A Small Hill to Die On: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (14 page)

Muttering a prayer that the key had not bounced off the dog bag when it landed, she bent down again and slowly pulled the bag back under the door. And there it was … the key. She picked it up, inserted it into the keyhole, and turned it. She felt the tension on the lock as the key tightened its grip on the lock and slowly pulled the bolt into the door.

She turned to Trixxi and gestured to her to come. Trixxi obediently stood, wagged her tail, and joined Penny at the door. Penny clipped her lead on her.

As quietly as she could, Penny turned the door handle and opened the door a few inches. She listened, and when she heard nothing, she opened the door a little bit wider. When she judged it was open just wide enough, she stood aside to let Trixxi go through and then followed her into the corridor. Ahead of her was the door that led to the outside, to her left the kennel area, and on her right the narrow corridor led deeper into the stable, past the old stalls, now filled with thousands of budding marijuana plants in various stages of growth.

Suddenly, from her left she heard a quick movement, and a moment later a short Asian boy stood in front of her, blocking her way to the door and the freedom beyond.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” she asked softly as she prepared to put her hand on his shoulder and brush him aside so she could get to the door.

“Trung,” he said, pointing to himself. “You got food for me?”

She reached into her coat pocket for the cereal bar, and then, just as she handed it to him, an angry shout from farther down the passageway made her heart sink.

She brushed past the boy and lunged for the door. She managed to get her hand on the door handle and tried to turn it. It didn’t move. She dropped her clammy hand, and by the time the Asian man who had locked her in the tack room reached her, her heart was beating so wildly she thought it would surely burst. She opened her mouth to speak, but her mouth was so dry and she was breathing so hard she couldn’t form the words. With the fear in her stomach now a hard knot of pain, she looked around frantically to see if there was somewhere to run. The Asian man, his dark brown eyes cold and glittering, was blocking the way down the long passage, the door to the outside was locked, behind her was the tack room she had just escaped from, and to her left was the door that led to the former kennel. She pushed the boy out of the way and bolted through the doorway that led to the kennels, hoping to find an unlocked door that would lead to the outside, knowing as she did so that her chance of outrunning the Asian man was slim to none. But every fibre in her adrenaline-fueled body told her she had to try.

Twenty-seven

Davies pressed the button to end the call and then stared at his phone as if willing it to tell him something. Unable to reach Penny all afternoon, he’d left a couple of messages asking her to ring him back, but as time passed and he didn’t hear from her, he was beginning to worry. He hadn’t spoken to her since last night, and now that afternoon had given way to evening, he was becoming increasingly unsettled

“Dad! Dinner’s ready.” His son calling up the stairs interrupted his thoughts. He considered his black suitcase sitting on the floor waiting to be unpacked and then glanced around the small bedroom. Owen and Hillary wanted to tell him something over dinner, and he had a pretty good idea what it was. He hated the thought of ruining their moment. The clock on the bedside table said seven o’clock. He got up off the bed, his mind made up. He’d have dinner, then ring her one more time. If he couldn’t reach her, even though he knew his son wouldn’t like it, he’d make his apologies and return home.

“Coming,” he called. “Be right down.”

He scrolled through his directory until he found the number he needed and then pressed
SEND
. A moment later his call was answered.

“Ah, Victoria, hello, it’s Gareth here. Glad I caught you. How are you?”

He listened for a moment.

“Good, good. Well, listen, it’s actually Penny I’m ringing you about. I haven’t heard from her today and can’t reach her. She’s not answering her phone and I’m getting a little worried. Have you heard from her? Do you know where she is? Is everything all right?”

Davies rubbed his chin as Victoria explained she’d spoken to Penny earlier in the day and thought she’d gone to Ty Brith Hall to sketch some outbuildings.

“Well, listen. I’m at my son’s in Liverpool so I need you to go round to Penny’s. You’ve got a key, yes? Right, well go in and see if she’s there. If not”—he thought for a moment—“text me and let me know. I’ll come back, if need be. I’ll wait to hear from you, but you must get back to me as quickly as you can.”

