seen before.
Perplexed, he watched her begin to explore the corridor. Beneath ground, she would never find the way out, but she might find her boyfriend.
It was time to go, he decided, finishing his tea and placing the cup with its saucer to one side. Karen was more important. If Jane succeeded in rousing her boyfriend and freeing him from his slumber zone, they would face his acolytes and that would be the end of that.
Amanda. Slipped Right Through our Fingers. Friday, December 23rd 2024hrs
Try as we might, we could not find pictures of Alexander Banks. There were men by that name, of course, and several Alexandra Banks’s as well, which our search engine threw in for good measure. Having exhausted all the methods we could think of to find a picture of a man with that name who might match the photographs we already had, I took a moment to consider what it meant.
Voicing my thoughts to the room, I said, ‘Toby Carter and Ramsey Mitchell are the same person. That much we can be sure of and I don’t think many people, other than celebrities, have legitimate reasons for employing multiple aliases.’
Alice was about to say something when the sound of the office back door opening caught everyone’s attention. The buzz of adrenalin hitting my bloodstream made my stomach tighten.
That was until I caught the heavenly salt and vinegar laden scent of fish and chips.
Big Ben burst through the inner door that leads to the back rooms and the carpark beyond. Hanging from one hand was a large white plastic bag, the contents of which could not be confused with anything else.
Basic strolled in behind him, another bag hanging from his right hand.
‘Anyone hungry?’ asked Big Ben with a grin. ‘We have this bad habit of not stopping to eat and then suffering because of it. I don’t know what’s ahead, but we might as well face it with full bellies.’
I could pose no argument, the tightening in my stomach easing as it began to grumble its emptiness.
Rushing to clear a space on the coffee table, I told him, ‘We found something.’
Big Ben put the bag down and shucked his outdoor jacket. ‘Yeah?’
‘Someone, actually, I should say.’ I showed him the printed pictures of Toby Carter and Ramsey Mitchell.
While Big Ben scrutinised the two pieces of paper, one in each hand with his head going
