The wind roaring across the open fields shook the car, and when he climbed out he could hear the moaning sound as it blew across the spout-like chimney. Darryl waited until his eyes became accustomed to the dark and then went to the back seat of the car, taking out a metal steering wheel lock. Janelle Robinson had surprised him, kicking and scratching when he’d gone to get her out of the boot. Back in August, he’d been winging it when he’d abducted her, with no plan, and she’d fought him hard, almost getting away.
He went to the boot of the car, wiped away the snow and leaned down to listen. Nothing. He gripped the wheel lock, and pulled it open. Snow immediately began to cover the blanket over Ella. He peeled it away, and couldn’t tell if her chest was moving. He pulled off the grain sack and saw she was very pale. He pressed the wheel lock into her ribs; there was a faint moan.
‘I’m going to lift you out now,’ he said, having to raise his voice above the wind and the moaning tower. ‘If you’re good you’ll have shelter, and you can have some water.’
He leaned in, hooked one hand under her neck and the other under her legs, and heaved her out. She was taller and heavier than he’d expected. He shuffled through the snow to a large metal sliding door at the base of the circular tower. He put her down on the floor and took out a set of keys, finding the correct one, and opening a padlock. He slid the door open, and picked Ella up off the floor. It was cold inside, but not freezing. There was an electric light which he flicked on with his elbow, a bare bulb attached to the wall.
In the centre of the circular room was a small furnace chamber where the fire had once been lit. There was a small door into it, and its walls went straight up for six feet or so before spreading out like an inverted funnel to meet the ceiling. Darryl used his foot to open the door. Inside the furnace chamber it was a windowless square of red brick, three metres by three, and scorched by years of fires. Above it was a thick metal grate, leading to the inverted funnel of bricks, where the heat rose, drying the hops in a small chamber above. Above this chamber was a series of vents leading up to the conical-shaped funnel, or cowl.
Darryl had placed a large cage in the centre of the chamber, which had originally been used for transporting Grendel to the vet. He’d lined the bottom with blankets. He ducked down, and placed Ella inside the cage. He peeled the tape away from her mouth. He could just make out in the gloom that her nose was crusted with dried blood. She moaned.
She was still alive.
Two lengths of chain and padlocks were hooked over one side of the cage. He wound one around her neck and looped it through the bars of the cage before padlocking it. In one corner of the cage was a large two litre bottle of water, which he placed beside her hands.
He came out of the cage and went to a table in the corner where there was a small orange plastic box. He opened it, and prepared a 10ml syringe of Ketalar. He moved back inside, and could see that her eyes were now open and darting around, confused. She tried to talk, but her mouth was dry. He opened the bottle of water and offered her some.
‘Go on, it’s water,’ he said.
She took a sip and swallowed.
‘Who are you?’ she croaked. ‘Where am I?’
‘I’m just going to roll up this sleeve,’ he said, pulling up the thick sleeve of her fur coat.
‘Where am I?’ she croaked. ‘Please. Why are you doing this?’
He kneeled on her bound legs, and she squealed. With his free hand he pinned her against the bars of the cage and slid the needle into her bare arm, slowly pushing the drug into her vein. He removed the needle and applied pressure with his thumb. She groaned and her eyes rolled back.
She went limp and he removed his thumb, sucking the small drop of her blood from its tip. Taking the second chain, he wound it around her wrists and padlocked it to the bars opposite. He taped up her mouth again, and tucked the blankets around her.
‘There. You get some rest. You’ll need your wits about you… You’re on a date with Harry. Harry Gordon.’ He smiled.
He came out of the furnace chamber and closed the door. Then, switching off the light, he left the Oast House, and slid the door shut with a soft clang. He fastened the padlock, and drove back down to the road.
* * *
It was warm when he entered the boot room, and Grendel came bounding up and licked his hand. His parents were in the living room watching television when he poked his head through the door. His father was bolt upright in his armchair by the window, and his mother lay on the sofa with a large gin and tonic. They were watching an episode of Inspector Morse on ITV4.
‘Alright love,’ said Mary, her eyes not leaving the screen. The fake flame fire rippled in the fireplace, throwing reddish light along the wall with the television. The picture cut out on the large flat-screen TV and went black. ‘For God’s sake,’ she added.
‘Now, let’s see who this is,’ said John, picking up the remote and leaning forward eagerly.
Mary got up unsteadily and shuffled over to the small bar at the back of the living room by the bay window. The CCTV cameras on the front gate and yard were motion activated, and the picture was beamed through to the living room TV.
‘Would you fill this up, love?’ said Mary, holding out the little ice bucket to Darryl.
On the screen a white van had stopped outside the front gates. It inched forward and the gates began to open. The CCTV angle changed to a close-up of the side of the van, where two lads inside were looking up the driveway, weighing up their options. Their features were a ghostly green and eyes two white circles in the night-vision camera.
‘They’ll be on their way if they know what’s best for them,’ said John.
On the television, the van sat there for a moment, then slowly reversed and drove away, as the gates swung shut. The screen flicked back to the episode of Inspector Morse.
‘Gyppos,’ said John. ‘Up to no good.’
‘Perhaps they’re lost,’ slurred Mary, settling back down into the sofa.
‘You didn’t see anything odd when you just drove back in?’ asked John over his shoulder as Darryl left to fetch the ice.
‘Nothing…’
‘Did you have a nice drink at the pub?’ asked Mary.
‘Yeah. I met up with a couple of mates…’
He didn’t bother to continue, they were both absorbed by Inspector Morse. Darryl watched them for a moment, bathed in the glow on the television, lost in the fictitious world of murder, unaware of the reality at the bottom of the yard.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Erika’s phone rang early on Sunday morning. She opened her eyes, disorientated, and saw Peterson’s smooth dark muscular back beside her. She’d stayed over at his flat for the second time, and it took her a minute to remember her phone wasn’t plugged in beside the bed, but in the kitchen. She padded through just as it stopped ringing. It was Crane, and she called him back.
‘Boss?’ he answered. ‘I’ve got CCTV footage of Janelle Robinson. I think it’s the night she vanished.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at the nick, I’ve been up all night.’
‘Okay, I’ll grab you some breakfast, and I can be there asap.’ She hung up.
Peterson appeared in the doorway, bleary-eyed, pulling on a dressing gown.