The Hunted Page 9

  “Good to know, Jack. Thanks for that, but I still want some lunch. You hungry?”

  “I fancy a Subway. That work for you?”

  “Don’t care what, so long as it’s food. I want to get moving on the vet lead and go back through her friends’ statements. There’s got to be a clue there. And that cryptic message the killer posted with the photo, about being a trophy, makes me think the victim’s love of hunting could be linked to all this. So a hunting knife as the murder weapon would fit.”

  “Nothing surprises me anymore after nearly thirty years in the job, so some nut job who kills because they don’t agree with someone’s hobbies is just another check-mark on that list.”

  “What list is that, Jack?”

  “The list of reasons to kill. I guess every perp has their own.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Understandably, the story of a woman found with her throat slit in a south London town was on the news. Philippa had been following the story all day, more to see what the police were up to than out of morbid curiosity. She'd scoured newspapers and online news sites, watched the news on TV and even listened to the radio, something she hadn't done in a long time. But in everything she'd read and heard about the attack, there was nothing mentioned about the drug she'd used. Odd, she thought; she’d read enough thrillers to know that toxicology was generally done on a murder victim, though it took time. No, they knew all right. They had to. They just hadn’t released that tasty bit of information to the public.

  As the newsreader she was watching moved on to another story, Philippa wondered if they had yet put two and two together and come up with vets who used the drug. Particularly vets with patients bigger than regular dogs and cats. But even then, etorphine could be bought on the dark web if you knew where to look. No, she felt sure she was safe: she'd left no evidence at the scene, and had even sat outside the chip shop like anyone else, a normal person, eating an early lunch, without a care in the world. What murderer would hide in plain sight? But the stroke of genius, she thought, was the way she'd posted the image, phone location turned off, sat in a car park at the train station not far from the house and the correct pinging cell phone towers. Any pings caught would be close enough to the house to look like the photos had been posted from there. And of course, she'd disposed of the phone. That would never see the light of day again.

  No, all the loose ends had been tied up, and even if they got round to questioning the staff at her clinic, they wouldn't be any further forward. Helen had used the drug on a rhino; that would account for the clinic usage if it came to it, and the order she'd placed herself would have been delivered to the clinic this morning. It had been her intention to intercept it, but with her migraine and oversleeping, she'd failed in that respect. Philippa took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, the air escaping through a perfect ‘O’ in her lips, satisfied she had nothing to worry about, and that was important.

  She stayed on the sofa for most of the day sorting the pieces whizzing around in her head. Finally, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, she’d begun to feel a little better, calmer, less stressed, and the throbbing motorbike in her head had been shut off. The comfort food had helped. Thankfully she had pizza and ice cream readily in the freezer and had made headway through both. In times of need, sometimes you just had to give into what the body craved. She stood and stretched, took her dirty dishes to the kitchen, and, still in her nightdress and dressing gown, went upstairs to change. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and get back to being the bright, confident, energetic woman she was normally. Pulling out her running gear, she dressed quickly, crammed a cap on her head and dug around in the drawer for her earphones, hoping there was still plenty of charge in them. Not five minutes later, she was jogging down her road, out towards the green outer fields of Rickmansworth and a hill she loved. It didn’t take long for the sweat to rise; her body moved fluidly, her strong legs propelling her forward as her feet pounded the concrete of the path. Madame Butterfly in her ears, the music giving her wings of her own. The hours in reflection earlier in the day had done her good, and things were much clearer now. Feeling stronger again, stronger than this morning, she revisited her decision to kill again and it comforted her. She knew Fiona was only the start of things to come. Picking up speed, she pumped her arms as she ran, sprinting in short bursts like she hadn’t done in a long while. At last, spent, she slowed to a steady jog, savouring the endorphin rush. Droplets of sweat ran down her face. Killing Fiona had been power inducing, and she knew she’d want that feeling again.

  “This is my mission,” she said to herself. “Now the hunters become the hunted.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sebastian Stevens admired himself in the full-length mirror in the plush bedroom of his penthouse apartment, gently rubbing the taut skin of his chiselled stomach, admiring all the hard work he’d put into himself over the years. His year-round tan was just the right shade, allowing him to look like the perfect healthy male specimen that he was. His gaze shifted slightly to a movement behind him. Reflected in the huge gilt mirror was the smooth naked shoulder of a woman. He stood and watched for a moment, taking in her long lithe legs that were partly unclothed by the bed covers, and wetted his lips with his tongue.

