‘Pause it and zoom in.’ Nikki rarely looked at Springer, preferring to pretend the other woman didn’t exist. Now, it felt a little strange observing her without her knowledge. She frowned. Did Springer look upset? Hard to tell really with the fuzziness of the CCTV, but her body language seemed off. Her head was down, her shoulders, hunched. ‘Try to get a shot of her face, Saj.’
Saj fiddled a bit, fast-forwarding, and finally managed to get a shot of Springer’s face. ‘She looks upset.’
Nikki shrugged. ‘Maybe. Or perhaps she’s just hungover. Difficult to tell. Let’s play on. What I want to know is where she went after this. No way did it take nearly an hour and a half to get to where we found her car.’
They watched as Springer approached her Kia and after slinging her trolley into the boot, got into the driver’s seat. Nikki tried to swallow the pang of envy when she mentally compared the glossy sleek bodywork to her dented wreck. Then she remembered the state of it as she’d seen it earlier with its front end all bashed in, a bullet hole in the driver’s seat and blood on the upholstery. Maybe her own Zafira was preferable after all.
‘Smooth ride.’
Nikki grunted and ignored Sajid’s comment. ‘What the hell’s she doing? Why’s she not moving?’
Sajid fast-forwarded, minute after minute scrolled past on the screen yet the car remained, engine on but unmoving. Then the door opened.
Nikki pointed to the screen. ‘Quick, she’s getting out.’
Saj rewound a little and replayed it on normal speed. The door swung open and then Springer’s head appeared as she vomited onto the concrete. ‘Ah, hungover it is, then.’
‘Looks like it,’ said Nikki. ‘Perhaps that’s why she chose to take the back roads despite the snow. Maybe she wanted to avoid getting stopped if she thought she was still over the limit.’ She looked at Saj and saw her own disbelief mirrored on his face. ‘Doesn’t seem like The Spaniel though, does it?’
‘Nah, she doesn’t strike me as a get-pissed-at-a-conference sort of woman.’
‘Right. Anybody managed to get in touch with her sidekick? Bashir, is it?’
Saj shook his head. ‘Extended annual leave. Gone to Pakistan. Grandad’s poorly apparently.’
At that point, Nikki’s phone rang. She looked at it and groaned. ‘It’s my mum.’
‘Well, you gotta answer it, Nik. See what she’s been up to.’
Nikki’s mum had gone to India with her elder sister, supposedly to shop for Nikki’s cousin, Monika’s wedding. But they’d been gone over a month already. In that time, they’d celebrated Holi with relatives in Gujarat, visited the Taj Mahal in Agra, the Red Fort in Jaipur and Gandhi’s ashram in Ahmedebad and now had returned to Gujarat to shop. Nikki missed her mum and would be glad when she returned to Bradford, but right now she didn’t want to have the conversation she suspected her mum wanted to have. ‘She’s going to Navsari tomorrow.’
‘And?’
The phone continued to ring. ‘Bloody sari shopping.’ Nikki frowned and answered it, resigned to the conversation about colours and textures and designs that she would have to have. ‘Hi Mum, you okay?’
Sajid yelled, ‘Hi Lalita. Don’t worry, I’m keeping Nikki under control whilst you’re away.’
Her mother sent her love back to Sajid, and then Nikki, with a half-smile on her face, listened to her mum describe the meal she’d had the previous night and a proposed trip to a hill station for the following week, before the conversation turned to clothes. ‘You need to give me some idea of colours, Nikita. Anika, Charlie and Ruby have all given me detailed lists. Even Sunni and Marcus have chosen a few suit designs.’
Nikki grimaced and stuck out her tongue at Sajid who was grinning at her, seemingly enjoying her discomfort. It was okay for the others, Anika and the girls. They liked flouncing around in saris and Indian suits. Nikki hated it. It wasn’t her style. She always felt uncomfortable. Hoping to reach a compromise, she put a smile into her voice and said, ‘You know what I’d really like to wear for the wedding?’
Her mother snorted and Nikki thought she heard her say ‘jeans’ but she ignored that and said. ‘A suit. A nice simple shalwar kameez. That’s what I’d like to wear.’
With a raised eyebrow, Sajid mouthed, ‘Really?’ at her.
