Imposition (DI Gardener 5)

“Quickly, please, follow that cab.”

“What do you think this is, love, The Italian Job?”

“I’m serious. My husband is in that cab and he’s really unwell. He’s going home for his medication, only, he hasn’t got the house keys. I have.”

The cab driver’s expression said he wasn’t sure.

“For God’s sake, hurry up. He might bloody well die if we hang around much longer.”

Any doubts were quickly washed away when she stuffed one hundred pounds in his hands. They set off at the speed of light, and fifteen minutes later, the taxi in front pulled into a long drive that had a mill house at the end, in Sowerby. She had the driver stop so she could jump out.

“Is everything going to be okay, love?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What about your change? It’s only cost twenty pounds.”

“It’s your lucky night, then.”

Grace closed the door and strolled up the path, watching as Critchley’s taxi passed her.

Outside the house, she stood, observing for ten minutes as lights went on and off in different rooms. He was pacing, obviously pissed off because he’d been stood up. Being in that house with him tonight would be no picnic.

Before Grace left she noticed a blue VW Beetle parked outside a garage.

She made a note of the registration.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Mary was brutally dragged into consciousness through a combination of three things; she had little time to decide which was worse.

The first was going from absolute darkness to an overwhelming amount of light, which not only dazzled but hurt her eyes.

“Wakey, wakey, rise and shine.”

The second was the sheer amount of sound, from dead silence to someone screaming at the top of his voice at such a volume that it was enough to make her sick.

“Come on, Mary, for fuck’s sake. It’s six o’clock.”

Mary was going dizzy.

“Please... please, whoever you are, please stop it.”

The third was the bucket of freezing cold water.

Mary screamed from the shock. That was the point at which she realised she was naked.

An unseen hand slapped her right cheek, the sting equivalent to the cold water, forcing her head to bounce against the wall behind her.

“What have I done to you?” shouted Mary. “Please stop hurting me.”

The hand grabbed and pulled her hair. “If you want me to stop hurting you, stop begging.”

Dazed, cold, frightened, and shaking like a leaf, she finally focused her eyes. Glancing around the room, it was very stark. Four bare brick walls, with one door in and out. A couple of steel racks had been fastened to the concrete floor. A number of power tools were lined up, as was a big red toolbox in the corner.

Standing in front of her was the man who had been asking about Manfred yesterday – at least she thought it was yesterday. He had said it was six o’clock, but as there were no windows, she didn’t know if it was morning or evening. He was wearing a dark blue boiler suit, which was also stained; from what, Mary had no idea. “Are you awake, Mary?”

She was on top of a dirty mattress. Her clothes were on one of the shelves. She was tied to a radiator. It was cold.