  Last night had been big. He’d been out with some of the others from work, celebrating with champagne and cocaine, and a couple of ladies had joined in. One of them, a leggy curvaceous brunette with an appetite for a good time, had tagged along back to his suite and was now spread-eagled in his huge bed. At the thought of last night, what they’d done together, how willing she’d been to submit to him and how excited he’d been, he could feel himself getting aroused once more. The woman in his bed was a professional, all right—maybe he’d met his match in that department. He smiled as an idea came to him. She stirred a little more, and as he turned to watch her fully, his hand dropped lower towards his groin and he began to stroke. Here lay an opportunity for the taking.

  “I think I’ve got just about enough time for some action before I have to leave,” he said, turning to her, though not expecting a response. Hard and ready, he strode rapidly over to the bed, gripped her by the ankles and roughly flipped her onto her back. Her startled voice fell on his now-deaf ears. He wanted his relief and he wanted it now. He climbed up on top of her, pried her legs apart and forced himself straight in with one hard push. The woman cried out in protest, but after half a dozen “no, no, no’s,” she was panting with pleasure along with him. Ever the professional and not one to complain. He climaxed rapidly and flopped back down, sated. The assault had lasted all of five minutes.

  The woman never said a word, just waited for him to get off her and head for the shower, out of sight. Only then did she move. Like lightning, she shot from the bed, grabbed her few belongings that were resting on a nearby chair and ran for the front door. Opening it quietly, and still completely naked, she hightailed it down the corridor hoping no one would leave their apartments until she was safely inside the lift. She pressed the button to call it. She was in luck—the lift was already near her floor and she stepped inside. Only when the doors had closed and she’d slipped her dress back on did she lean her head back against the wall, close her eyes and try to calm her breathing. What a terrible night she’d had. He’d been so demanding, much rougher than she was used to, and there was no way she was ever going back there again, no matter how much he paid her. Opening her eyes again, she caught sight of how she looked in the mirrored walls of the lift. The dark bruise that covered most of her left eye was going to be even more ugly as the day wore on. It was a good job she hadn’t got any more bookings for the rest of the week. She touched the swollen skin around it to see how tender it was.

  “Ouch! Shit!” she cursed.

  Yes, it was sore, but she’d broken her own golden rule by staying over long after their partying had finished in the private bar, but had she had a choice in the matter? Sure, she’d had her share of coke, everyone h
ad, and he’d looked harmless enough and at the time horny enough, but he’d turned into too much of an animal when they were finally alone. She didn’t always want it gentle herself, and as a working girl she always gave the client what they wanted, but he’d taken it to another level and now she’d pay for it. The lift pinged to signal she was now at the ground floor. The doors opened and she stepped out, putting her heels back on as she did so. She needed to get out of the building, as far as possible from the man she’d stayed over with, and home as fast as she could.

  Out on the pavement, the cool morning air hit her with a rush and she hailed an approaching nearby taxi. Slipping in and settling herself on the backseat, she gave the driver her address. Her head throbbed violently and she massaged her temples to try and reduce the pain.

  “You alright, love?” he enquired gently. “I know it’s none of my business, but do you need some help?”

  “No!” she cried, a little more loudly than she had intended. Lowering her voice, she spoke again, more calmly this time. “Just take me home, please.”

  The taxi driver glanced back at her through his rear-view mirror and nodded silently. He’d seen enough young women in a similar state the morning after to know what had probably gone down. Taxi drivers saw, and heard, it all. Within twenty minutes, she was unlocking her own front door. She kicked her shoes off down the hallway and headed straight for a long, hot cleansing shower. It was only when she’d stripped and was about to step into the welcoming hot spray that she caught sight of her own body in the full-length mirror.

  “Holy shit, what has that animal done to me?” She stared in disbelief at the array of tiny nicks and cuts that covered the tops of both her thighs and flowed up to her lower stomach. It looked like someone had taken a piece of glass and repeatedly nicked her skin. There were spots of dried blood and dozens of bruises. “I wasn’t that out of it to not remember anything about all this happening to me.”

