Scream, You Die (7 page)

She didn’t need to wait long, catching the sound of creaking wood. The footfalls on the stairs were heavier than normal and the big man with no neck who had branded her earlier appeared in the doorway.

“You have to come with me,” he said, with a backward flick of his bulbous head, turning on his heels.

Pushing herself up off the bed Grazyna followed him onto the landing and then began a disquieting descent down the stairs. On the landing below, standing beside Skender, she met Kofryna. She took one look at her and couldn’t believe it was the same friend she had arrived here with. Kofryna’s nutty brown hair had been pulled back from her face into a pony tail, revealing hollow cheek bones and dark-rimmed eyes. A gash of bright red lipstick scarred her usual cheery smile. The clothing Kofryna had on was even more whorish than her own outfit. She had on a silver Lurex top, black leather miniskirt and black and silver sling-back high heels. The expression she wore was sorrowful and as they exchanged glances Grazyna saw that she had suffered the same horrors as herself.

Grazyna offered up a meek smile. It was reciprocated but there was no emotion behind it, as if the lifeforce had been sucked from her friend. She stepped forward to give her friend a hug.

Suddenly Skender thrust out an arm knocking her back. He shook his head and shot Grazyna a disproving look. “Arjan here is taking you to another house. You be good for him or bad things will happen, understand?”

Grazyna and Kofryna dropped their gazes to the carpet. Neither of them replied.

“Understand?” Skender repeated sharply.

Both girls jumped.

“Yes,” they responded, one after the other. Their voices were shaky.

“Good.” He pressed his head towards them. “Don’t forget what I tell you about your families. And don’t forget what I tell you if they ask if virgin.” Pointing the way downstairs to the hallway, he added, “Now you go with Arjan.”

Under escort, Grazyna and Kofryna trooped downstairs and were shown out through the front door into the street. Skender’s four-by-four was parked directly in front.

Arjan popped the locks and yanked open the rear door. He indicated with a nod of his head for them to climb in.

Grazyna shuffled in first, followed by Kofryna.

Pressing herself back against the leather upholstery Grazyna shot a glance out through the windscreen. She got her first full view of the area from street level. Similarly styled two-storey houses stretched for some two hundred yards. Dotted along sporadically, both sides of the road, were autumn-leafed trees. Up ahead, a crepuscular light touched the rooftops – it was turning to dusk. She looked for life, anyone she could exchange glances with, but she saw no one. Pulling back her gaze she swapped another weak smile with Kofryna and tentatively reached sideways and squeezed her hand.

Arjan climbed into the driver’s seat. The car dipped sideways with his bulk. He fired up the engine and engaged gear. Without turning around he said gruffly, “You not talk. You be quiet or there be trouble, okay?”

Grazyna caught Arjan’s eyes in the rear-view mirror looking back at her. She nodded towards him.

“Good.” He pulled his eyes back to the road and heaved on the steering.

As he pulled away from the kerb Grazyna breathed a sigh of relief. Skender wasn’t coming with them. They left him standing on the pavement, hands in pockets, wearing that evil smile of his.

Driving slowly along the road Grazyna began to take in the surroundings, storing them to memory. At the junction ahead they stopped. It looked to her as if they were entering a busy thoroughfare; a steady ribbon of traffic threaded past the front of their car.

Arjan went for a gap, screeching away from the junction, slotting in behind a blue van and breaking sharply to match its slow speed. A car at the back of them sounded its horn. He groused over his shoulder, shaking his pudgy hand in a threatening manner.

A hundred metres later they stopped at another junction. Upon turning right, Grazyna spotted a road sign: Brentford 5.

Is that kilometres, or was it miles in England?

The traffic moved at snailpace on this road. And bumper to bumper. Grazyna listened to Arjan chuntering and saw him tapping the steering wheel in frustration.

She felt a hand flick her thigh and turned to face Kofryna.

Kofryna blazed open her eyes and canted her head towards Grazyna’s door.

Grazyna’s heart began racing. Was Kofryna indicating the door lock? Was she signalling her to jump? She flashed a quick glance towards Arjan, and seeing his concentration was on the traffic ahead flipped back her gaze. She mouthed the word “escape” and Kofryna nodded. Her stomach leapt and she felt sick.

Wide-eyed, Kofryna dipped her head towards Grazyna’s door. This time her action was more urgent. Then without warning she launched herself forward, flinging her hands around the driver’s seat headrest, slapping them across Arjan’s face.

Arjan yelped. The car lurched sharply and a split-second later there was a loud bang as they smashed into the van in front.

Grazyna was flung forward, banging her chest and the side of her face against the back of the passenger seat. The blow knocked the wind out of her and for a few seconds she desperately fought to catch her breath. Beside her she saw Kofryna frantically scratching and pulling at Arjan’s head and face. Defensively, he was swinging his arms wildly attempting to halt the attack while simultaneously trying to grab a hold of her friend’s flaying arms. Grazyna finally caught her breath, took in a great gulp of air and leapt to Kofryna’s aid, throwing in a punch at Arjan’s head.

