Glass dolls, p.17
Glass Dolls, page 17
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. His hands are around my neck. I’m going to die in this slaughterhouse. The darkness drags its blanket of shadows across my vision and I know this is it.
My last thought is of my sister. I hope she knows it isn’t her fault.
Chapter Thirty-five
As Dove made her way home, her other phone rang, and she answered quickly. “Adrik? You all right?”
“Yeah, thanks for the bottle, Aleesha was so happy you made it. Your mate Jack’s a wanker, though.”
She ignored this. “How’s Aleesha doing?”
“She’s so happy, and Josiah is fucking awesome. We should be home in a couple of days. He’s got jaundice, but the doctor says it should be fine. Anytime you wanna come and see us, just let me know.”
She laughed, slipping quickly back into character as sharp-tongued Kelly. “Just me and another bottle, I know. What about Jack? Unless you want him to come too?”
He laughed, as she had known he would, and told her to fuck off. “Nah, just you.”
“That’s good. I’ve got to go now . . .”
“I did have one other thing,” he said. “There’s gonna be a bit of a thing going off on Northwood Estate tonight. They say they’re bringing knives to finish a job.” He named a couple of rival gangs, and Dove noted them, the familiar names jogging her memory.
This was classic Adrik, ringing for a chat, leaving his information right to the end of the call. “Thanks, mate, and you know Aleesha is epic, right?”
“She’s my girl.”
Dove turned off the hands-free and pulled over, grabbing her iPad. She hastily typed up the phone call. Not just money this time for Adrik, but the secret thrills of taking down a rival.
She put a few calls through and informed her co-handler — who, as expected, was snippy about the fact Adrik had rung Dove and not him.
“This is Nantich Valley area so I’m just passing info,” Dove told him briskly. She had no time for bruised egos.
“How’s the murder case going?”
“How do you think?” she retorted.
“Slippery bastard, this one,” Zak agreed, before he rang off.
Dove was exhausted, but she knew she had to see Gaia. She needed to satisfy herself about the drugs, to lay her doubts to rest.
“Hey, Alex, is Gaia with you tonight?”
“She’s talking to Ren. Why? Is there any news?”
“No, I just thought I might drop in and see you all,” Dove said.
By the time she got over to Ren and Alex’s, it was gone eleven, and yet again she had that sick feeling that goes with too little sleep. Her brain was sluggish and even as she entered the house and saw Gaia, curled like a panther on the sofa, her amber eyes glittering with emotion, she had second thoughts.
“Dove!” Ren was red-eyed and pale, but maintained her chemically induced calm as Alex brought her a glass of wine.
“Have you heard anything?” Gaia asked. Her tight black sweater and leather trousers clung like a second skin.
“No. Lindsey will have told you everything we have on Delta,” Dove said.
“This Tough Justice thing?” Alex looked sceptical. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased at anything that helps get her back, but I can’t see her being involved in that kind of thing . . .”
“Don’t be an idiot, Alex, she’s a smart teenager, with no illusions about life. Why shouldn’t she turn vigilante for a bit?” Gaia told him.
He sat next to his wife, one arm around her shoulders, his forehead furrowed. “Lindsey said that they’ve managed to track down a possible candidate for the mystery caller. David Bollington, also known as Bollo, swims with the performance team at Delta’s club.”
“But he’s gone walkabout too,” Ren said softly. “His parents can’t find him, and his flatmate doesn’t know where he is.”
“But that might be good,” Dove suggested. “If he’s with Delta, then she’s probably safe, isn’t she?” She was trying to find a good moment to bring up the drugs question, but God help her, she couldn’t. Gaia was actually speaking to her, and her other sister and her brother-in-law looked like they hadn’t slept since Delta’s disappearance. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t break that fragile bond between them.
When she said she had to go, an hour later, Gaia walked out with her, saying she also needed to make a move.
They got down the garden path past Alex’s workshop, as far as the road, before Dove decided she had to ask. “Gaia, do you know anything about any of the club girls doing drugs?”
Her sister, tall and elegant in the shadows, paused, one hand brushing the hedgerow. “No. I mean they don’t.” She peered at Dove. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know if there is any way your past could be coming back into this?”
“Your colleagues already asked that,” Gaia said icily.
“I know, but let’s say I’m worried about the drugs angle and I don’t want any of this to fall back on you, especially when we’re all taking a hit with Delta’s disappearance and the murders.”
“Fuck you, Dove. I don’t deal anymore. That’s what you’re delicately trying to hint at, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t want my family in trouble, that’s all. We’ve been through enough. It isn’t that I don’t trust you . . .”
Gaia turned and stalked away without another word, slamming the car door and pulling away with a screech of tyres.
Dove stood in the dappled moonlight, shoulders drooping, still feeling the icy blast of her sister’s anger.
As she got into her own car, she could see a figure at Delta’s bedroom window. Ren. She was looking out while she pulled the curtains closed. Silhouetted through the thin fabric against the lighted room, Alex joined her and put his arms around his wife, her head on his shoulder.
Chapter Thirty-six
I watch my reflection in the dusty mirror, noting my dull complexion, my greasy hair and my deadened eyes. I am old and faded, trapped like a songbird in a cage.
