The Hunted Read online

  Philippa watched Helen grab her vet bag from the back of the van, thinking how different Helen's day was compared to her own small domestic animal patients. “Sounds like it would kill an elephant if needed.”

  “Certainly would. Probably designed for it. Anyway, here's John,” said Helen, nodding in the direction of a tall, wiry man dressed in a brown lab-type coat who was approaching them. “He looks after the rhinos.” He and Helen shook hands and then Helen turned to her. “ John, this is Philippa,” she said. “Philippa will assist me this morning.”

  John offered his hand and greeted her warmly. “Nice to meet you, Philippa. Shame it's under these circumstances.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s never a good time,” Philippa replied. She took Helen’s lead and followed them both to the rhino enclosure where her patient lay isolated in her stall.

  “Hello, Nandu,” Helen cooed gently to the large animal, keeping a safe distance. “Are you no better today, then? You poor thing.”

  The rhino lay quietly, not moving a muscle.

  “She's not moved for some hours now,” said John. “Real miserable. I wasn't sure she'd make it through the night.” The sadness in his voice was heart-wrenching.

  Helen stepped into the enclosure now, confident she was safe, and began to make her final observations. Finally, she stood and confirmed what they all knew needed to be done.

  “Okay,” she said, letting her breath whoosh slowly out from her lungs. “Philippa, I’m going to need your help. John? Do you want a few moments with Nandu while we get things ready?”

  John nodded his head ‘yes,' and both Helen and Philippa stepped out of the enclosure to give him a moment to say goodbye.

  “Okay, we’ll not need the dart. The poor thing is too sick to move. I'll get everything I need ready, and when it comes time to administering the drug, that's when I need you on hand with the antidote—just in case. You'll know if I scratch myself with it because I'll yell like a mad woman, no doubt, so just jab me in the arm like you would a regular injection.”

  “Let’s hope it won’t be needed, then, but I’ll be right behind you. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  John left Nandu and the enclosure, gruffly brushing tears from his face with the back of his hand. Philippa stood silently and watched Helen expertly administer the drug. The large, solid animal drifting away peacefully, her eyes closing for the last time. In just a few moments, she was gone.

  Later that evening, as Philippa sat on the sofa thinking about the day she’d had, she knew what she needed to do. And just how to do it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Philippa sat on her sofa with her wine and nuts, a ritual she did most evenings though it was only usually one glass of wine and a handful of nuts. Tonight though, she’d pushed the boat out somewhat and was on her second, and feeling very comfortable with it. It was while she was sipping her wine, Ed Sheeran quietly singing in the background, that she reflected back on her day, what she’d seen over breakfast and why it had bothered her so much. But she already knew why that was—her father. It was just over a year ago that he’d been arrested for his involvement in an organised dog-fighting ring down in Kent and had been sent down for his part in it as the referee and general dog-fighting coordinator though he hadn’t started or funded the enterprise. No, that had been the brainchild of Mac MacAlister, a man you crossed at your peril and a man who had also been sent down. Both men were still detained though they’d both received criminally light sentences—just eleven months each, which was actually at the steeper end of sentencing for their crimes. Most simply got away with a slap on the wrist and a ban from keeping animals. If you’re the kind of person who is involved in such a horrific sport in the first place, you’re not likely to abide by that as a penalty. And many don’t; it’s hardly a deterrent. It was a wonder the police hadn’t caught up with her father sooner. After all, he’d been active in the sport for many years, for as long as she could remember, really. When she was growing up, most of her friends took up a paper round or car washing as weekend jobs for pocket money, but not Philippa. Her father had had different ideas about how she should spend her spare time. And that involved doing chores for the operation he refereed. While it paid well compared to her friends’ small jobs, she’d abhorred it, but of course had been stuck with it. She guessed, looking back, that her father had paid her well to encourage her to keep her mouth shut. And so she had. Cleaning the dogs’ filthy crates out and disposing of their dead bodies into the pit they kept behind the big shed was all her responsibility, and she’d simply got on with it. Her mother sympathised, but that was all. She never had been a strong woman herself and told Philippa she should be pleased she had a job at all, never mind one that paid so well. The money always came in handy. Now, thinking back, she wished she’d been stronger herself, said something as the years rolled by, but it’s hard to go up against your father.

  Then one day, she had discovered what he’d truly been up to, that he had been involved in it all along. Philippa had never been so ashamed in all her life over what he’d done. She’d never plucked up the courage to talk to him about it, nor visit him in prison, and had no desire to, either. Her mother Daphne had stood by him, still loved him, but Philippa just couldn’t act as if nothing had happened. She’d been the apple of his eye all through her childhood, though even with his rough tattooed exterior, he would never have harmed a hair on either her or her mother’s head. Being involved in such a sport really didn't ring true with the man who had brought her up and cared for her as a devoted father, attending school plays and generally being a great dad but there you go. Sometimes money rules, and it had for both of them. Perhaps she was a bit to blame herself.