Nikki turned her back on him. Of course, she didn’t want to wear a suit either, but it would be more manageable than a sari.
‘Nikki, it’s a wedding. We need to sparkle. Tell you what. I’ll get you and Anika similar saris. Five or six each should do.’
Nikki’s voice rose. ‘Five or six?’ Shit, no. She had three perfectly good ones at home, why wouldn’t those do? But her mum was already blowing kisses down the phone and giving instructions to pass her love onto the rest of the family before hanging up.
‘You look like you’ve been nuked.’
Nikki tightened her ponytail, grazed her fingers over the scar on her neck and exhaled. ‘Bloody feel like it too. Let’s get back to Springer.’
They spent the next twenty minutes going through the ANPR footage. They caught sight of the van Springer had described but as she’d said, its registration plates both front and back were obscured.
‘It doesn’t look like it targeted her. It was in front of her most of the way from the Wakefield roundabout onwards. Do you think she saw something peculiar before she phoned it in and that’s why she followed it?’
Nikki shook her head. ‘That doesn’t tie in with her call. It seems to have been completely arbitrary. Which means we’ve got to look for a needle in a haystack. Bet there’s thousands of unmarked plain-white transit vans in the district.’
Saj nodded, looking as fed up as she felt. ‘I’ll action it and get a couple of uniforms trawling through it. Any word from the helicopter search yet?’
‘Nah, probably too soon.’
‘Okay, we need to interview everyone at the conference too. Not that I think her disappearance is owt to do with that conference but still, better to cover all our bases.’
Sajid was already scrolling down a list of delegates and conference attendees. ‘This lot are a right motley bunch. We’ve got your Anika’s boyfriend, the ever so moral – and married, I hasten to add – Yousaf Mirza. Also, that homophobic friend of yours from vice, DI Joe Drummond. Archie’s on the list as is his mate DCI Eddie Capaldi and a whole load more dignitaries.’
His voice trailed off as Archie’s office door slammed open and DCS Clark stormed past them with barely a nod of acknowledgement as she left. Archie, red-faced, with his hair spiked on top of his head like two devil horns on either side of his bald patch followed her into the room, staring after his boss with a frown that was enough to have Nikki hesitate before approaching him.
He seemed to realize that Sajid and Nikki were staring at him and growled out a ‘Well?’
Nikki told him what they had, including the fact that someone had already requested the CCTV footage from the conference hotel. If she’d been expecting Archie to slam the heel of his hand against his brow and say ‘Och aye. That was me Parekh, slipped my mind,’ she’d have been mistaken. His expression didn’t change, not even when she wondered aloud about the fact the footage had been secured before any crime had been reported. This was so unlike Archie and it chilled her. Even Sajid looked flustered and he only knew half the story.
‘Need a word with you, Parekh.’ Archie lumbered back into his office. As she followed him, Nikki noticed the blinds were still down and she hoped she wasn’t about to be pulled any deeper into whatever was going off. If she was, she’d no intention of keeping Sajid out of the loop and if Archie requested that, then he could go and jump.
Choosing to stand, hoping it would speed things up, Nikki waited till Archie had lowered his sizeable frame into his chair and attempted to keep her expression neutral. She realized she hadn’t succeeded when Archie, studying her for a long moment finally said, ‘Face like a slapped arse, Parekh. Something up?’
Nikki gestured to the door that DCS Clark had left through and raised her eyebrows. ‘You tell me?’
Archie wafted his hands in front of him, his tone tired, almost defeated. ‘Sit, Parekh. Yer putting my proverbials on edge standing there like a bloody high court judge. No, scrap that. Yer mair like the damn executioner and after the morning I’ve had I can dae withoot it.’
Giving in, Nikki sank into a chair and waited. However, when Archie began to speak, it wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. She’d expected some semblance of an explanation about all the weird subterfuge, but instead … ‘You’re aware that it’s unlikely DI Ferguson will return. Medically speaking, he’s not fit for the job.’
Archie’s piercing eyes met Nikki’s and her heart fluttered. Why was there a brick in her stomach? She shook her head as if to ward off whatever words Archie was about to come out with, but to no avail. Ferguson had seriously hurt his back earlier in the year on a car chase and had been off since.
