There it was. Chief Inspector Quinn would never willingly admit he could be wrong or agree with any course of action I might suggest. However, now that he had stated what a waste of time it was going to be, he was going to rush back to the station and start a full investigation.
Much like Hell Monk – I renamed him in my head - my frustration and anger at Jane’s situation were behind my outburst and desire to resort to violence. Hitting Quinn might be one of the most satisfying things I would ever do in my life, but I would hand him the chance to lock me up and that had to be right up there on his top few most desirable things to do.
Letting a slow breath go, I relaxed my posture and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his left shoulder.
‘Claim the collar if you must, Ian. I genuinely don’t care. But please put some resources to this case. The clock is ticking, and the sun is beginning to set.’
It was already getting dark.
He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘You don’t get to tell me my job, Mr Michaels.’ He stepped away, grabbing the handle of his car to open it but pausing to deliver one last line before he did. ‘If you ever touch me again, I’ll arrest you. Is that clear?’
He expected me to say, ‘Crystal,’ or something like that. Instead, I hit him with a smile and walked away. We needed to get to the office and fast, but I had one last thing to say. Calling over my shoulder, I told him, ‘I’ll send you a copy of our file. Everything you need will be in it.’
If he had a response for me, he chose to keep it to himself. The sound of the squad car doors closing was followed a moment later by their engines starting.
‘Where’s your car?’ I asked Amanda, scanning around for her Mini.
She chuckled. ‘It got blown up yesterday, remember?’
I had, in fact, forgotten that inconvenient truth. Her beloved Mini Cooper burst into a ball of flame that was intended to kill the pair of us. It happened right outside Maidstone Police station as a demonstration of confidence by the men we were after. They thought themselves to be untouchable ghosts, but ultimately that was their undoing.
‘So what are you driving?’ I wanted to know.
I got a wide and sexy grin in reply. ‘That.’ She pointed.
How I hadn’t spotted it when it was not only the sexiest car in sight but was also mine, defied belief. The sleek, white series 1 Lotus Esprit was a gift I received the previous day. Or was it the day before? The last few were nothing but a blur as days merged into nights and I got altogether far too little sleep.
Had it not been for my brush with hypothermia and subsequent hospital stay, my tank would be close to empty right now. As it was, I had slept for a good chunk of the day, obeying the doctors because I knew I ought to.
‘I pinched it earlier so I could collect you. I hope you don’t mind,’ Amanda knew I wouldn’t but was being polite anyway. Not waiting for me to answer, she said, ‘It is sooo much fun to drive, by the way. And fast. My goodness, you hit the accelerator in this, and it tries to leap off the side of the planet.’
My girlfriend/business partner was gushing with excitement, her face flushed with the memory of driving the low-slung, vintage British sports car.
With a smile that felt out of place given what we needed to do, I said, ‘Well, we are in a hurry. Why don’t you show me?’
Jane. First Steps. Friday, December 23rd 1554hrs
The Sandman prattled on for what felt like an age but was probably only fifteen minutes. I wasn’t offering much by way of conversation, of course. He excused himself ever so politely when he needed to end our little chat, as he put it; he had other matters to which he felt he must attend.
He did not specify what those matters might be.
I’d been stripped of my possessions, my handbag with phone and other items I might be able to use was somewhere I was not. It could be in my car still for all I knew. The point is that it wasn’t with me so all I had to work with were the items in the room.
There were no windows, and the door was electronically sealed I assumed since it didn’t have a handle. The only item of furniture in the room was a single bed. The mattress was made from memory foam and the bed was bolted to the floor. The walls were smooth; one might even call them faultless, and there was no light switch.
Wherever I was, it was a place designed to hold people captive and give them no hope. I wanted to curl into a ball and weep. I almost did, but rolling back onto the bed and feeling sorry for myself, I knew I was choosing to accept my fate.
And I did not accept it.
For three weeks, I had been trying to figure out who this guy was, but he just didn’t leave any clues behind. There was no way of even knowing how many victims there might be. Any woman who went missing could be one of them.
The woman who led me to the case, Karen Gilbert, said there was no sign of forced entry to her house - the Sandman just let himself in. That meant he had a key. I asked her to name all
