Scared to Death (A Detective Kay Hunter novel) Read online

  SCARED TO DEATH

  A DETECTIVE KAY HUNTER NOVEL

  RACHEL AMPHLETT

  SAXON PUBLISHING

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  From the Author

  Copyright

  ONE

  Yvonne Richards grasped the notepaper in her hands, the page creased within her grip. The writing had been scrawled in haste, slipping over the faint blue lines that intersected the sheet.

  ‘Tony? Hurry.’

  ‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ he said, through gritted teeth.

  The retort brought tears to her eyes as he cleared his throat.

  ‘What’s the name of the street again?’

  She lifted her thumb off the paper, noticing the warmth from her skin had blurred the ink, and squinted at the handwriting.

  ‘Innovation Way.’

  She lifted the notepaper from where her hand had been resting on her leg, and peered at it once more. Tony’s writing was appalling at the best of times, but now she struggled to read it. The writing had deteriorated because his hands had been shaking so much when he’d heard the caller’s voice.

  ‘East or West?’

  ‘West.’

  He turned too early, the car hitting a dead end within a few yards.

  He hit the brakes, both of them straining against the seatbelts across their chests.

  ‘No, no. The next one!’

  ‘You said it was this one.’

  ‘No – I said West. Innovation Way West.’

  He swore under his breath, slammed the car into reverse, and swung it onto the main thoroughfare before turning at the next junction.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry.’

  She let her hand drop to her lap, clutching the page for fear she would lose it before they could reach their destination, and stifled a sob.

  A hand reached out for hers, and she wound her fingers around his, seeking strength.

  She found none.

  His hands were as clammy as hers, and he was still shaking.

  ‘Both hands on the wheel, Tony,’ she murmured, and squeezed his fingers.

  She swallowed as her eyes swept across his tanned skin.

  Even his hair had lightened in the glare of the Italian sun. Her own hair was frizzy from the humidity, her skin pale by comparison, and she’d envied him that healthy glow as they stepped off the plane three days ago.

  Before they’d reached the house.

  Before the phone call.

  His hand retreated, and the car accelerated towards a mini-roundabout set into the road.

  Yvonne tore her eyes away from the address written on the paper, and stared out the passenger window.

  The industrial estate had never fully recovered from the recession, with only a few small businesses eking out a living on the outer fringes of the area. The glass and concrete superstructures of the bigger enterprises that had lined the inner sanctum of the centre of the estate lay dormant, while empty windows stared accusingly at the quiet roads that encircled them, and faded letting agency signs flapped forlornly against mesh fencing.

  The ornamental landscaping that had been so carefully tended now resembled a hodgepodge of ill-placed tropical plants fighting off common weeds determined to reclaim their territory.

  Yvonne shivered, and tore her eyes away, then cried out and wrapped her hand around the armrest.

  Tony corrected the wheel as the rear tyre clipped a kerbstone before they exited the roundabout, then exhaled.

  She relaxed her grip, and retrieved the notepaper from the foot well, smoothing it over her knee.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  He’d never been a great driver, and Yvonne realised he’d probably never driven as fast as this in his entire life. Certainly not in the nearly twenty years they’d been together.

  Melanie had already informed them she was taking over the organisation of the anniversary party.

  ‘It’ll be great,’ she’d said.

  Yvonne blinked, and wiped a tear away.

  ‘It’ll be okay.’

  She didn’t reply, and instead focused on the road in front of them.

  ‘What number?’

  ‘Thirty-five.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It could be thirty-six.’

  Tony swore under his breath.

  ‘It’s thirty-five. I’m sure.’

  The car slowed to a crawl, and she peered through the window.

  ‘I can’t see any numbers.’

  ‘Keep looking.’

  Yvonne shaded her eyes from the sunlight cresting the buildings, and strained to find a clue to their whereabouts.

  Here and there, kids had taken to the walls of the industrial spaces with spray cans, familiar graffiti tags dotted across doorways and signs that warned of CCTV cameras and security guards with dogs, which hadn’t been seen on the estate for over two years.

  ‘Fifteen,’ Tony called out.

  She spun around to face him, but he was peering through his window as he kept the car at a steady pace, his knuckles white as he grasped the steering wheel.

  As the derelict buildings passed by, her mouth ran dry while she tried to push away thoughts of Melanie held captive within the confines of one of them.

  She’d only been wearing a thin vest top and jeans when Yvonne had last seen her five days ago.

  Five days.