‘I’ve spoken with the chief and, perhaps a wee bit reluctantly if I’m honest, she’s agreed you can step up to acting DI for the time being.’
This was the last thing she’d been expecting and she was stunned. DI? Her? Yeah, the money would be handy, but she had to consider her family too. She already put so much into the job, this just seemed like a step too far for her. Besides, she liked working with Saj. She shook her head. ‘No way, boss. No chance. You know fine and well I’d hate that. I’m an on-the-streets sort of officer. No way I want to be DI, acting or otherwise.’
Archie just nodded. ‘I was afraid ye’d say that, Parekh. So, what I’m going tae do is gi’ you a bit of time. Let you think aboot it.’ As Nikki opened her mouth to object, he raised a finger. ‘Don’t say another word. We’ve got tae get our arse in gear and speak to Springer’s next of kin before they issue a statement tae the press.’
‘You mean you and Saj, yeah? You’ll take Saj with you. He’s good at all the touchy-feely stuff.’
‘No, I mean you. I told you earlier. Stop trying tae squirm out of it. Now, hop it. I need to check her file for the address. Five minutes, okay?’
What? That was it? No mention of him ordering the recordings, no explanation of the strange request he’d made earlier and still a whole load of secrecy. This was rubbish. She glowered at Archie, making her feelings known, but he didn’t even glance her way as she moved to the door. She’d just stretched out her hand to the handle when he cleared his throat. ‘You ordered that other test, Parekh? The one I texted you about?’
Not bothering to turn round, she nodded. ‘Course, though I’d rather have been able to tell Saj. What’s the big mystery?’ She hesitated, waiting for Archie to respond, but all she heard was the rustle of papers. She half-turned and looked at him. ‘We pulled the CCTV footage from the hotel the conference was held at.’
After long seconds, Archie replied with a grunt. ‘Good. Let me know what you find, eh?’
Heart sinking, Nikki pulled the door open and walked through, desperate to escape the suffocating secrets that hung in Archie’s room. Even the stink of the big office with all its ambient variants was an improvement.
Chapter 7
Felicity’s arms ached. In fact, despite the biting cold, her entire body ached. She thought she’d felt crap when she woke up, but right now, the only thing keeping her from giving up completely was Stevie. Stevie wouldn’t cope without her so, there was only one option. She needed to get out of this mess.
She lay still for a few moments, thinking. She was on her side, on top of a metal surface, in the dark and the cold, with an itchy blanket half over her. So, they’d probably dumped her in the back of the van and driven her somewhere. The van was silent so unless they were being ultra-quiet in the driver’s cab, she thought she might be alone. Her nostrils twitched at the oily petrol smell that wafted off the cover and she regurgitated a little bit of alcoholic vomit. If she wasn’t so damn cold, she would have kicked it off already. Her arms had been pulled behind her and her wrists were bound. When she moved them, whatever was binding them became tighter, scouring her flesh and sending shooting pain up her arms and into her shoulders. Cable ties. What should she do? What could she do? She moved her legs and discovered that her feet were bound together and only the presence of her jeans was saving them from chafing her skin.
She wanted to close her eyes and give in to the pain, but instead, a glimmer of a thought flickered into their mind. At first, she was resistant and then as the flicker persisted, she realized she had no other option if she wanted to survive. At the conference, Archie had looked at her scathingly and told her she should be ‘more like Parekh’ and that might be exactly what she needed to do to stay alive. She was no Nikita Parekh, yet, much as she despised the woman … distrusted her even, she knew that the tenacious thought niggling inside her throbbing head might be the only thing that would get her out of this mess. What would Nikki Parekh do?
Against her better judgement, Felicity Springer considered her options. Parekh would probably assess her physical condition. Felicity had no real knowledge that her supposition was true. She hardly knew Parekh – not really. Any interaction was always acrimonious, yet with a conviction born of these observations and office gossip, she knew that Parekh would not just curl up and die. She would fight. That’s what she’d done the previous year and that’s what she would do in this situation. Parekh was nothing if not fearless and determined. Keeping that thought in mind, Felicity hardened her resolve and began to assess her own physical condition.
