Say You're Sorry(112)
“No.”
“What about the county?”
“No.”
“OK, don’t worry. We’ll find you.”
“Hurry.”
“I will.”
“It’s getting dark and I’m cold.”
“Can you go somewhere warm?”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“Can you see any lights?”
“No.”
“Can you call out?”
“I can only whisper. I don’t want him to hear me.”
“Who will hear you?”
“The man who took me.”
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know his real name. Please help me.”
“Don’t cry, Piper.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You’re doing really well, Piper. I can see that you’re in Oxfordshire. I’m going to call the nearest police station. I just need you to stay on the line.”
41
There’s an envelope being held for me at the hotel. I ask the receptionist to prepare my bill and I head towards the lift. That’s when I notice Ruiz sitting in the Morse Bar, reading a paper and nursing a pint glass of water.
“Where were you last night?” I ask.
“I caught up with Tom Fryer and some of his old rugby mates.”
“How big is the hangover?”
He points to the water. “I’ve had two bacon rolls, three cups of coffee and a liter of Diet Coke and I haven’t peed once.”
“Congratulations.”
Ruiz has already checked out of his room. He follows me upstairs and sits in the corner as I pack. I’m shoving dirty clothes into a holdall and collecting my toiletries. He notices the envelope and holds it up to the light.
“You should open it,” he says. “It’s from Victoria Naparstek.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m psychic.”
“You saw her deliver it.”
“That too.”
Opening the envelope, I slip the card free and read the short message: I’d like to see you again. Give me a call some time… if you want to.
She’s given me her mobile phone number. I put the card in my pocket and crumple the envelope into a ball. Continuing to pack, I tell Ruiz about the arrests and interrogations, as well as Dr. Leece’s revelations about the tritium in Natasha’s urine.
“So you figure she might have been kept somewhere near this research center.”
“It’s feasible.”
“And one of the guys who assaulted her is probably the kidnapper?”
“Most likely.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t think they match the psychological profile. Maybe you got it wrong.”
“Maybe.”
I look at my watch. It’s just gone three o’clock. Four of the men will have posted bail by now. They’ll be home for Christmas. Drury won’t have surveillance teams working over the holidays. If one of these men is the kidnapper, he’ll have time to dispose of Piper and destroy the evidence.
Ruiz fills a glass of water from the bathroom and sips it thoughtfully, contemplating the same possibility.
“Capable Jones got back to me,” he says. “You still interested in Phillip Martinez?”
“It can wait.”
Downstairs, I hand my credit card to the receptionist, who hopes I had a pleasant stay. The printer warms up and produces my itemized bill. I glance at the total and hope the chief constable is a man of his word.
Ruiz spreads his arms. “So I guess this is it, amigo.”
We hug. It’s like being squeezed by a bear.
Over Ruiz’s shoulder I see Dale Hadley stumble from the revolving door as though spat out by a dispensing machine. Dressed in baggy trousers and a shapeless shirt, he looks disorientated and hollowed out.
His eyes meet mine. “We have to talk.”
“I’m about to leave.”
Grabbing my arm, he pulls me away, looking for somewhere quiet. Checking doors. He finds an empty lounge.
“I know,” he says, squeezing his hands into fists.
“Pardon?”
“I know what she’s been doing.”
“Piper?”
“No! Sarah. I know she’s been sleeping with Victor McBain. She confessed. She said you knew. How?”
“I guessed.”
He can’t look at my face, cannot speak. He’s not a big man, but he looks diminished. Wounded. It’s like walking past a cage at a zoo and seeing a decrepit lion or tiger that has been imprisoned for too long.
“My father warned me about Sarah. He said that when you marry a beautiful woman, you have to live with the possibility that other men will try to take her away. Do not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Don’t fuck her.”