Before Nightfall Read online

  Kate had been discovered by two policemen accompanying one of the bullies. They had found Kate collapsed from dehydration. It had taken a week in hospital to get her physically well enough to return home. The psychological effects had taken longer and had only improved once her family had moved to Massachusetts twelve months later.

  Finn looked up from the file. ‘How did you get hold of this?’

  Cynthia shrugged. ‘When I heard Kate had been taken, I got her personnel file from HR. She had to undergo a psychological assessment before doing the hostage training with you.’ She pointed at the photograph. ‘She told them she’d had a traumatic experience as a child so the HR team had to make sure it wouldn’t affect her work.’

  Finn gave a low whistle and handed the report back to Cynthia.

  ‘Don’t you want to read the rest of it?’

  ‘No.’ He turned from her and walked over to the window, staring at the wooden surface of the blinds, before closing his eyes. ‘You should’ve told us all this before she did her training with us. I would’ve gone easier on her.’

  He cursed.

  ‘I wouldn’t have let Ian bring her here.’

  Chapter 7

  Sweat prickled through her hair, making her scalp itch. Using the tail of her shirt, Kate found a corner of material which was less dirty than the rest and wiped it across her face. The last remnants of her make-up stained the material, her mascara leaving a dark streak across the white cotton.

  Her throat constricted, and she fought down the urge to cry, her eyes stinging.

  Outside, in the distance, a car horn blared, closely followed by another. A dog barked once, and then fell silent with a whimper, its owner’s berating voice muffled. The amplified sing-song of a muezzin cut through the silence, calling a distant neighbourhood to prayer. A door slammed shut below Kate, the force of it vibrating through the floor. Voices filtered up from the street outside, then grew faint.

  A bottle of water sat on the floor next to the mattress which had been moved into the room with her, and she reached down, uncapped it and took small sips. A brief smile reached her lips as she remembered Finn’s face when she’d thrown the empty bottle at him six months ago. He had needed knocking down a peg or two.

  He’d been infuriating the entire duration of the course, but there was something about him which had piqued her interest and wouldn’t let go.

  She frowned. Except that once she’d left Northumbria, he hadn’t returned any of her calls. For some reason, he’d erected a barrier between them. Even when travelling, she’d caught herself wondering what could have been, had he given her a chance, a way in.

  Now, his advice rang in her ears. Re-capping the bottle and setting it carefully on the floor, she noticed a bucket in the corner of the room and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  She sniffed, wiped her face again, and then pushed herself back until she was leaning against the wall.

  Bare sandstone walls surrounded a concrete floor and a steel girder split the ceiling in two, plaster hanging down in places. A square window at the far end of the room had been hastily painted over, the panes of glass casting a ghostly light across the room through the white sheen which now covered them.

  Her hopes had increased when she’d first been led to the room and the plastic cuffs had been cut loose. She’d rubbed her wrists, smiled at the old man, who had then grabbed her roughly by the arm and slipped a metal clasp over her left wrist, then locked it shut, smiling at her.

  The metal clasp was fixed to a length of chain which in turn connected to an iron hoop set into the mortar of the wall. As soon as the door had shut, she’d tested the strength of the chain and then cursed as the links held tight. Checking the reach of the chain, she’d found that she could get as far as the bucket next to the wall opposite her mattress and to the edge of the window frame.

  She made her way carefully towards the window. She could see the cloudless sky between the gaps of white paint. A crack in the glass had left a small hole, and a cool breeze wafted through the opening. The blue azure of the morning had deepened, and recalling the call to prayer, Kate realised it was now late afternoon.

  Outside, a tree grew next to the building, its pungent aroma teasing her senses through the small crack in the glass, mixing with the salty air which blew through the cracks in the walls. A low structure, which appeared to be used for storage, faced the building. Several vehicles had stopped outside, reversed up to open double doors, and then had left sometime later.

  The sonorous blare of a ship’s horn filled the air, and Kate realised she was close to the docks. Stretching up, she peered sideways through a bigger gap in the paint until she could see the muddied water of the Bosphorus between the buildings.

  She breathed in deeply, the scent of spices carrying on the air. Despite everything, she was in a better position in this room – at least there was natural light and fresh air. She shuddered at the thought of having to stay in the other room, which was little more than a prison cell. Here, she could convince herself that there was a chance she might survive her current situation.

  She beat her fist on the wall in frustration and turned to face the room.

  Playing with the locket around her neck, she wondered why she’d been taken. Her parents were elderly, retired, and not rich, so it had to be something to do with her work at Hart Enterprises.

  She wracked her mind, trying to recall if any threats had been made since she’d first met the Harts, but could think of none.

  Cynthia’s time was taken up between her art galleries and socialising at parties or at home.

  Ian, by comparison, was extremely measured and in control of all aspects of his life. Although he attended as many of his wife’s functions as possible, it was evident that he did so to source future clients. His focus was always on business – how to grow it, how to beat his competitors, how to make more money. Outside of the business, Ian Hart was an enigma.