  The phone had rung late last Friday night, four hours after they’d returned from the airport. Tony had been sitting on one of the barstools at the kitchen worktop, an open bottle of wine next to him, a glass of red between his fingers while he’d flicked through the free newspaper. She’d dropped her bag on the surface, and accepted the second glass he’d held out to her.

  ‘Where’s Mel?’

  ‘Not home yet.’

  Yvonne had checked her watch. ‘
She’d better hurry up, or she’ll get no dinner.’

  Tony had grunted non-committedly, and topped up his own wine. ‘Probably hanging out with that Thomas girl.’

  ‘I wish she wouldn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, but you tell her that, and she’ll do it anyway.’

  Then the phone had interrupted them, and their lives had changed forever.

  Now, Yvonne leaned forward in her seat, resting her hand on the dashboard as the car eased past the next padlocked fence. ‘That’s it. That’s the one.’

  Tony swerved the car over to the kerbside and cut the engine.

  She heard his breathing, heavy on his lips, and wondered if she sounded the same to him. She couldn’t tell – her heartbeat was hammering so hard, the sound of her blood roared in her ears.

  He reached for the door handle.

  ‘Wait.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘What if he’s still here?’

  Tony glanced over his shoulder. ‘We just dropped a bag with twenty thousand pounds in it two miles away,’ he snapped. ‘Do you really think he’s going to hang around here to thank us?’

  Yvonne pursed her lips, and shook her head.

  ‘Right, then.’

  He shrugged her hand away, and she watched as he rocked his head from side to side, as if psyching himself up, before he placed his hand against the car door and pushed it open.

  She launched herself out of the car after him.

  When they approached the fence, Tony grasped the chain that looped through the wire openings.

  It fell easily through his fingers.

  ‘It’s unlocked,’ said Yvonne.

  ‘He said it would be.’

  She could hear it then, the fear crawling through his voice, replacing the brisk no-nonsense tone he’d tried to maintain since they’d left the house.

  ‘Did he say where—’

  ‘Yes. Follow me.’

  Instinctively, she reached out for his hand, and he took hers between his fingers, gave it a squeeze, and then set off towards the side of the building.

  She knew now how scared he really was. She couldn’t recall the last time they’d held hands. Lately all they’d done was bicker and snipe at each other over the smallest inconsequential things.

  Melanie had always been a daddy’s girl, and Yvonne fought down the surge of jealousy that threatened.

  She just wanted her back.

  Now.

  The building’s windows mirrored their reflection as they passed. A dark-coloured privacy sheen had been applied, preventing her seeing into the rooms beyond. She craned her neck, taking in the three-storey concrete monolith. Any corporate signage had been stripped away when the tenants had vacated the premises, and walls that had been stained an off-white tone when first built now resembled something closer to off-grey. Dirt and grime fought an equal battle with graffiti, and faded signs depicting evacuation zones and fire exits hung to the surface in places, the doors boarded up and unwelcoming.

  ‘How are we going to get in?’

  ‘He said one of these would be open.’

  Sure enough, towards the rear of the building, they discovered a solid steel door. Although it was closed, a discarded padlock lay on the pockmarked asphalt of the perimeter.

  Tony reached out for the handle.

  ‘Wait.’

  He frowned. ‘What?’

  She swallowed. ‘Shouldn’t you cover your hand? In case the police want to check it for fingerprints?’

  ‘I want my daughter back,’ he said, and twisted the handle.

  She paused while he stepped over the threshold, then took a deep breath and followed him. She shared Melanie’s fear of enclosed spaces, and bile rose in her throat as she imagined the terror her daughter would feel at being held here.

  She squinted as Tony pulled a torch from his pocket and switched it on, the beam blinding her before he lowered it, the light falling on discarded office furniture. She turned away, and blinked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the gloom beyond the torch beam once more. The pungent smell of rat droppings and damp from a leaking roof filled her senses, and she choked back the urge to vomit.

  Tony had already begun to hurry towards the inner door, and she followed him through the derelict office into a narrow corridor that ran lengthways through the building.

  Tony turned left, shining the torch ahead.

  At the end of the corridor, a set of double doors blocked their path.

  She leaned against them, and pushed.

  They opened smoothly, and she breathed a sigh of relief before goose bumps prickled her skin as the door hissed shut behind them. She turned, touched the handle and pushed again, terrified that they wouldn’t be able to get out.

  It swung open with ease.

  ‘It’s on an automatic closer,’ said Tony, and pointed to the upper framework. ‘Come on. Hurry.’

  Yvonne bit her lower lip, but followed, her arms hugging her chest. ‘What was this place?’

  ‘A biosciences company was here. Remember the protestors always used to gather at the town hall?’

  Confusion filled her, then dread. ‘The animal testing place?’

