She wasn’t sure how long it would be before it would be too difficult for her to move. Then she would have no choice but to lay in her own filth.
She wanted to cry again, but she didn’t think she had any tears left. She opened the bottle of water – he still made sure she had that at least – and she drank it straight down, welcoming the oblivion of the drugged liquid. The sores on her ankles were infected, and she could smell her own rotting flesh. It was so disgusting, it even overshadowed her body odour, though the smell of faeces was overpowering.
The man himself didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss; he didn’t wrinkle his nose, or register the stench surrounding her. Jessie decided that he just wasn’t interested enough to care. Like he kept telling her, this wasn’t about her. It was as if he didn’t even see her most of the time.
The man stepped closer to her, smiling inanely.
‘Do you remember that quiz show that was on years ago? When people had to guess the price of things? It was a really good show.’
Jessie shook her head. ‘No, I don’t remember it. Probably before my time.’
The man grinned. ‘Oh, you would have liked it. I did, I loved it. The man who asked the questions was very clever. I remember now, it was called Sale of the Century. I like quiz shows. I like questions. I always liked questions.’
Jessie forced herself to smile at him. ‘Really? Can I ask you a question, then?’
He smiled at her, positively beaming with pleasure. ‘Of course you can, silly! Ask me anything you like, anything at all. I bet I can answer it.’
Jessie pulled herself up on to her elbows and, looking the man straight in the eyes, she asked quietly, ‘Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to you?’
He turned away from her, but when he turned back to face her, he was laughing again. ‘I told you before, Jessie, this isn’t about you! You are the weapon I need, Jessie, to bring your father to his knees. When I finally deliver you to him, starved, shackled and, of course, dead, he will finally understand the meaning of despair. Complete and utter despair. It’s a pain that is unique. You see, one thing I have learnt, Jessie, is the worst pain of all is not your own suffering, but knowing about the suffering of the people you really care about. That’s a far worse pain, worse than any physical harm you might have to endure yourself.’
He was smiling at her again, as if he had just given her the secret of eternal happiness. Then he said matter-of-factly, ‘Think about your little boy Jake. Imagine if I starved him to death. That would be a far worse pain to you, than what you’re experiencing now, wouldn’t it? Do you see what I mean? Understand what I’m getting at?’
Jessie didn’t answer him; she felt sick at what he had said to her. This was surreal, unbelievable, and yet it was really happening.
Chapter One Hundred
and Twenty-Seven
‘There are people searching Kent as well as Essex, Michael. He can’t fucking evade us for ever. I have mobilised everyone that we work with throughout the British Isles, and they are all on the hunt as well. The fifty grand is a big incentive but, also, I think this cunt has really put a lot of backs up.’
Michael didn’t reply. He was so tired, but he just couldn’t sleep. He was still holed up in the offices at Canary Wharf with Declan. It was where everyone knew to contact them.
Michael didn’t want to go home; he talked to little Jake on the phone, but there was no way he wanted to go back there and face Josephine. She was the last person he wanted to see. Every time he thought about her keeping that letter to herself, putting her own needs before her daughter’s, he felt angry enough to strangle her with his bare hands. If she had told him, this might have been resolved by now. If this bloke was as big a nut as they all reckoned, maybe not phoning had sent him over the edge; after all, no one had heard a fucking word from him since.
‘How the fuck can this ponce evade not just the police, but every fucking Face in the country? It’s fucking impossible, surely?’
Declan shrugged casually. ‘Well, look at that Bin Laden bloke. He’d been on the trot for years when they caught him.’
Michael ran his hands through his hair; sometimes Declan didn’t have a clue. He just opened his mouth before he put his brain in gear.
‘Oh, by the way, Michael, I spoke to Jack earlier on, while you were in the shower. He has tracked down Golding’s medical records. It cost him an arm and a leg, but he has all the addresses where he’s ever lived – everything about him. Who knows – he might have a place he goes to regularly. It’s worth a chance.’
Michael snorted with derision. ‘I suppose so. It’s amazing what you can fucking buy, isn’t it?’
Declan laughed at Michael’s sarcasm. Money could get literally anything usually.