The baby plays in the filth beside me. Somewhere outside, I can hear the seabirds scream, celebrating my special day.
It happens quickly, my birthday miracle. He stumbles in, clutching his chest, burbling helplessly. I’ve never seen him like this — he’s always so strong and sure of himself.
Now, terror lights his grey eyes. His face is grey too, and wet with moisture. Through my drug-addled haze I realize what’s happening, and although my actions are slow, I manage to pick up the child.
I judge the situation. He’s still on his feet, but swaying, gasping for breath. I need to get him out the way, but I need to take care he doesn’t injure the baby.
It doesn’t take long before he slumps to the floor, his breathing now just a rattle, long and drawn-out, pausing far too long before the next desperate gasp of air.
I pause at the top of the stairs, giddy from the aftermath of my injection, elated by the feel of warmth on my skin, the sight of fields of heather, the wide open blue sky. But urgency drives me to turn and shut the cellar door. Putting the child down briefly, I drive the bolts home. Panting with fear and exertion, I secure the rusty padlock.
I hope he’s conscious on some level and I hope he dies in the darkness in terror and agony, before descending into hell, or wherever the truly evil end up.
After so long in captivity, I am bewildered by the outside world, blinking mole-like at the sunlit heaven we have ascended to.
Elan crows with delight, running his tiny fingers through the grass and heather, his round, chubby face lifted up to the sun. My baby has my dark hair and blue eyes. He is my child and he has no father. He is the only reason I am still alive.
I don’t know how long we sit there, just absorbing the light, adjusting to our new environment, breathing the sweetness of the fresh air. I can see the shack that I suppose he lived in, long lines of drystone walls, and a pen of goats. A flash of fear worms its way up as I consider that there may be others. But I’ve only ever seen or heard him, and he has complained forever about how bored he has been, stuck out here with just me for company.
Sometimes he left us for days on end, so he must have gone to a town or something to find entertainment and company. This gives me hope that we might be able to find someone to help us. My brain fog blurs over pictures of my family. They must think I’m dead. Everyone I ever knew must think I am dead. Except one.
He’s never been to see me since I was passed to my captor, this fat, red-headed man with the bored smile and huge belly. This man who must now be dead, or still writhing in agony. I hope it’s the latter.
The heather and grass stretch as far as the horizon on all sides, but I can smell the sea, taste the salt and hear the gulls riding the spring breezes. I see no people, no cars, roads or signposts. I have no idea where we are in the world. My hands are spread wide across the ground, fingers stroking the earth, the leaves, the rough stalks of plants and the delicate little white rosette flowers that have sprung up in some moss.
The days were marked by the calendars he gave me. This wasn’t because he was being kind, it was so that I could see my life wasting away underground. But now we are free, my boy and me. Tears are running down my cheeks, coursing down my jutting chest bones and soaking my thin dress. I am free.
Eventually, cursing the drugs still running through my veins, making me clumsy and blurring my vision, I gather my child up into my arms and we start to explore.
For days, as the drugs slowly leave my system, I can barely function. The vividness of the colours, the strangeness of it all, leaves me breathless and emotional.
Elan is pure joy to watch, as he scampers around, half-crawling, half-walking, strengthening both our muscles in his explorations. There is canned food and water in the shack, the sofa is heaped with rugs for a bed, and we use the bathroom, revelling in the shower water splashing against our skin. I won’t sleep in his bed, but I will take anything else he has to offer.
I find his mobile phone, and a stash of money in a drawer in the wooden desk. There is no signal out here in the wilderness, and I can’t get into his phone through the lock code. The money is welcome, and by the fifth day, I am starting to make a plan. Although there is nothing to tell us where we are in the world, I assume some islands in the north. It’s cool and often breezy. I’ve become convinced I can hear the sea in the far distance.
The scenery and wildlife aren’t too unfamiliar, so I assume we are still in the UK. I was drugged senseless on the drive here, all those years ago, but we started off in a van, and when I was dragged out of it, we seemed to have arrived at our final destination.
It was dark, I remember that . . . I shake the memories away. If I am to survive, I need to move forward as fast as I can and never look back.
There is a rusty old Land Rover in the shed to the side of the shack, but I haven’t managed to find a key for it yet. I don’t even know if it works.
After a furious search, I ascertain that my captor must have the keys in his pocket. There is no other place he would have put them, and it makes sense that he would keep them close. He must have unlocked the padlock with a key on the ring.
I curse myself for not searching his body before I left him, but I must get those keys or we’ll be stuck here forever. This means going down into the cellar to a dead body. I hope. He has to be dead by now, doesn’t he?
The wave of sick terror that hits me triggers a full-blown panic attack, and I have to sit in the sun for a while until I’ve calmed down. Elan, playing in a patch of dirt, is ignorant of my loss of control and pushes his grubby fingers after a snail trail.
I wait until midday before I creep over to the cellar. The padlock is locked and he has the keys. My brain is slow to respond and I panic that I’m going mad. Common sense tells me it’s just as a result of being held captive underground for so long, and fed a diet of mind-bending chemicals.