In Lithuanian Kofryna screamed, “Run, Grazyna, run!”

It took only a second for Kofryna’s cries to register and for Grazyna to make her decision. She threw another quick punch at Arjan, then reached for the door release and shouldered it. The door sprang open so easily that it took her by surprise and she almost fell out. She staggered as she hit the pavement, adjusted quickly and set off running even before she could straighten herself. Behind, she could hear horns blaring, followed by the sound of screeching tyres, but she never looked back. She just kept on running.

Scarlett awoke with a thunderous headache. She dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom, where she laboured under a cold shower, willing her body out of its lethargic state. Inside her head she berated herself; she knew she shouldn’t have drunk that second bottle. Drying herself she came to the decision she needed something a lot tougher than the gym to get herself out of this languid mess. A run beside the river always did it; once outside she always pushed herself harder than on a treadmill in a warm gym.

Downing a full pint glass of water she pulled on her running leggings, a T-shirt and running vest and added a hooded top before grabbing a bottle of water and taking to the streets. For the first half-mile the pace was slow, warming up and stretching the muscles, but as she turned onto the track which took her riverside, she kicked up her heels. For the next three miles she pounded along the embankment of the River Thames, pushing herself to her limits, grasping for every breath, feeling that her lungs were about to burst through her chest. Then she eased off into a pace which, although still fast, was more comfortable. The last half-mile of her six-mile run she finished at a gentle jog. At the front door, grabbing back her breath, she stretched out her aching legs, and checking her watch for her running time, she entered the house in far better shape, both mentally and physically, than she had left it thirty-four minutes earlier.

The second shower was more comfortable and invigorating and she emerged feeling refreshed. She even had time for a bowl of porridge before getting ready to meet Alex. From her wardrobe she chose a pink tight-ribbed V-neck jumper and skinny jeans, because those would fit under her biking leathers – she had decided while running that she would give herself an added injection of adrenalin this morning by taking her motorbike for a blast.

Snatching up her keys and grabbing her helmet out from under the stairs, as ever, before leaving the house, she gave her appearance the once-over in the hallway mirror. Canting her head, she thought she looked pretty good for someone who only two hours ago had been suffering a wrecking-ball headache.

Locking the front door she ambled round to the side of her Victorian terrace, where she kept her motorbike chained up beneath heavy-duty plastic, and whipping off the sheet she checked over the classic 1967 black Triumph Bonneville. It had been over a fortnight since she’d last ridden her, yet the chrome and paintwork still shone.

As a young teenager, Scarlett could remember her father bringing it home one summer’s evening, declaring he had bought it from a colleague at a bargain price, much to her mother’s disgust, berating him for bringing home a death trap. Excitedly, he had begged her and Rose to go outside, where he had proudly shown off the rusted heap, spouting off one technical detail after another to them. It had bored Rose and she had disappeared back inside the house to watch the telly, but Scarlett had been fascinated and over the next eighteen months she and her dad had lovingly restored it. When it was finished he had asked her to choose a name for the bike and after mulling over a few names she had finally come up with Bonnie. He had repaid her by taking her out on pillion for its first maiden run following restoration. “This is how a bike should ride,” he had shouted back over his shoulder as he’d opened it up on the dual carriageway. And as she gripped the sides of his jacket, he had added laughingly, “Just don’t tell your mum.” It had been her first adrenalin rush. Since then she had passed her motorbike test and repeatedly ridden the bike alone. Following her father’s murder she had taken ownership, caring for it in the same loving way he had.

Bunching back her hair she slipped on her helmet and straddled the Triumph. Kick-starting it, it fired first time and she tweaked the throttle, listening to the throaty roar of the 649cc engine. Two minutes of warming the engine later and Scarlett freewheeled it from the side of the house and onto the road. Then she gently opened the throttle to begin her journey. She had decided to take a long route to the pub where she was meeting Alex and so she headed out towards Chertsey, joining the M3 before switching onto the M25, where she really wound the bike up. Half an hour later, her adrenalin rush sated, she pulled off the motorway and headed back to Teddington and the Anglers pub. The peaceful riverside pub had been a regular meeting place of theirs when they had dated, and even though they were no longer a couple, it was still a place they came to whenever they wanted to catch up with one another. And it was a place where they could play “spot the celebrity”; the pub was close to Teddington Studios and therefore a magnet for film and TV drama stars.

It was just before twelve-thirty p.m. when Scarlett entered the car park. There were a few cars around but the place wasn’t choc-a-bloc like it was in summer. Pulling off her helmet she scoured the car park. No sign of Alex’s Range Rover Sport.

Good.

It would give her enough time to smarten herself up.

In the toilet she stuffed her biking leathers and helmet into her knapsack, replenished her make-up, ensuring that the bruising to her face was suitably disguised, and finally shook out and straightened her hair before stepping back into the bar. Quite a number of the tables were taken, mostly by families out for Sunday lunch, but she spotted a couple of empty ones by the far wall and she reserved one by dumping her bag in the middle of the table before making for the bar. There she ordered a J2O orange and returned to her chosen table, where she picked up a menu and settled down onto a chair. Scarlett had already determined she fancied something different from the traditional Sunday lunch.