  She flipped another cashew into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It was about the time the trial had started and the story had been back in the news again that she'd decided to change her name to her mother's maiden name of During. She had been Philippa During ever since, severing her ties with the man she’d grown up with. No one at the clinic knew her background in that respect, and that’s the way she was going to keep it. So yes, she knew why the recent cases she’d seen in her newsfeed had offended and affected her so much, the light, almost laughable sentences that both the thugs and her father had received for such grotesque animal cruelty. The more she dwelled on what she’d seen and what she’d experienced through her own family, the more determined she became to do something about it and make a difference all by herself. Having spent the morning at the zoo with Helen, she already had the bones of a plan forming, and she'd work on fleshing the rest out later, over the coming days. If she was going to do this, she had to do it right and not get caught and that meant time and patience spent thinking it through, something she had plenty of, patience particularly.

  Ed Sheeran came to an end and the room fell silent, the distant sound of traffic just audible on the main street a couple of rows over, a cat outside her house mewing at the wrong door. It was peaceful: no one to think about, no one to consider and no one else to please. The last of the cashews gone, she scrunched the little cellophane packet up and tossed it towards the coffee table where her empty wine glass sat. She wriggled down the sofa until she was laid out fully and closed her eyes to think a while. If the perpetrators of these crimes weren’t going to go to prison, then she’d make it her mission to find them and make them suffer in another, far harsher way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fiona Gable's phone pinged for what seemed like the millionth time since she'd landed, and she idly reached for her phone and scanned the screen to see what or who it was calling her out this time, she'd certainly stirred up a hornets’ nest. But it was neither of those. It was a friend request, of all things, though she didn't recognise the name or the profile picture of the attractive blonde woman.

  “Hmm, who are you?” she muttered and clicked on the woman’s profile page to find out more. Scrolling down, she saw they had a handful of friends in common, and figuring they’d probably al
l met somewhere together at some time or she’d changed her name and hairstyle as women continually do, she clicked ‘accept’ and thought no more about it.

  Her new online friend was Jackie Masters, and accepting her request would turn out to be the single biggest mistake of Fiona’s life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was time to make contact. Fiona Gable had accepted her friend request and it was time to get to work. After a good night's sleep, mostly brought on by two glasses of wine rather than her usual one, Philippa had slept like the proverbial baby and felt all the better for it. She'd risen, gone for a brisk walk around the nearby park, showered and was sat, as always on a weekday, in the café, bran muffin and coffee laid out in front of her. It wasn't quite seven am, and even though it was still early, she relished the thinking time to herself along with the knowledge she was about to strike up a conversation with her first victim. Outwardly she was calm and collected, but inside she was nervous, a bag of butterflies. She knew, however, that this wouldn't last long once she got confident chatting with Fiona—like old friends. She just needed to make a start. Clicking the Messenger app, she tapped out the start of a message:

  Hello Fiona! Not sure if you remember me, we went to university together, and I thought I'd say hi after your stint in the news! I'd have never have found you otherwise, so that was a piece of luck. Anyway, keen to catch up so drop me a reply when you've got five. Bye.

  She clicked the send icon and off it went into cyberspace. She broke a large piece off her muffin and chewed slowly, savouring the maple syrupy taste she enjoyed so much and watched the early risers call in the café for their own coffee. People-watching was one of her favourite activities: she loved to see whose body language said what, particularly to the person they were with. The one who’d woken in a rush and dashed out the door. The one who was oblivious to others around them, nose buried in their phone. The one who really needed some coaching on interacting politely with other human beings, and so on. From the young to the old and everyone in between, she found something in everyone to ponder about. How the old were so wise and how the young were so invincible. So what did that make her at thirty? A familiar buzz coming from her phone brought her attention back to her own table: a message from Fiona.

  Hello back! How are you? Good to see you! And thanks for getting in touch. Yes, it’s been a bit of an odd couple of days.

  You could say that again, she mused to herself, but tapped out quite a different reply.

  I can imagine. How are you holding up? Nothing much changes in my world, so yours is far more exciting right at this moment.

  Send. She waited.

  I have a thick skin, but even so, I didn't expect a shit-storm quite like this. Who would have thought it?

  It’ll soon blow over no doubt. Hang in there. There will be someone or something else juicier by the end of the week, you mark my words, and they’ll be off following the scent like the bloodhounds they are.

  Send.

  Well, I hope so. My boss isn’t too charmed about it. They found out where I work so they’ve been hanging around trying to interview me. Michael kicked them out of the way, thank goodness. He’s my boss.

  Talking of men, are you seeing anyone? Maybe even Adam from university?

  Send. She added a winking emoji, knowing there was no Adam—well, not that she knew of for definite, but every university had one, didn't it? She was keen to keep the conversation going and find out as much as she could. Maybe it was Michael?

  Who, Adam Barnes? Ew! No chance! But no, I was seeing Martin until this all happened and he up and left. Was about to dump him anyway. It had run its course.

  Interesting, she thought. Didn’t he like her hunting either?

  Not a hunter then?

  Send. The little bubbles told her she was typing back and she took a mouthful of her warm, milky coffee.

