Captured Page 7

  On the verge of losing her patience at the impenetrable gridlock, she opened her email, intent on getting through some client emails while she was stuck in the car. After five minutes, unable to concentrate, she opened her personal email.

  From: Simon Williams

  To: Grace Harris

  Hi Grace,

  Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, I’ve been out of the office on mandatory leave. I haven’t heard from Kirsty really, she sent a group email some time back but that’s about it. Look, do you really think there’s something up?

  Simon

  Well, obviously I think there’s something up, she thought, typing a terse reply. Did everyone just think she was mad?

  She clicked back through to her work emails but it was no use; she could neither focus nor rid herself of that deeply unsettled feeling. Throwing her phone across the seat into her bag in frustration, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, willing sleep to wash over her.

  Grace’s head jerked forward painfully, bringing her back to consciousness immediately. She rubbed her neck, feeling the faint emotional dregs of disturbed dreams. Looking out of the car window, she wondered how long she’d been asleep. Still in a daze, she tried to force herself to concentrate, to find the basis for the uneasy feeling that remained. The bright morning sun made her eyes water. She rubbed them and leaned back against the seat, yawning. It looked as if they’d barely gained any ground in the gridlock.

  “Excuse me.” She leaned forward towards the driver. “Can you take me back to the hotel?”

  He looked at her blankly in the rear-view mirror.

  Grace pointed towards the back of the car.

  Having finally reached the hotel, Grace checked in again, and walked to the police station.

  Entering the busy building, she nodded a greeting to the young desk officer, before she began making her way through the crowded lobby; she’d become a familiar face here during her time in Bangkok, although she could tell that the police had become increasingly frustrated at her doggedness.

  “Friend maybe no in Bangkok. Friend maybe no in Thailand.” They’d shrugged repeatedly.

  She hadn’t blamed them: it was a busy station close to the red-light district, and she knew her story sounded vague. This time, though, she had more concrete information.

  She waited for what felt like hours, constantly looking over at the desk. She was met each time with the same inscrutable smile.

  “You’ friend in Bangkok?” the officer smiled shaking his head, when she approached again after fidgeting in one of the blue plastic chairs for fifteen minutes.

  They don’t believe me, she thought, returning to her plastic chair. She was sweating profusely in the clammy heat. If only I could speak Thai, she thought, frustrated. She remembered Richard’s email as soon as the thought entered her mind.

  She scrolled furiously through to his email, hoping to find his mobile number, before realising it was the middle of the night back in London. Writing a short message asking him to call her as soon as possible with the details of his Thai-speaking friend, she remembered Simon’s email, and the story Kirsty had told her about his past. She scrolled back through her inbox and noted the date and time of his email.

  Another favour Neil - IP address for the email from Simon earlier this morning??

  Knowing that she was unlikely to hear back from either of them for several hours, she left the station and turned in the direction of the hotel. Her mind spun with confusion.

  Grace tried to sleep, but it was pointless. She had never been patient. Her return flight to London had departed several hours ago, and she knew now that she’d never feel comfortable leaving without confronting Kirsty.

  Abandoning hope of getting any work done, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes; her head was spinning.

  Twelve o’clock.

  Half past.

  By one, she was stalking the room with a manic energy, knowing there was nothing else she could do: she had to visit Kirsty and find out what was going on. She checked her email for what felt like the hundredth time since she arrived back at the hotel. There was another email from Kirsty.

  This time, it was a group email.

  Hi everyone.

  I hope you’re all well. This is just a quick note: I’ll send a proper update soon. I just wanted to let you all know that I’m ok – some of you might have received an email recently suggesting otherwise. I’ve gained a few pounds from all of the food I’m sampling, but apart from that, everything’s fine and dandy!

  I’m going on a hike in a few hours, so won’t have access to email or Skype for a while. I’ll email when I get back!

  Kirsty

  What on earth was going on, Grace wondered. As of a few hours ago, Kirsty was in Bangkok. In an apartment. Of course, she could be going hiking, but it still didn’t explain why she’d cancelled her plans with Grace.

  She wasn’t sure how Richard would react to her message, now. If it was her, she knew, she’d be deeply sceptical about being asked to drag a friend into someone else’s suppositions, especially if she had just received an email from the purportedly missing person announcing to the world that she was fine.

  She reached for her phone and copied the address from Lennox’s email into the map program, searching for directions from her hotel. As she’d discovered earlier, it was less than a mile away. Drawing a rough map on the hotel notepad, she tore the sheet off and stuffed it in her bag. She had to go now before it was too late.

  The afternoon heat and humidity were even more intense than usual, and she found it almost unbearable, like walking through a swimming pool. The occasional breeze felt like the air from a hairdryer droning in her face.

  The area bustled with early afternoon activity. Street vendors hustled and called hoarsely from cramped stalls set up along both sides of the streets. Although she’d walked these streets numerous times in the past two weeks, Grace was always struck by the lush green trees that seemed so out of place within the urban sprawl.

  She tried to quell the feeling of unease that had haunted her since earlier that morning, but could do nothing to stop the rising feeling of dread, even as she told herself that nothing bad could happen with so many people around.

