Wilderness (Arbogast trilogy) (25 page)

“Are you police?” one girl said with a sneer. “Fancy some company,” said another, giggling. He knew that he would have few friends here. Arbogast was sympathetic to the idea of legalised prostitution. At least with brothels the girls would be safe and he would have fewer murders to solve.  He spoke to the woman running the centre, a name he instantly forgot. She told him she had been shocked when Mary’s name had appeared in the papers ‘such a nice girl’ she said but really she had nothing to say.
‘Just another dead end,’
Arbogast knew the woman was telling the truth, that she hadn’t seen Mary. It seemed as if his prey had simply vanished. As he turned to leave he saw one woman staring at him and when she caught his gaze she turned and left too quickly. Arbogast rushed out after her, tripping on a chair leg. He was dazed for a second, lying flat on his back while he was laughed at ‘Oops there he goes, while your down there why don’t you make yourself useful,’ he could still hear the cackles as he made his way back out into the freezing winter’s night to find the disappearing woman, but she was gone. There was a fog hanging over the city tonight. The area was poorly lit at the best of times and seemed even less so tonight. In the background he could see the masked orange glow of the street lights trying to find clarity through the gloom.

“Is she in trouble?” said a voice from the fog. Arbogast spun round to find the woman from inside. She looked to be in her thirties or forties but could be 21 for all he knew. She wore a tight green mini-dress and blue stiletto heels. Covered in a warm winter jacket she was smoking a Kensitas Club through dried out lipstick. He thought she looked a little like the actress Sigourney Weaver.

“Is she in trouble?” she repeated.

“Is who in trouble?”

“You know who I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

She shifted her weight from right to left, “Mary, wee Mary.”

Arbogast nodded “Could be. I’m sorry I don’t know your name?”

“That’s right you don’t.” Arbogast thought she was unsure about him but he couldn’t help but wonder why she had come forward.

“You can call me Maggie.”

Arbogast nodded, “So what do you know Maggie – can you tell me about Mary?”

“I like Mary, she was good to me, took the time to see me through when I thought I might not be able to go on. She saved me in a way.” She grunted, “But the details don’t matter. What I want to know is – are you trying to help her?”

There was a long silence. Maggie took two long drags from her cigarette, with the ash hanging precariously as the contents sagged in a bid for freedom.

“I won’t lie to you Maggie, Mary’s in trouble. She’s done some stupid things. She sees herself as a victim but maybe she’s just caught up in something she can’t control. What I do know for sure is that she’s another name in a growing line of people who are getting hurt: people that are disappearing and turning up dead. I don’t want her to be another figure, another casualty. She’s in it up to her neck, but she’s messing around with the wrong people.”

Maggie nodded; she knew the kind of people he meant. “I’m not telling you anything officially detective...?”

“Arbogast, John Arbogast.”

“Well Detective Arbogast she was here earlier, dressed like a tart. I didn’t recognise her at first. In fact I almost gave her a good slap but I could see she was scared. Mary said she needed to get away, that people were looking for her. She attacked a punter and took his car. He’s OK, a bit beaten up and he’ll have a bugger of a headache tomorrow. She drove off in his car, a Ford Mondeo. It was white. A 54 plate.”

And then she stopped and Arbogast knew he would be getting nothing more. “Just find her Arbogast,” she said and left. Arbogast watched as Maggie made her way off into the gloom, trying her luck and hoping for a quiet night. He wished her well and went home.

The screen flickered to life as the machine rumbled into action. Slowly as the desktop loaded and came to life, icon by icon, Arbogast wondered what to make of his earlier encounter. He logged into his computer and then typed up notes of what Maggie had told him. He emailed the description of the car and sent them through the HOLMES team, to be added into the mix. This could be a major lead. A national search would go out for the vehicle later that day; hopefully it would be easy to track. Anything travelling on the major trunk roads was clocked by the traffic camera network, registration plates were logged and people were easy to track. It would take a couple of hours though which meant he had time to relax. Sleep. He poured himself a large whisky and sat back down at the screen. He clicked on his favourites bar and then was back in his other world.

Hey there,
flashed the message on screen. She was framed in a box and sat on a bed, a Chinese girl who looked a bit like Rose.

Hi.

What’s your name?

JJ

Hey JJ, You wanna have some fun?

 She sat in her underwear moving from left to right showing off the goods.

Let me see you.

Hey bad boy

He watched as she undressed for him. He watched and then slowly lost track of the time.

CTRL Alt Delete

February 23
^rd
2010

When he woke up he felt as if he had only been asleep for a second, but when he checked his watch he saw that he had been out for four hours.

“Fuck.” He had set his alarm but then must have switched the phone off. He had nineteen missed calls, all from the same number. He didn’t need to check his messages and phoned in straight away.

“Sorry boss,” he explained that he must have dozed off.

“John it’s going ballistic in here, where the hell have you been? We have a press conference today and they all want to know where we are with this. I’m going to tell them about the hospital but I’m going to keep the details on the car vague.”

Arbogast could see the sense in this, “Yes tell them we are looking for the driver of a white Ford to come forward. We should say it was last seen in the Anderston area of town. Meanwhile we can check the traffic cameras.”

“That’s already been done John; we haven’t all been asleep on the job. The roads were quiet last night. The driving conditions weren’t good with the fog. We’ve spotted two white Fords matching the description. One was on the M74 heading south but it’s the other one that caught my attention.”

“Tell me it was on the M8?”

“Yes. A car fitting that description was seen heading west on the M8. I think our girl may have been paying a visit to daddy.”

“I’ll go down now. What time’s the press call?”

“Twelve.”

“OK I’ll phone in before then but expect to see me there.”

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks. I’ll have a patrol car sent down. Happy hunting.”