  A deadbeat, if truth be told. It had been on the cards a while. I just hadn't got round to doing anything about it. And you?

  Still single myself. Nobody on the horizon. Here’s an idea! We should grab a wine or two one night then if we’re both free agents, see what we can find. What do you think? Catch up in person.

  Send.

  Sounds great! Look, I’ve got to get ready for work now, but I’ll message you later eh? Then we can arrange something?

  Perfect. Speak later then. Enjoy your day.

  Send. Sitting back in her seat and sipping coffee, she mused how easy the conversation between two ‘old friends’ had been, and even though they hadn’t made any firm plans, it wouldn’t be hard to follow up. And she had the patience of a saint when she needed to. It was the actual saint part that she was lacking.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Later that same day, Philippa sat reading at home and her phone pinged again. It was her new ‘buddy’ Fiona. She smiled as she saw the message preview on the little screen and swiped to read the rest of it in full, knowing from the preview it was going to be good news. She read it out loud to herself, savouring the words as they came out of her own mouth.

  Lovely to chat earlier! What are you doing Friday night? Perhaps we could grab a pizza and a couple of wines?

  The plan was going better than she could have hoped it would, so far so good. And so easy. She tapped a reply out.

  I’ll come to you. Be nice for a change of scenery and from my usual venues. Where’s good that’s local to you rather than going into town?

  Send. She waited, almost able to see Fiona thinking about where to meet nearby to her place. Yes, if she had to she’d go into London itself for the night, but she really wanted to be in Fiona’s neighbourhood, see where she lived, the general area, get a feel for it. And she’d need to visit it more than once. When Fiona's reply landed, and she read it, she needn't have worried.

  If you're sure? There's a smart new Italian place not far from me, and they have live entertainment on a Friday and Saturday night. I'd better book. 7.30 pm okay?

  It was perfect, giving her enough time to finish work, get changed and travel south to Croydon. The plan was taking shape.

  Perfect. Give me your address and I’ll pick you up.

  Send.

  Wow! If you're sure, great! Chauffeur driven into the bargain!

  Fiona added her address, Cedar Road in South Croydon, and Philippa made a mental note of it to look the street view up on Google when they'd done chatting. It was all falling into place quite nicely.

  Perfect. Looking forward to Friday evening then. See you just after sevenish.

  The first ‘appointment' was scheduled, and Philippa opened her laptop to put Cedar Road into Google maps and take her first snoop around. As the page loaded, there it was: a rather large house sat mid-terrace, its white exterior neatly kept, a tiny garden out front, a covered porch and skylights in the roof, always a telltale sign of created space up there. Not bad for a single woman on her own. It probably had four or five bedrooms from what she could see of it, though she wondered how a single woman could afford such a place. Clicking back to the map view, she saw that East Croydon station was spitting distance away from the house, which gave her somewhere to park when it came to it. Entering the two destinations into Google maps, it was just a seven-minute walk, easily do-able. How much better could it get?

  She closed her laptop and sat back in her chair deep in thought, the flesh positively adding to the bones of how it would all work, and when. Dinner out was the first hurdle to get over. What she had planned, the bigger plan, would be another day. The only thing left was to organise the two main items she needed for the job. One of those was easy enough; the other would take a bit more creativity. When she got into the clinic tomorrow, she’d place an order for it and have to do so in Helen’s name. As senior partner, she’d be the one with authorisation for ordering such a drug. If anyone asked about the order—and she doubted they would—she’d cite recent usage as the reason. She would also have to be the one to intercept the small parcel when it arrived by courier the follo
wing morning. She picked the book up she’d been reading before the message had come through and tried to concentrate on the story again, but her mind was swimming with what she was planning, rolling over and over in her mind like waves coming in on a beach. Lacking the concentration to read, she slapped the book shut and went to make a cup of herbal tea before bedtime.

  That night, she dreamed of pinging cellphone towers, random CSI episodes and old reruns of Morse and Dexter. There was no wonder, then, that the following morning she stumbled out of bed with enormous bags under her eyes...

  Chapter Sixteen

  She spent the rest of her downtime that week with her head buried in her laptop back on the sofa, empty packets of cashews littering the floor. The only reason she bought the small individual packs was to stop her devouring a big pack in one go once it was opened, but the rational reasoning behind it hadn't worked out quite like that. Philippa blamed it on concentration, the mindless slow chewing helping her in her research, her brain ticking over as she added the small morsels of information she was finding out about the life of Fiona and a few of her close friends. Needing as much information and ammunition as she could for her upcoming dinner date, she was conscious it had to be as realistic as possible, and the simple little added titbit of Adam Barnes had been a nice offering. There was quite a spreadsheet running: Fiona’s friends’ names were listed along with occupations, locations, previous jobs, a couple of birthdays, pictures of their families and outdoor hobbies, email addresses, telephone numbers. All found on Facebook, LinkedIn or other sites from a simple Google search. You name it, there was ready information a-plenty, and Philippa was soaking it up and learning about the life of this complete stranger. In detail.