  She snorted loudly. “I’ve worked in London for how long and I’m reassuring myself that I’m safe because I’m surrounded by people?” she frowned when a paunchy western man in front of her turned back to stare.

  She looked away embarrassed. Get a grip, Grace.

  She turned onto Sok Cha Street. Her palms were sweating. She double-checked the apartment number in the message as she entered the building, even though she could recite the entire address from memory by then.

  Sok Cha Street was quieter than the surrounding streets: even though it seemed to have the same mix of commercial and residential buildings, it had a more dilapidated air.

  She arrived at Suriani Apartments and saw it was a dusty white tower block. It was situated around three hundred feet from the start of the street, and another two hundred from the other end – a dead end apparently, judging from the multiple sheets of rusting corrugated iron that boarded it up. The faded wooden entry door housed a large window, its cracked glass held in place by a checkerboard of security wire.

  Grace pushed the door open and peered inside tentatively. The foyer was dark, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. There was no security; it didn’t look like there ever had been, judging from the lack of a desk or table. In fact, the room was completely empty, highlighting the dishevelled state of the grubby linoleum floor, whose edges were starting to peel away in the corners.

  She crossed the room and pressed the call button and waited. As the doors to the closest lift clattered open, she took out her phone, trying to remember the English language emergency services number. Why couldn’t she remember it? She’d spent enough time in the police station recently, and there had even been signs in the h
otel. She held her foot in the doorway, preventing the doors from closing again. One.... One...Shit! She tapped in the regular emergency number, knowing it was more of a paranoid precaution, and assuming that if anything awful did happen, they’d probably be able to track the address using her phone signal.

  Who would?

  Pushing the thought from her mind, she dropped the phone in the pocket of her dress and pressed 3, removing her foot from the doorway.

  Apartment 305. Grace swallowed in a vain attempt to quell her nerves. What’s the worst that can happen? Kirsty refuses to see me? She thought, her quivering hand hovering inches from the door.

  “Kirsty, it’s me, Grace,” she said loudly, after rapping three times on the door.

  Silence. She moved closer to the door and turned her head to the side, listening for any sign of activity. She thought she heard a faint dull thud. She couldn’t tell whether it was real or a product of the adrenaline coursing through her body.

  “Kirsty?”

  There was no answer. She twisted the handle, surprised when it turned in her hand.

  Inching the door open, she stepped cautiously inside, scanning the visible interior for her friend. “Kirsty? Where are you?”

  She was inside now. The door had opened straight into a living area, which was even duller than the foyer, several floors below. The windows were obscured by heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains, their dull corporate colour matching the hue of the carpet and the two couches. These were arranged at ninety degrees to each other on Grace’s left, facing an old-fashioned CRT television set. It was silent, but Grace could make out the CNN logo through the wall of static on the screen.

  Turning to her right, Grace called out again. “Kirsty?”

  She started towards the three doors on the other side of the room, past the kitchen area. She changed course and was tip-toeing her way to the knife rack when the door slammed shut, breaking the silence with a loud bang that sent her heart plummeting.

  Chapter 13

  Grace swung around when she heard the door slam. Her hand knocked against a pile of dirty dishes on the edge of the counter and sent them crashing to the ground. She looked up.

  His face was expressionless. Her mind raced to connect the dots..

  “You look a little confused, Grace.” That neutral smile again.

  “What are you doing here? Where’s Kirsty? She never said you were meeting her...”

  She trailed off and the silence descended again. Grace felt like she couldn’t break it, she didn’t know why. She couldn’t look away from his dark brown eyes, which didn’t even flicker. Nor did they give her so much as a hint of what was happening. It could only have been a few seconds even though it felt like an eternity. Is everything fine, and I’m just being crazy? Maybe Neil traced the wrong email...

  Grace’s phone pinged; she’d forgotten it was in her pocket, emergency number already keyed in. “shit”. She looked at him tentatively. He just stared back.

  They had met no more than a handful of times with Kirsty. She tried to read his expression; it offered nothing.

  “Give me the phone, Grace.” His face contorted when he said her name.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied, stalling.

  In lieu of a response, he twisted around slowly, and looked down towards the bulge in the back pocket of his shorts. Only the handle was visible, but the thick outline of the curved sheath was clearly discernible through the thin cotton.

  Grace held out the phone and took a step forward. He stepped forward the rest of the distance. Grace was surprised at the lightness of his movements, given his size. With great reluctance she let him take it from her hand.

  Her chest swelled with butterflies. She tried to take deep breaths to quell the panic, and bit the sides of her cheeks to stop the tears that were already beginning to prick her eyes.

  He opened the message and looked at the screen for a few seconds before smirking. “It’s registered to 5 Bayham Street, NW1,” he read.

  Grace’s heart sank.

  “Bayham Street,” he repeated. “Looks like we have a mutual friend.” He sniggered, fumbling with the back of her phone before pulling out the SIM card. He paused, then slipped it into the pocket of his shorts. “Poor old Simon.” He looked back towards her, running his fingers though his hair casually. “Why were you looking for him?”

