* * *

Ruth was pleased to put the drive to Slaithwaite off until the next day. She had one or two bits and pieces to see to, and then she’d be off home. Jake was coming round and they needed to talk.

It was make or break time for their relationship.

“I think I’ll call it a day. See you all in the morning!” Calladine reached for his coat.

“With any luck you’ll get that ‘downtime’ that’s proving so elusive, sir. A bite to eat, a warm fire and a drop of good scotch—the perfect evening,” Ruth smiled.

If only her evening could be so enjoyable. She sighed. Was it all worth it? Could she survive without the job if she had to choose between it and Jake? Financially, she could; Ruth was not a spender

—she saved, and had done since she’d been a child. She’d inherited money when her parents had died. No, it wasn’t the money she needed—it was the job itself. She loved it.

Jake didn’t understand. He couldn’t get his head round how she could be so into chasing lunatics and apprehending killers. Mind you he didn’t understand her hobby either. According to him it took her away far too often. She had been planning a trip to the Isle of Lewis in the Hebrides, birdwatching, well raptor watching really, but he wasn’t keen. If she wanted time away he’d prefer to go somewhere warm—together.

* * *

Zoe was at home with Jo. Not that Calladine minded—not really. But it meant that the downtime would have to wait a while.

They had music playing—alien noises filled his sitting room, and Jo was singing at the top of her voice. Both girls looked at each other and laughed as he appeared in the doorway.

“Oops—thought you’d be late.” Zoe turned the volume down.

“Hope you don’t mind, but we thought we’d eat here for change—spend some time with you.” His daughter smiled.

Did that smack of wanting something? News to reveal that he might not like? Calladine didn’t have much experience of fatherhood, but he was a fast learner.

“I’ve cooked,” she announced. “Well—Jo has, and it’s one of her specialities—spaghetti bolognaise.”

“Made the way my granny used to make it. She was half Italian and practically brought me up.”

There was an appetising smell coming from his kitchen. She was telling the truth then. The log burner had been stoked up, making the small cottage warm and cosy. This was a much better homecoming than the empty house he was used to.

“You look fed up, Mr Calladine.” Jo gave him a sympathetic smile. “Is something bothering you? I hope it’s not us being here.”

“No—definitely not you. But something’s usually bothering me;

work mostly—and please, call me Tom. ‘Mr Calladine’ just doesn’t sit right.”

“Work?”

“That and my DCI—penny-pinching sod that he is. I need to make some phone calls to the States—to check on the whereabouts of a number of young women, but he won’t allow it because of the cost. How in this world he expects us to get the job done—well…it beggars belief. Then, of course, there’s my murdering rogue of a cousin.”

“Perhaps I could help—well not with the cousin thing. I don’t do families. But I do come from the States, and I have a friend—a policeman who works for the NYPD. I’m sure if I asked him he’d make the enquiries for you.”

“Won’t he be too busy? They must have quite a workload in New York.”

“You’re not wrong! He’s based in Queens—a borough of New York—and there’s never a dull moment. But he won’t mind, Devon’s one of the good guys.”

“Devon? Is that his surname?”

“No. His name is Devon DeAngelo. Devon’s his first name.”

“Isn’t the name a little flamboyant for a detective?”

“Not where I come from.” She laughed. “You’d like him, he’s a cool guy.”

“Serena Hall—one of the girls—came from Queens.”

“Then Devon has a vested interest; so much the better. I’ll ring him and set up a meeting. Once that’s done you can speak to him on Skype.”

That wasn’t a bad idea at all. They could use Skype at work too.

That’d cut out the costs completely, and they’d finally be entering the twenty-first century!

Jo checked her watch. “Just after six here, so it’ll be about twelve noon in the US. I’ll ring him later. He’ll be working now.”

She was turning out to be okay. She had contacts—ones he could use. And judging from the smell coming from the kitchen, she could cook too.

“That’s very good of you, Jo. I appreciate the help.”

“Wait and see what Devon comes up with first. He’s okay; he’ll do what he can. Here’s his email.” She scribbled it on a card. “Do you guys want to eat now?”

* * *

She could see lights twinkling in the darkness. Patsy Lumis squinted slightly, trying to make out what they were; candles, she thought. There were dozens of them all around the room and they gave off a sweet aroma—roses. She tried to raise herself up off whatever she was lying on. It wasn’t easy. Her head hurt, and every muscle in her body demanded rest. She was lying on an old, lumpy mattress on the floor. Why was that? At the very least she expected to wake up in Jack’s bed. Why had he left her here like this?

It took a little effort, but she got groggily to her feet. Most of her clothes had gone—well, from the waist down they had. Patsy looked for something to wrap around herself but couldn’t see anything. She hauled at the hem of her blouse, trying to pull it down over her hips. She wasn’t cold; there was heating somewhere.

She couldn’t see a fire, so radiators perhaps. But where was Jack?

He’d rendered her unconscious and taken her clothes. But why?

As she took a few tentative steps, she realised that she was terribly sore between her legs—and then she understood. They must have had sex, rough sex, and more than once from the way she felt. Why would he do that? Why would he drug her? Surely he must have realised that she was more than happy to sleep with him. Why else would she have come away with him in the first place? The questions accelerated the panic.

She tried to rationalise her situation, perhaps this was some sort of game. Perhaps he’d appear any second and make everything right. But the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach was saying something else. This was no game. This was horribly serious, and she needed to get out.

Patsy Lumis felt her way around the room. The candles didn’t emit enough light for her to see her surroundings properly. She took hold of one and carefully walked around the perimeter. The room was a narrow oblong and the walls were stone. There was the mattress on the stone flags, but no carpet. The only piece of furniture was what looked like an old dentist’s chair in the far corner. There was nothing else. She shuddered; she hated going to the dentist. She opened a wall cupboard above the chair and shuddered again—dental instruments, a whole array of them in gleaming steel. Where the hell was she?

“You really are a nosey girl, aren’t you, Vida?”

The voice seemed to come from the far wall. Was there a door there? She hadn’t heard anyone come in.

“Jack! Is that you? Can you switch some more lights on? I don’t like the dark,” she said, still trying to maintain some hope that this was going to turn out all right.

The room filled with manic laughter that echoed inside her head.

What was so funny about asking for light?

“No, Vida, and you’re not going anywhere, so get used to it.

You’re going to stay here for a while. If you’re good, I’ll let you keep those perfect white teeth of yours for a little longer. If not, then they’ll go into my collection.”

Patsy burst into tears. He was frightening her and she was shaking. Surely he couldn’t mean what he said. Why was he being so cruel?

“So now you know my little weakness, Vida. I enjoy playing at dentists. Perhaps you’ll disobey me, and then you can play along too. I’d like that. But even my weakness for dentistry pales beside my weakness for you, Vida. You are my major failing, my true path.