Her shoulder ached like a bastard, and she suspected the bullet had gone straight through it. The smell of fresh blood made her feel a little nauseous, yet the fact that she was conscious and relatively clear-headed told her someone had staunched the bleeding. Her right arm felt useless by her side. Every movement was like a million pinpricks concentrated on her wound and she wanted to scream. Bet bloody Parekh would just suck it up and be on her feet already. Still feeling groggy, both by her hangover from the previous night and by the waves of nausea that rolled over her every few seconds, she tried to complete her injury inventory. On a scale from one to ten, her shoulder was a definite eight – no way would she consider it a ten; she had to think like Parekh, had to keep some reserves in play, so she couldn’t allow her bullet wound to be a ten. Using her newly devised criteria, she decided that her entire body, arms, shoulders, legs, crotch … all of that was a six.
The sound of her own breathing roared in her head, disorientating her. She needed to channel Nikki, so she slowed her breathing right down, long slow breaths and gradually she was able to focus on listening. She held her breath and strained her ears to see if she could hear the faint breathing of anyone else beside her. Nothing. There’d definitely been someone in distress in the transit van she’d followed. Had they been injured in the impact? Was she lying next to a dead person? The thought freaked her out and she began to drag in big breaths that increased her pain tenfold. Get a grip, Fliss. Get a bloody grip. You deal with cold cases, skeletonized corpses and bodies every day. Get a damn grip. The only difference was, she was in control then. Now she was at the mercy of some unknown assailant, in the middle of God knows where, channelling her inner bloody Parekh. If nothing else told her how bad the situation was, that one thing did.
‘Hello?’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded tremulous. She tried again a little louder, but not too loud in case someone was in the front cab of the van, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ Still nothing, so either she was alone or the person whose arm she’d seen through the taillight was unconscious. With determination she pushed away the addendum … ‘Or dead.’ She was not going to think that way. She was alive, she was able to move a little, she was alone. All of the above were things she could use to her advantage.
She rocked a little on her side – tentative and controlled. A groan escaped her lips as she fell back into her original position. Body, six and a half more like – not a seven though. No, she couldn’t allow the rest of her body to be a seven. It had to be well below the most painful injury on the pain scale. This was going to be hard. She took a deep breath and tried to roll onto her back, so she could see better. It wasn’t quite absolute darkness. There were shadows and shapes looming around her, some larger than others and some smaller. All she had to do was focus and she might find something to help her escape from her current predicament. All she had to do was overcome her pain and move round the vehicle, surely there would be something in here to help her.
Using her bound feet for leverage, Felicity began to push herself backwards to where she thought the front of the van was. Maybe she’d find a tool, something to cut her ties, something she could use as a weapon. Her head banged gently against a solid surface and she tilted her head, trying to work out what it was, but the light was too dim. Using her feet to propel her round so her hands could feel the surface, she ignored the warm blood that trickled from her shoulder and ended up pooling at her wrists. She got herself in position and strained her shoulder upwards, so her hands could touch the surface, and almost cried when she realized that instead of heading to the front of the vehicle, she’d slithered herself to the back instead.
She was at the door, but there was no way she could either stand up or reach the handle to open it, which, knowing her luck would be locked anyway. Her shoulders slumped, and the sensation of sticky blood on her bare hands and wrists was gross. She hated dirt, hated gore, hated anything like that. Stevie often teased her about nappies and baby sick. Not her fault if she had an aversion to all that crap. The glimmer of Nikki Parekh was in danger of fading; pain was hitting a nine. Can’t let it hit ten. If it gets to ten, I might as well give up.
She moved her wrists, tried to wipe some of the blood off onto her sleeve. It strained her shoulders, but she was prepared to bottle the pain if she could just get rid of that horrid stickiness. At the back of her mind she was aware that she was becoming a little hysterical … a little panicked, still she kept flexing and unflexing her wrists, desperate to get rid of the cloying gunge. It was invading her nostrils with its coppery abattoir smell. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she kept frantically moving. It wasn’t a sudden awareness that the cable ties were shifting with her movements, more of a gradual dawning. Her moving hands slowed as she savoured the fact that the ties moved up and down her wrists without causing quite so much pain – a four now instead of a six. She tried twisting them to the right and then to the left – definitely slacker. The blood from her shoulder was lubricating the cable ties making it easier for her to move them. If she could only persevere a bit more – channel a bit more Parekh – then maybe she could get out of them. Separating her wrists as wide as she could, she began moving again – this time more frantic. It was sore – course it was – a seven, maybe nearly an eight, the cable ties were digging into her wrists, despite the lubrication, but the gap between her wrists was getting wider. Finally, breathless, sore and tired, Felicity reckoned she had created enough slack.