He rang off, put his phone in his pocket, and went downstairs.

Hillary had gone to some trouble. With both of them working long hours as solicitors, they didn’t have a lot of time for entertaining. When they got together with friends, it was over a takeaway pizza or at a trendy restaurant in town. Like most young couples, they did not have a formal dining room, so the table in their large, modern kitchen had been set with a pink cloth and a bouquet of pink roses, their stems trimmed short, had been carefully arranged in a glass bowl and set in the middle of the table. There’s a clue, he thought. With her hand encased in an oven mitt, Hillary pointed him to a chair as Owen poured two glasses of wine, one for himself and one for Davies. He filled a third glass with sparkling mineral water. There’s another clue, thought Davies.

Hillary set a large aluminum pan of steaming supermarket lasagna on the table and then turned back to the counter to get a loaf of French bread. At the sight of the bread, Davies’ stomach clenched. Penny loved bread and he remembered her telling him once how she used to enjoy baking it. His hand folded around his mobile, willing it to ring.

Owen raised his glass of wine, Hillary picked up her glass of sparkling mineral water, and they smiled into each other’s eyes.

“Well, Dad,” said Owen as Davies reached for his glass of wine, “cheers. We’ve really been looking forward to your visit because we wanted to tell you something in person.” He reached for Hillary’s hand. “We’re going to have a baby. Hill’s about three months along. We don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl”—he gestured at the table—“but we went with pink.”

“That’s great news.” Davies smiled at them. “I’m really happy for you both. Congratulations. I know you’ll be wonderful parents.”

“Well,” said Hillary, slicing the bread, “tuck in before it gets cold. Owen, pass your dad the salad.”

Davies set down his wineglass, untouched. “Sorry, son, there’s something going on that’s got me worried. I’ll have to make some calls after dinner, and depending on what happens, I’m afraid I may have to head back to Wales tonight.” He caught the disappointed look tinged with anger that flashed across his son’s face. “I’m truly sorry, Owen. I’d been looking forward to spending the weekend with you, I want you to know that.”

Owen turned to his wife. “It was like this when we were growing up. He always put the work first, family second.”

“It’s not like that, Owen,” Davies said gently. “A friend of mine, a lady I care about very much…” His voice trailed off. “She went out today to do some sketching and I can’t reach her on her mobile.”

“So her phone’s switched off. Or maybe she’s in one of those places where there’s no reception. There are dead spots in the valley. It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ve been a copper for a long time, and I know when something’s not right. I know when to trust my instinct, and this is one of those times.” Davies’ phone buzzed and he stood up. “Excuse me.” He stepped away from the table and read Victoria’s text.
Not here. No Trixxi. Nothing looks disturbed.
Davies rang Penny’s phone. As soon as he heard her voice mail he ended the call, knowing what he had to do.

“I’m sorry, Owen,” he apologized again. “I’ve got to go. I’ll just get my things.” As he walked toward the stairs Owen muttered, “I knew this would happen. He never changes.”

“Don’t be so hard on him,” said Hillary as she cut a serving of lasagna and set it on her husband’s plate. “This isn’t work, it’s personal. Can’t you see how worked up he is? The poor man’s practically beside himself with worry. Let him go.”

Davies shut the car door and started the motor. He sat there for a few moments, thinking, and then reached for his mobile and placed a call. When Bethan Morgan picked up, he got right to the point.

“Bethan, we’ve got trouble. It’s Penny. I think she’s up there at Ty Brith and these are not warm, friendly people. If they do have her, we’ve got to get her out in case things get nasty. Let’s hope we’re not too late.

“We’re going to have to move up Operation Sparrow and launch it tonight. Can you notify the CMU team and get everyone in position? I’m leaving now and should be back in two hours or so.” He listened. “I know, and I’m sorry. That’s 2130 hours for the briefing.” Bethan asked a few more questions and he replied, “No, we don’t need a search warrant for the Penny part of this. I have reason to believe that someone is in danger at that location, and that gives us the right to enter and search the property. But we’ll need one to take the computers from the house and we need to make sure we get every last one of them.” He rang off, put the car in gear, and drove into the night.