The mussels with cider, leeks and bacon definitely sounds tempting.

“Have you ordered already?” Alex’s voice made her jump. She dropped her menu and diverted her gaze upwards. His handsome face was lit up with a smile. A tingling sensation travelled down her body.

“No, I’ve only just picked up the menu. I haven’t been here long.”

He leaned in and she half rose and offered her cheek. As he planted a kiss she caught a whiff of his musky eau-de-cologne. It stirred a memory.

“You look nice.” He pulled away his gaze and settled his glistening blue eyes upon her drink. “I’m just going to the bar, can I get you anything?”

She shook her head, “No, I’m fine thanks.”

He dragged out a chair, took off his jacket and draped it over the back.

Seeing Alex standing there, his well-toned chest, shoulders and arms straining his rugby top, reminded Scarlett of what had attracted her to him in the first place.

“I’m just going to get a beer and then we’ll order shall we?”

As she watched him stroll to the bar, right hand dipping into his jeans pocket, she felt her heart flutter. That spark hadn’t gone away even though their relationship was over. The decision to split had been made nine months ago and for her part she still felt guilty over it. Guilty, because it had been so full-on, especially physically, unlike anything else she had ever experienced, and yet selfishly she hadn’t given everything to the commitment side. It wasn’t just her; they had talked about it. Many times. The bottom line was that they were both dedicated and committed to their work, frequently cancelling dates because one or the other had a job running. And so the decision to call it a day had been made. It had seemed so right and sensible at the time, yet nevertheless she still had moments, like this, when she questioned herself for coming to that hasty conclusion. Eyeing him, making his order to the girl at the bar, and watching her face light up, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy creeping upon her. Her eyes remained glued to him and as he made his way back, sipping the head off his beer,  Scarlett wondered if he was seeing anyone. Watching him take up his seat she tried to dismiss the thought from her head, but she knew it wasn’t going to go away. She was so thankful that they had remained good friends and still spent some time together.

Alex took another drink. “So, you said on the phone you’d been mugged.”

It broke Scarlett’s day-dreaming and dragged her back to the moment. She took a sip of her own drink and then told him her story.

Giving her a lingering look as she finished, he said, “I’m sure, knowing you like I do, you’ll catch up with them sooner or later.”

“And boy when I do they’ll know about it.”

Shaking his head he smiled, “Still the same Scarlett, I see.”

“That’s what attracted you to me, wasn’t it?

“Actually, it was the long legs and nice arse.”

Scarlett soft-punched his arm. “Alex King, you are so shallow.”

“Ooh, Scarlett Macey, you can talk. I used to catch you drooling over me in the gym.”

“Drooling! Drooling! Oh, you are so vain. I’ll have you know that was sweat that was.”

They both laughed.

Changing her expression she said, “Anyhow, you said on the phone that you think you’ve found Rose.”

“Not exactly hundred per cent sure. Her hair’s not the same, but it’s fair just like the photo you gave me and she certainly has your eyes.”

“Where did you see her?”

“Just inside the entrance of the subway to Charing Cross. She was with a guy.” Alex paused and pursed his mouth. “They were begging.”

Scarlett took on a serious look. “When did you see her?”

“I’ve spotted her there twice now. I first saw her last Monday evening. It was purely by chance – I normally don’t use that entrance to the Underground, but I’d just finished meeting with a client and went for a coffee on the Strand. As you can imagine, spotting her was a real surprise, but I didn’t want to hang around too long in case I spooked her so I noted the time and then caught the tube home. I had some time on Wednesday so I decided to check out the tunnel again  and there she was – in the same place and with the same guy. It was just after half four. I couldn’t believe my luck. I dropped them a couple of quid so that I could get close enough to double-check her likeness. I’m pretty sure it’s Rose. I wasn’t able to get there on Thursday or Friday because I had meetings.”

“When you say begging does it look as though she’s sleeping rough?”

Alex shrugged his shoulders. “Hard to tell. To be honest she didn’t look too bad. Her clothing was a little shoddy but she certainly looked well. As I say, I only hung around for a brief look. I didn’t want her to clock me.” He took another sip on his beer and licking his lips added, “Anyway, how are you fixed tomorrow? I’ve nothing pressing for the next few days. I’ve got to go to Germany this week but that’s not until Thursday, so what you say we meet up and you can check for yourself?”

Scarlett raised her eyes to the ceiling, recalling what she had on at work. After a couple of seconds she returned her gaze. “I’ve got a rape enquiry on at the moment, but I’m close to wrapping that up. There are some loose ends to tie up and some paperwork to sort but I should be able to get away early if I crack on first thing tomorrow and nothing else comes in.”

“Okay, that’s sorted then. I’ll give you a call mid-afternoon and if everything’s cool we’ll meet at the front of the National Gallery at four.”

Scarlett picked up her glass and took a lengthy drink, her thoughts going into overdrive. After all these years, was she finally going to catch up with her sister?