First, she tried to yank both hands out together, but all she succeeded in doing was hurting her wrists even more. It was then she had the idea of manoeuvring one bloody hand out at a time. Keeping her fingers as close together as she could, and tucking her thumb in, she pulled her right hand up whilst sliding her left down trying to maximize the space between them. It took a few attempts and when she finally succeeded, her right arm jerked, causing a sharp dagger to shoot through her shoulder. Dizzy and gasping in pain, her breath rasping in her throat, she couldn’t quite believe she’d managed to get out of the cable ties. Her fingers were numb as the blood flooded them – ten fat sausages on the end of her hands. A definite eight. Not a nine though, definitely not a nine. Take that Parekh. Just take that!
Now what? Freer now, Felicity rolled onto her back and brought her hands round to rest on her stomach. Forcing herself to block out the pain, she wiggled her digits, willing her circulation to do its job, willing the numbness to go so she could use them. After what seemed like ages, she rested her elbows on either side of her body, and minimizing the pressure on her still recovering hands, she got herself into a sitting position, leaning against the door. Her feet didn’t have the same numbness she had experienced in her hands and it took her a moment to realize that the ties weren’t as tight around her feet. If she pulled the material from her jeans up that would loosen them even more and if she removed her ankle boots, she’d be able to get them off completely. She’d be untethered.
The thought spurred her into action and she forced her clumsy fingers to first pull her jeans out from under the ties and then she was able to pull the ties further up her leg as she unzipped her boots. She took frequent breaks to rest her shoulder which, though she was loathe to admit it, was now hitting nine, possibly even nine and a half. She needed to get out of there. Needed to get out of this damn metal coffin. Needed to get back to Stevie. She’d never admit to anyone that she’d channelled Nikki Parekh of all people to help her. No, that would be her secret – one she’d take with her to the grave. Unable to bend down one more time, Felicity jiggled one foot at a time until her boots were nearly off and then, with a final effort, managed to flip them off completely, before manoeuvring one foot, then the other from the cables.
The relief was like a tsunami knocking her backwards against the metal panels. But it was short-lived. She gasped as she realized time might not be on her side. Felicity shuffled over to her boots, rammed them on and clambered to her feet, her hands outstretched and feeling for the handles that would guarantee her release.
Her hand latched onto the mechanism at the same time as a grinding sound reached her. Someone was coming in. Someone was nearby. Fear flooded her body as she wondered whether they would check on her, and if they would look to make sure that she was still secured. Falling to her knees, Felicity grabbed the cables and put one foot in, lay on her left side facing the door with her hands clasped behind her and shrugged the smelly fabric half over her body, praying that they would assume that if her position was changed it was done en route to wherever they were. She closed her eyes. Better if they thought she was still unconscious.
The door opened, and torch light bounced around the van. Focusing on keeping her breathing steady and not flinching, Felicity waited. A slight dip of the vehicle told her someone had entered, and seconds later she smelled the faint but familiar tang of a citrusy aftershave that made her stomach lurch. Please don’t notice the cables, please don’t notice the cables. What is he doing?
‘What you waiting for? Get the fuck up here. Find out if he’s still with us. Then get the body disposed of. Get a move on.’
Felicity froze. That voice … did she recognize it? Was it someone she knew or was she just imagining it?
‘Yes boss.’ The second voice was raspy, like he’d smoked too many full tars over his lifetime and then the van dropped again as a second man entered. ‘Nope, still alive.’
The words chilled Felicity; they were going kill her. Kill her and dump her. The vehicle dipped once more, and shoes scraped against metal. A third person. So at least three in total. The familiar citrusy scent was replaced by sweat and stale smoke. Felicity tried to think. What the hell would Parekh do? Should she try to make it to the door? She was weak and stiff. She could barely stand upright without effort, there was no way she could use the element of surprise – not in her condition. The only option she had was to play dead. Maybe if they thought she was dead, or even just unconscious, they’d just dump her and not bother killing her. Maybe then she’d have a chance.