  Kate had tried finding out more about him on the Internet when she’d found out she’d successfully passed the recruitment process and had been selected for interview. Except there was nothing. Not one scrap of information about the man’s life, outside of his work or Cynthia’s social circle.

  She’d raised the matter at the interview, causing the human resources manager to sit open-mouthed, aghast, while Ian had laughed.

  ‘At least I know you tried to do your homework,’ he’d said. ‘But you’ll soon see how much I value my privacy outside of my organisation, when my wife allows it.’

  And inside.

  Kate couldn’t help wondering if she should have asked more questions about potential threats. She knew their competition well, studied their sales and marketing tactics, always making sure Hart Enterprises stayed one step ahead. She recalled the business deals she’d helped set up for Ian. They had all been with Western government procurement departments, well within regulations, and the last one had been settled a week ago, so she couldn’t imagine a disgruntled client doing this.

  Unless Ian was dealing outside of the organisation.

  Unless Ian had done something which had broken the law.

  When they’d arrived in Istanbul three weeks ago, Hart had been more introverted than usual, and looking back, Kate realised that his usual reticence had turned into something more secretive as the days passed.

  His obsession with the new woman in his life had taken over his senses, and the usual focussed man she’d first started working for had been replaced with an obsessive, secretive person who bordered on being paranoid.

  And now this.

  A car engine outside interrupted her thoughts. As the vehicle passed the building, she heard its radio blaring loud Turkish pop music which waned with the car’s passing.

  She sighed and turned back to the room, wincing as her ankle took her body weight.

  Her stomach rumbled as the smell of cooking wafted through the window, and she wondered if her captors were planning to feed her.

  She consider
ed screaming again when they’d first left her, but the thought of returning to the original room, and the fact that she didn’t know if anyone would hear her, gave her pause for thought.

  She remembered Finn saying something about making small gains with any captors, to earn their trust, so now wasn’t the time to push her luck.

  For a few weeks after the survival course, she’d wondered whether there could have been something between them. The way he’d let his guard down occasionally, before putting a barrier back up between them just as quickly, had given her cause for hope.

  She’d left messages with Steve, the older owner of the business, on the pretence of getting more advice from Finn for her trip. She’d hoped the ruse would work, and that he’d phone her, give her a chance.

  He didn’t, and instead she’d turned her attentions to preparing for her new role to take her mind off him.

  She sighed and shifted her weight, leaning against the wall to ease the pain in her ankle. She strained her ears and realised that she couldn’t hear any children. Wherever the building was, it was in an industrial area rather than residential, but quiet.

  A ship’s horn blared in the distance as it passed through the Bosphorus, and she wondered where it was going.

  In the low light, the walls turned pink from the setting sun, and she could see pieces of plaster hanging from the walls in chunks, a pale blue hue reminiscent of a child’s bedroom. She touched a piece nearest to her, and then jumped as it crumbled under her fingers. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent scent of mould. It was obvious this part of the building hadn’t been lived in for years – not by a family, at least.

  She held her breath as the sound of footsteps echoed off the walls of the concrete passageway. As they drew closer, she sat down on her mattress.

  Make yourself insignificant, small, so you don’t appear to be a threat to them.

  She returned to her breathing exercises, keeping Finn’s voice in her mind.

  The footsteps stopped, and then a bolt shot back. Kate didn’t hear keys, so presumed that only bolts held the door in place. She filed the information away in her head, more from a sense of keeping herself busy than any hope she had for escaping from her prison.

  The door creaked open on rusted hinges, and a boy of about thirteen or fourteen shuffled into the room carrying a tray. The old man followed and mumbled instructions, pointing at Kate, then the floor.

  The boy approached her warily, then crouched and set down the tray next to her. He gestured to her, then the food which had been laid out on a plate, and a fresh bottle of water which completed the meal.

  She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  A faint smile stole across the boy’s face, before the man bent down and dragged him back towards the door, back-handing him across the face and talking loudly to him.

  ‘Wait!’

  The man pushed the boy out the door, and then turned to face her, his hand on the door frame.

  Kate pointed to her ankle, which was heavily bruised and swollen. ‘I need something for this. Ice. Medicine.’

  The man strode across the room and bent down next to her, then reached out and grabbed hold of her leg.

  She yelped, and he glared at her.

  Stifling a sob, she cringed as the man turned her ankle, probing and pressing the skin. ‘Not broken,’ he said.

  ‘No. Not broken,’ Kate said. ‘But it hurts. A lot.’ She cried out as the man stood and turned away. ‘It might get infected.’

  His shoulders slumped, and Kate held her breath.

  ‘I will ask. I cannot promise.’

  ‘Thank you. Really – anything you can do…,’ she broke off as the man strode from the room.

  The door slammed shut, the bolt shot back into place and she raised her head.

  The man had left.

  She tugged the tray closer and inspected its contents. Fruit, some nuts, and rice mixed with meat, pungent with garlic and spices. Her stomach rumbled, and she realised it had been several hours since her last meal.