  He didn’t reply, but simply nodded and shone the torch around the walls.

  The European-headquartered animal testing company had moved in over a decade ago, despite a several-thousand-signature petition being delivered to the local council within weeks of the original planning application.

  Aluminium sinks were bolted to one wall, white tiles grimy through neglect above each. Shelving units dotted another wall, the splintered remains of glass crunching under their feet as they progressed through the room.

  Their footsteps echoed; the tiled floor at an angle that Yvonne found difficult to keep her balance in her heels.

  ‘What’s wrong with the floor?’ Her voice wavered.

  ‘It’s a soak away,’ said Tony, pointing at the large grille in the middle of the room. ‘All the water will wash towards that.’

  He began to pace the room, his hands running over the tiles.

  ‘Where is she, Tony?’

  Yvonne cringed as her voice bounced off the tiles, before the fear wrapped itself around her insides and squeezed.

  ‘He said she’d be here,’ he said. He continued to run his hands over the tiles. ‘Maybe there’s a hidden door?’

  Yvonne sucked in a breath. ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘What?’ He spun to face her. ‘What?’

  ‘Shhh,’ she urged, and held up a finger.

  Melanie wasn’t a big girl; in fact, she was skinny for her age, with slender shoulders and hips. Yvonne had always marvelled that her daughter had never broken a bone – she looked so fragile, as if the slightest touch would shatter her.

  ‘Tony?’ She pointed at the grille in the tiled floor.

  His skin paled as he followed her gaze, before he dropped to his knees, his fingers pushing through the grille. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  Yvonne crouched, threaded her fingers around the grille, and met his gaze. ‘On three.’

  The steelwork groaned under their touch, and then lifted a little, its right-hand edge tantalisingly higher than the left.

  Tony worked his fingers closer, and tightened his grip. ‘Now.’

  The grille slid away, exposing the dark opening.

  ‘There’s a ladder,’ said Yvonne, and leaned closer.

  When he shone the torch down the gaping maw of the hole, she frowned, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

  Then Tony began to scream, his terror echoing off the walls of the laboratory.

  TWO

  Detective Sergeant Kay Hunter’s hand shot out and gripped the handle set into the side of the car’s door as Detective Constable Ian Barnes accelerated around a sharp left-hand curve.

  ‘Uniform reported it twenty minutes ago,’ he said, as he straightened the vehicle and eased his foot off the pedal. ‘We’re the nearest detectives, so guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Our day just
turned to shit.’

  Kay acknowledged the statement with a snort.

  She was grateful though. Detective Inspector Devon Sharp could have insisted on running the scene as Senior Investigating Officer, but had instead phoned her with the assignment.

  ‘You’ll be my deputy SIO,’ he’d said, before ending their brief phone call. ‘You need this.’

  She exhaled. She’d owe him after this one, that was for sure.

  Up ahead, a silver saloon car and two patrol cars came into view, one with the emergency lights still flashing, the passenger door open.

  ‘Pathologist is already here,’ she said, and silently thanked the first-on-scene police officers for being so organised.

  ‘Must have been a quiet day for him,’ said Barnes.

  As he slowed to approach the parked cars, he ran through the known facts.

  ‘The father made the call. The woman from dispatch reported he was near hysterical by the time she spoke to him. Apparently, he and the wife discovered their seventeen-year-old daughter, Melanie, down a drain in one of the buildings here. Strangled.’

  ‘How did she get here?’

  ‘She was kidnapped – five days ago.’

  Kay sighed. ‘Dammit, I wish they’d told us.’

  Barnes grunted a reply.

  Despite the threats a kidnapper could make, common police practice meant many kidnappings in the UK were brought to a successful closure, simply because the police worked diligently behind the scenes, and with a total media blackout.

  Kay loosened her grip on the door as her colleague swung the car to a stop behind one of the patrol vehicles.

  She climbed from the car, and introduced herself to the two uniformed officers who were standing next to a couple in their late forties, a look of horror on their faces.

  The elder of the two uniformed officers stepped forward. ‘I’m Sergeant Davis. We were first responders.’

  She introduced herself, and then led the way across the concrete apron of the building until they were away from the couple before she spoke.

  ‘I understand they’ve found their daughter here, and that she’s been strangled?’

  He nodded. ‘Seems she was kidnapped while they were on holiday,’ he said. ‘They paid the ransom money about an hour ago, and were told to come here to get their daughter. They found her body in the old testing laboratory, down a drain. It looks as if she’s been strangled.’

  Kay’s eyes fell to the silver car. ‘Pathologist here?’