He told me what he gave me, and explained why. It made me wonder if he had a medical background, but I suppose you can look these things up on the internet, just as you can buy pretty much anything on the Dark Web.
I doubt Amazon would deliver out here, though . . . I force myself to stop dithering and fetch a saw and hammer from the big rack of tools in the kitchen.
With Elan watching, I get the door open, take a deep breath and let light flood the cellar. Part of me is convinced he will rush up and grab us both, forcing us into darkness once more.
But I’m nothing if not a survivor, so I finally walk slowly down the steps, finding the body at the bottom. The stench makes me vomit, and as I reach down to his coat pocket, I think he moves, and pull back so fast I tear my arm on a rusty nail in the wall.
The keys are in my hand, and I rush back out to the sunlight and my baby, banging the door shut behind me.
On the seventh day they come for us.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Quinn’s flat wasn’t too far away. Without giving herself time to think, Dove drove straight over, knowing he was home. She would do it now.
“Dove!” He looked surprised, but pleased to see her.
“I just thought I’d stop by and we could have a chat,” she said, nerves starting to jangle.
They went inside, and he poured a glass of wine for them both. His flat was sparsely furnished, but clean and tidy.
Dove took a tiny sip of her drink, and leaned over, slipping her fingers into his. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Before he could speak, she told him, all of it. The nightmares, the fear of him seeing her panicking, losing control, and finally, the baby she had visited today.
“That’s a lot to take in.” His eyes were soft, his touch on her hand gentle and warm. “I haven’t liked to push you. You went through so much after the attack. I always saw a future for us. I must be one of the only blokes I know who starts thinking about weddings on the first date.” He laughed. “I did think we would have kids, but, Dove, I love you, and if being with you means we don’t have children that would be all right, it really would.”
Tears slid off her lashes, splashing down her cheeks. “I know. I’m sorry I kept pushing you away. I kept thinking you might find someone less difficult, someone who could have babies . . . Quinn, I want us to be together again. Will you move in with me?” She snorted with laughter through her tears. “God, I feel like I should go down on one knee.”
He was laughing too. Moving his hand from hers, he reached inside the coffee table drawer and produced a small box. “Funny you should say that.”
“Oh my God . . .” Her heart was pounding so loudly, she held a hand to her chest, as he slid down on one knee.
“Dove, I bought this ring a week before you were hurt.” He popped open the box to reveal an antique emerald and diamond in a simple gold setting. It was delicate, tiny and beautiful. “Will you marry me?”
“Shit!” She was laughing again, crying too as she forced the words out. “I would love to marry you, Quinn.”
A few hours later, they lay in his bed, moonlight brightening the small room, shining on the ring now on Dove’s finger.
“I need to go home. I haven’t got any clothes here.”
“You look better without them,” he murmured.
“Cheesy.” She dropped a kiss on his forehead. “And you have to be up for work in three hours.”
Quinn sat up, his hair ruffled, yawning. “Okay, but drive carefully.”
She slid out of bed, still admiring the ring, tugging on her clothes. “Love you.” It sounded tentative but right.
“Love you too.”
Despite her late night, Dove slept surprisingly well, and arrived at work with a feeling of optimism. After much deliberation, she had tucked her ring back in its box and hidden it at the back of her sock drawer. It was so new and so private she only wanted to share the news with Quinn at the moment, to be in their own private bubble.
When Delta was home safe, when the case was over, she would tell her family and friends. But for now, she would hug her secret close to her heart.
In the office, she was greeted by Lindsey waving at her across the crowded room.
“I’ve found Taj. I’ve got an address in Leaf Road, and we’re heading out now.” Her expression was triumphant, but the fact that she had shared the information before chasing him down suggested another softening of attitude towards Dove.
Blackman, passing with a sheaf of paperwork, addressed Lindsey. “Bring him in. I want to know everything he knows about Delta Matthews and David Bollington.”
“Right, boss.”
Dove found herself biting a thumbnail and whipped her hand away from her mouth like a guilty child. The peace and happiness she had rediscovered last night was washed away in the frustration of not being part of Delta’s investigation. But she forced herself to calm down. Her own murder investigation was enough, not to mention her co-handling.
Adrik had called on her way into work, talking about the load of tech he had shifted yesterday, and about how he had lost two friends in the last six months and didn’t want Tommy to go the same way, but was worried about him.
He didn’t offer any information this time, but it was all relationship-building. He clearly felt at ease with her again, but he did tell her straight that he wouldn’t call Jack while she was around. His argument was that if there was a meet, he was happy for Jack to be there, but he felt no need to build a relationship with his co-handler when he could rely on her.
This was not how she had hoped things would progress. When she called Zak to report this, he was pretty pissed about the situation, accusing her of trying to keep a foot in each camp, which she hotly denied.
“Come off it, Dove, you can’t do your job with Blackman, and keep Adrik tied to your apron strings as well. You need to get him prepared for the final cut and lay it on the line.”
Furious, Dove snapped back. “I need to get him happy with working for us again before I start pushing him away. It’s pretty obvious you have a different relationship with your CHIS than I do with mine.”