  Chapter 8

  ‘I really thought you and Kate would get together,’ said Cynthia. ‘I mean, you’re both single, you have no life outside of work…’

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ said Finn. He glanced over at her. ‘When will you understand that? I don’t want anyone in my life. I’m happy just the way it is.’

  ‘Sure you are. How many years is it, Finn? Three since you lost her?’

  Finn hit the brakes and swerved the four-by-four over to the side of the road. A truck horn blared as the traffic braked to avoid their vehicle, and then swarmed past.

  He punched the steering wheel, then pulled off his sunglasses and leaned towards Cynthia.

  ‘You never, ever, discuss her with me.’ He glared at her, his green eyes blazing. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Cynthia shrank back in her seat. ‘It was three years ago, Finn,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t you think you should talk to someone about it?’

  He clenched his jaw. ‘No. I don’t.’

  He checked his blind side, slipped the vehicle into gear and steered into the traffic once more. He dropped his sunglasses back over his eyes.

  ‘Just drop it, Cynthia. Not another word.’

  ‘What exactly are you looking for?’ Cynthia squinted in the late afternoon sunlight.

  ‘Anything.’

  Cynthia sighed and moved away from the shade cast by the four-wheel drive vehicle. ‘Tell me – I’ll help.’

  Finn turned to her, his expression hidden behind his sunglasses. For a moment, he said nothing, and then thought better of it. The more help he had, the better chance he’d have of finding Kate.

  ‘The local police are currently treating this as a car-jacking gone wrong. Driver shot dead. No-one else involved.’

  He raised his arm and pointed to the boundary of the courtyard, now blocked off by their vehicle. ‘Because they aren’t treating this as a kidnapping gone right, they might have missed something when they were searching the area. They’d have searched for bullet casings, and witnesses to a murder, but not witnesses to a kidnapping.’

  He crouched down, pushed up his sunglasses onto his head and surveyed the dirt surface of the courtyard before raising his eyes to the surrounding houses. ‘People would’ve been too scared to talk about witnessing a murder,’ he said. ‘They might not be so scared to talk about a woman being taken hostage.’

  He straightened and turned to Cynthia. ‘Come on – let’s try knocking on some doors.’

  ‘You want me to speak to them?’

  Finn nodded. ‘Most of the men will be at work for at least,’ he checked his watch, ‘another hour or so. The women won’t speak to a strange man who appears at their doors – but they might talk to a woman. That’s why Steve suggested I brought you here with me.’

  He led the way towards a set of wooden double doors to the left of the courtyard. As he pushed them open, they revealed a flight of stairs which carved through the middle section of the building.

  Cynthia followed, covering her mouth and nose with her scarf, and carefully stepped over the rubbish strewn over the stairs.

  ‘How many people live here do you think?’

  ‘Maybe five, six families – I don’t know. We’ll start at the top and work our way down. Best chance we have is with the rooms facing the courtyard, but we’ll ask everyone, in case they overheard something.’

  By the time they reached the fourth floor, Cynthia was panting and slowly followed Finn up the last flight of stairs.

  He stopped on the last step and turned to face her. ‘Okay, you’re going to lead this. I’ll stand a little away from you so I don’t intimate them. I’ll be within reach if anything happens.’

  ‘What do you mean, ‘if anything happens’?’

  ‘Nothing will happen – stop worrying.’

  ‘Alright – what am I asking them?’

  ‘Ask if they heard a woman screaming this morning. Ask if they saw the car accide
nt. If they did, introduce me as your brother and I’ll take the questions from there.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s get on with it.’

  They followed a narrow passageway towards the front of the building and approached the first of two doors that faced each other. A concrete balcony between them protruded out over the courtyard.

  The sound of a television show played inside the room, a child shouted and was then berated by a woman’s voice. Cynthia took a deep breath, let it out and knocked lightly on the door.

  Finn stood back and leaned against the opposite wall, folded his arms across his chest and waited. He forced himself to stare out over the balcony and leave Cynthia in charge.

  A few seconds passed, and then the door opened a fraction.

  A woman, a little shorter than Cynthia, peered out. She appeared to be in her late twenties. She scrutinised the older woman, and then jutted her chin in her direction.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Cynthia smiled. ‘Merhaba, hello – I’m hoping you can help me.’ She glanced over at Finn, then back at the woman. ‘I wondered, did you hear a car accident this morning? Out there?’

  The woman saw Finn, and then frowned.

  ‘You are American. Why do you want to know?’

  Cynthia’s smile faltered and she lowered her voice. ‘My sister was in the car,’ she said. ‘We think she was taken.’

  The woman stared at Cynthia for what seemed an age, opened her mouth to speak, and then seemed to change her mind. ‘I saw nothing.’

  She began to close the door.

  Cynthia put her hand out to stop her. ‘Please – if you didn’t see anything, did you hear anything? Perhaps one of your neighbours saw something?’

  The woman’s lip trembled, and she nodded. She checked over her shoulder towards the room, then turned to Cynthia. ‘I heard screaming,’ she said, then jumped back in surprise as Finn pushed himself away from the wall and joined Cynthia.