  “Where is she, Daniel?” Grace demanded. “What have you done? And why the hell...”

  He stopped her with a raised hand. “How did you find me?”

  She shrugged. “What have you done with Kirsty?” she countered, trying her best to feign indifference.

  His eyes widened as he exhaled in a short, loud burst. “Get in there,” he gestured to the living room with the knife, and waited for her to move. She hadn’t noticed him pull it from his pocket. She shuddered, hoping it was more to do with her observation than his proficiency with the thing. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t just give up and go back to Britain. Too tenacious for your own good. Now, how did you find me?”

  Grace walked forward a couple of steps, before turning again to face him. “Fuck you. I’m not taking another step until you tell me where she is.”

  “Fine. We have all the time in the world, but I recommend you just give up and tell me before this gets uncomfortable for you,” he shrugged.

  She laughed. “You work for a bank, Daniel, for fuck’s sake. You’re not Bruce Willis. Go on. What have you done with her?”

  “You’re right, this isn’t a movie Grace. I’m not going to stand here and give you closure, or whatever it is you’re after. Now walk, you stupid bitch, before I do something I won’t regret.”

  Her ears rung. Grace cast her mind back, trying to find a clue in any of the conversations she’d had with Kirsty since she’d first started mentioning her new colleague. Grace had known all about their fling, but had been under the impression that it had ended amicably when Kirsty left.

  “But why...”

  “Move it,” Daniel yelled again and punched the wall beside him. He moved towards the kitchen and opened one of the drawers and took something out. What do I do, do I argue with him or keep quiet? She stared dumbfounded at the hole his fist had left in the wall, before shuffling in the direction he had pointed.

  He’d been looking for a pill bottle, she now saw. He tipped several into his palm one-handed, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then put them in the pocket of his shorts. He walked backwards to the sink and filled a dirty cup with water from the sink. She tried to read his expression: he looked totally relaxed: like she had just popped over for a cup of tea.

  “Right, how’d you find me?” he slammed the cup down on the table in front of her, so that water sloshed over its grimy rim. He grabbed the pills from his pocket, and held his closed fist above her right hand, all the while holding the knife inches from her throat.

  She shook her head, squeezing her lips together so tightly they turned white and began to hurt.

  They were inches apart now, standing in what felt like impenetrable silence. She stared into his cold eyes, hardly daring to blink. When she saw them light up, she would have done anything for them to return to their expressionless gaze.

  “Actually,” he broke the silence in a sing-song voice, “let’s try something else first.” He put the pills back in his pocket. “Come on.” He grabbed her arm and half-dragged her to the other side of the room.

  He opened the hall closet, looked for a moment, then pulled a pillowcase from the stack of spare linen inside. She heard an unfamiliar sound escape her own throat when he placed it over her head.

  “Don’t move.” He pulled a sheet from the closet and cut through one of the seams with his knife. He replaced the knife and tugged the two sides apart.

  “What’s that?” Grace whispered, shuddering at the tearing sounds.

  He answered by moving behind her and tying her wrists together with the crooked strip of cotton.

  He stood back and looked at her, appraising
. He added another pillowcase to her head and reached into the closet again.

  Chapter 14

  Daniel walked into the second bedroom, which he had turned into a makeshift office. He tripped on the door jamb, recovering with his right foot, but spilling gin and slimline tonic all over the carpet. It had been a long day at work. Richard Jones grated on his nerves a little more each day. He had considered it quite a coup at the time: angling himself into the sights of Simon’s girlfriend’s boss. Now, having come to know the man better, he was less self-congratulatory. A toddler could have charmed that man, he thought. It would have taken only an aptitude for flattery and the slightest appearance of wealth.

  He switched on his PC and sat back, sipping his drink as he waited. Finally it finished loading. First he clicked through to the folder where Simon’s cloned hard drive sat. He had created a series of obscure folders when he started making headway with Kirsty: he didn’t think she was the type to snoop, but didn’t see any sense in putting that to the test. It would take a most determined investigator to find it now, and no one ever came into his apartment apart from the cleaner, and Kirsty. With the others he had preferred to keep them out of his sanctuary. She was different.

  Daniel had set the software to update every morning, after Simon had left for work. He only appeared to use his computer for internet browsing. He hadn’t looked at anything notable since the previous day. Football results. Pathetic. And Facebook. Daniel toggled back to his own machine and opened a browser window. The links were mostly to Kirsty’s profile. The fool was refusing to let her go.

  I told him to forget about her.

  He remembered the day of Kirsty’s departure. How she’d sounded breathless and excited when she answered the phone, because she thought it was him. He squeezed the mouse until his hand shook.

  He looked back at the screen. The photo showed a smiling Kirsty, on a boat. He had seen dozens of similar pictures since she left the UK. If he was honest, they simply bored him: vacuous pictures of strangers forcing cheesy smiles for the benefit of their mindless friends back home. Idly, he clicked on the arrow to the right of the picture. The next photo flashed up. He frowned.