Twenty-eight

Penny sat blindfolded on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms tied behind her back. The steel door that led from the kennel to the freedom of the stable courtyard was locked, and in seconds the Asian man had her once again in his grip. She’d tried to shake him off, but he had overpowered her as the Asian boy watched and another man came running. One of the men had given Trixxi to the boy, and then together they propelled Penny toward the house. When they got close to the back door, the first man said something to the other one and he produced a piece of black cloth that they tied over Penny’s eyes. They then bound her hands before jostling her over the threshold. She tried to remember which way they were going but after a few turns she was completely disoriented. She did note, though, that they had not gone up or down any stairs. Then she was pushed into what felt to her like a confined space, and the door was shut firmly behind her. She backed up until she could feel the door handle and tried to turn it. Of course, it was locked.

The room smelled as if it had been recently cleaned by someone with a heavy hand. There was a sharp and unpleasantly overpowering odor. Was it bleach? Some kind of industrial disinfectant, she thought. Beneath her feet she felt carpet, and slowly she sank down until she was sitting on the floor. A few moments later she heard the door open. Even more frightened and with her pulse pounding, she turned her face to the sound.

“Who is it?” she croaked.

The person said nothing but reached down and removed the tie from her hands, waited while she brought her hands around to the front of her body, and then placed a mug of hot tea in them. As he bent over her, Penny caught a strong smell of stale cigarette smoke. The door then closed with a metallic click and Penny was once more alone. Her hands were trembling so much she was afraid she would spill the contents before she could set the mug down, but somehow she managed to do it. She rubbed her hands together, then reached up and lifted the blindfold.

She was in a small, windowless, irregularly shaped room that seemed to be some kind of storage area. Metal shelving along one wall held nothing but a laptop computer. A single, dim bulb burned overhead, casting long shadows against the wall. A rectangular, heavily patterned burgundy carpet had been placed over a hardwood floor stained a dark brown. She crawled across the carpet and leaned against the far wall, legs outstretched in front of her, facing the door. She ran her hand over the carpet; it felt smooth and clean. She sniffed the air again. What was that awful smell?

Shaking with fear and trying not to panic, she wrapped her hands around the mug of tea, drawing comfort from its soothing, homey warmth. She took a sip. It was strong and sweet. She looked at the mug while she tried to organize her thoughts. Who had brought it to her? Why? Her mouth was unbearably dry and she was desperate for something to drink. She raised the cup to her lips again, then stopped. What if it was poisoned or had been laced with something to knock her out? She set it down beside her, then pushed it back behind her, against the wall. She didn’t want it to spill and it might come in handy later.

What have they done with Trixxi? she wondered. At the thought of the gentle, loving dog being hurt or worse, a wave of sadness washed over her and her eyes filled with tears. She pictured Trixxi rambling cheerfully along the country lanes, nose to the ground, tail wagging, discovering something new and wonderful every few steps. She loved the feel of Trixxi’s glossy black fur and the way she looked at her with those trusting, adoring brown eyes.

She sighed, wiped her eyes, and then, to her surprise, yawned. What was she supposed to do now? Wait, she guessed, for something to happen. Someone would have to come for her sooner or later. They wouldn’t just abandon her here, would they?

That thought sent a cold shiver of terror through her. What if the people who lived here, Mai and her husband and everybody else, had just packed up and gone back to Birmingham, leaving her here to die of thirst or starve to death?

Or maybe she was just being held here while they decided what to do with her. She licked her lips and tried to swallow. No, she would not let them determine her fate, and the thought of Trixxi strengthened her resolve. She would get out of here or die trying. She would not make it easy for them. Think, Penny, she told herself. Think.

At least her hands were free now, and there was a light in the room. She thought about the door and what kind of lock it might have. She patted her pockets. She discovered she’d left the little manicure kit behind in the stable so she had no tools to pick the lock, even if she had known how, and anyway, those little tools would be useless against a lock like this one. She thought about how it had sounded when it locked. Metallic and sharp, not clunky and slow, as it would with a manual key.