February 22
^nd
2010

Mary had been careful not to make any noise as she approached the caravan. It had been icy and she had been careful not to give herself away by the crunch of the gravel driveway. Slowly she made her way to the back of the trailer. She crouched under the main window and listened. Mary had expected the quiet hum of the TV but there were raised voices inside, a foreign male voice which she didn’t recognise.

“You will do as you are told. This has been planned to the last detail and I expect you to do your part.”

Mary heard her father protest but then there was a scuffle and then a crash. She raised herself onto her tip toes to see if she could catch a glimpse of what was going on inside. It was a dangerous move and if they looked out and saw her there was little she could do to hide. She could only make out the top of his head, a dark mane of hair swept back round his ears.

“Now do you understand?” the voice was harsh. “Yes I understand,” replied her father. In the background she thought she could hear a child crying.
‘I’m going to need to revise my plans. Maybe the other man will leave.’
Mary crept across to the old house and checked the doors which were all locked. Thinking back she turned over a large stone in the driveway and found what she was looking for, the spare key. The rock had been stuck hard into the ground and was difficult to move so she assumed her father had forgotten it was here. As she walked through what had been her home Mary was struck by the silence. She froze when she heard a door open outside and for a second she thought that she had been discovered. From the front of the house she could see a beam of light shining through the windows. She bent down and held her breath. Then the door closed again and the light was gone. Mary made her way to the top floor and opened the door to her childhood bedroom to be faced once more with the memories which refused to die.

February 23
^rd
2010

Arbogast arrived at the farm at around 8:45am. He had rushed down a mug full of espresso from his DeLonghi Perfecta. It had cost a fortune but he could only function in the morning with strong coffee so the investment paid for itself on a daily basis. He felt wired – it was part coffee, part exhaustion, and part adrenalin. When he arrived at the Sanderson farm he realised it had been nearly two weeks since his last visit, although DS Reid had been down a few times. He thought of her and prayed that she would be OK, not that prayer was a currency he valued, but he still had hope. The landscape had changed. The last time he had been here the countryside had that magical quality that new snowfall brings. But it had started to melt away and the dead grass and blackened trees were beginning to show themselves. The thaw always brought with it the shock of the old. Deep snow hid the world, masked reality and concealed its secrets. The rubbish people dropped into a snowstorm would emerge through the ice, leaving a wasteland, as if an iceberg had slid over the country leaving behind it the detritus of countless careless moments.

The farm stood midway up a hill, poised on a brief plateau. The birch trees that circled the house had been swept back by the wind, like a hand pushing down on long grass on a hot summer day. His own car was an eight year old Nissan which wasn’t made for ice. He had to abandon it halfway up the hill. It was probably fairer to say that the car abandoned him.  The Nissan had lost all traction and the vehicle had spun nose first round 180 degrees and was facing back down lodged between the raised verges on either side of the drive. Arbogast left ‘old faithful’ in reverse and walked the rest of the way. There didn’t seem to be anyone around although the Range Rover was still there. Arbogast rapped the metal door for longer than was necessary. He waited but no-one came so he tried the door which to his surprise was open. He pulled it towards him and stuck his head through the door. “Hello?” he said, but found no response. He looked behind him, checking there was no one there and then he entered. He knew he shouldn’t, he had no right, but then again it had been left open so why not. All the rooms were empty and apparently unused. A bottle of vodka sat by what he assumed was Sanderson’s bed but there was no sign of anyone else. Confused he left the caravan and surveyed the area. Behind the caravan was the shower block. Arbogast made his way round and had a look. He assumed this was where the water came from. The block had seen better days. What had once been small white wooden windows where now rotting frames which wouldn’t last for much longer. There were two doors at either side, one marked MEN, the other WOMEN. He tried the door on the women’s side but it was locked. The rust on the hinges suggested it hadn’t been opened for some time. The other side was open. He walked in and was struck but the unmistakable stench of sewage. Arbogast covered his mouth and nose with his jacket sleeve and went into have a closer look. The block itself was nothing special. There were four shower cubicles and a urinal which was separated from the washing area by a flimsy plaster wall, which was crumbling in places. He assumed the tiles had once been white but they were now stained brown, strangers to detergent. The floor was cleaner; someone had been in here recently. Arbogast remembered that Sanderson said he drew his water from here. There was something about the shower block that was gnawing at Arbogast but he couldn’t place it. He would store it at the back of his mind and come back to it. Leaving the block he decided to have a closer look at the house but was stopped in his tracks. Standing outside, Eric Sanderson stood wiping his hands on what looked like an oil rag.

“Detective Arbogast, get lost did we?” he said smiling from ear to ear, “I hear that you have managed to misplace my daughter – she’s always been trouble you know.”

Arbogast didn’t like his tone, “I’ve been looking for you actually Mr Sanderson. I wondered if you might have seen your daughter, but I couldn’t find you.”

“I was in the old place.”

“Really, I thought you said the house was out of bounds?”

“Quite right but I fear that mother-nature has forced my hand. It’s the thaw you see. The house is becoming unstable. As you can see it’s dropped an inch or two these last few days and I’m afraid the mine workings below may be ready to claim her.”

“Being a bit dramatic aren’t we there sir?” There was something different in Eric’s manner today. He seemed more confident.

“I’ve been having a look around the old place, taking what I might need but it’s become quite filthy. But let’s not stand around outside Detective, come into my office.”

He gestured to Arbogast to make his way to the caravan.

As the metal door scraped shut Mary watched from the house as her father took the Detective inside. She smiled and knew that her time had come.

21

Arbogast was staring intently at Eric Sanderson and he knew that his instinct had been right, something had changed.  This was not the same reserved man he had encountered just a few days ago. He seemed relaxed, almost as if his troubles had disappeared. Arbogast saw no reason to beat around the bush.