  There was only one way it could have happened: she’d been drugged.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The air in Manchester always seemed to be cold and damp, even on an early summer’s day like today. The weather woman updating from the TV in his kitchen had forecast a clear day, but an early mist was still lingering miserably in the air. It reminded Sebastian of a scene from a black-and-white horror movie as he walked the few short steps from his car to the front door of his office building. He paused outside for a moment and looked up above the huge bronze doors to the sign that gave the building’s name in giant matching bronze letters. Sebast Suites. He smiled. His dad would be proud if he’d still been alive. And talking to him. They’d not parted on the best of terms, and Sebastian just hadn’t been able to make him understand his way of doing business, and that being investigated by the fraud squad was something that happened to many business owners. Hell, it was practically par for the course.

  When his father had finally passed away after a brief battle with bowel cancer, Sebastian had not been surprised to find out there was nothing in the will for himself—his other two brothers had been given the lot between them. But the money didn’t really matter to Sebastian; he was doing just fine, making his own way. He pushed the thoughts of his estranged family from his head, ran the fingers of one hand through his expertly styled dark blond hair and headed inside to the giant marble lobby. He could see himself in the bronze doorframe’s reflection as he entered, all six feet of him; he nodded to the security guard and strode purposefully towards the bank of express lifts. As he reached for the button, he heard the light tapping of heels approaching.

  “Morning, Sebastian,” said a stunning young blonde, all lips and legs, in a voice that was rather too sultry for eight in the morning. Her perfume was a gift to his nose and he breathed it in deeply as he toyed with his dilemma, the dilemma of Georgia, his newish PA. Sebastian liked the thrill of the chase, the hunt, but Georgia didn’t quite understand the rules of his little game just yet and had virtually offered herself on a platter for him to take. So far, he’d resisted. The fun for him was most definitely in the game itself. Unless he was paying for it.

  He didn’t bother to turn around. “Morning, Georgia. Sleep well?” He couldn’t resist teasing anyway.

  “Mmm, yes thanks,” she purred. “And you? Ready to go?” She was playing with him, too.

  “Always.”

  Then he was all business, his tone changing in a flash. “Get me a coffee straight off, would you? And get Jason Whitely on the line when you bring it. He’s been after me and I’ve been avoiding him, so let’s make his day.”

  “Of course.”

  The lift door opened and they stepped inside. Georgia pushed the button for the top floor and stood quietly beside him. Already, after just a handful of weeks working with Sebastian, she knew when to keep quiet. The other women in the office had given her the heads-up about what he was like, both at work and when he was out to play, though she hadn’t experienced any of his playtime. Yet. As long as she did her work well and anticipated his every need, she’d be fine.

  At the top floor, the big brass lift doors opened and Sebastian strode out ahead of her, his mobile phone bursting into life as he walked. She watched from two paces behind as his jaw tightened and he barked a reply into it, bringing the brief conversation to a close. She caught the huge glass lobby door with her outstretched right hand before it smashed her in her face as he let it go behind him. Under her breath she cursed him, but that still didn’t stop her wanting to chase him. She liked the game too. But her way.

  Once inside, he went straight to his office and shut the door. Georgia caught a glimpse of one of the other PAs, Sandra, as she stared after him. “Foul mood?” Sandra mouthed across the dividers at her. Georgia nodded her head and went through to the kitchenette to make his coffee.

  Sandra followed her in, and leaned against the cabinets, arms folded lightly across her ample chest, soft wavy auburn curls at her shoulder. “I’ll be glad when he’s out of here for a few days. Give us all some peace.”

  Georgia frothed milk and added it to the double shot of coffee in his mug. “And you don’t work directly with him,” she grumbled. “But I’m looking forward to it too. It’ll give me a chance to catch up on my workload, though I expect he’ll be on the phone several times a day—and night, too, if I know him.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve only known him for a few weeks, but I’m pretty sure I have him sussed.” She grinned.

  “Well, I hope you have Georgia, and you keep well away if you’re ever tempted. He can be very persuasive—mark my words.”

  “Sounds like the voice of personal experience?” She sprinkled chocolate on the top of the milky froth and prepared to leave.

  “But it got me nowhere. I suspect that’s why I’ve never made PA to him. Probably fancying his chances with you.” Sandra wasn’t being mean; the caring note in her voice told Georgia she meant well.

  “Catch you later,” Georgia said. She picked up Sebastian’s coffee and stopped by her desk to call Jason Whitely. When he picked up, she asked him to hold for Sebastian and entered his office. “Jason Whitely is holding on line one and here’s your coffee,” she said, putting it down in front of him. He picked the mug up and took a large mouthful. Melted chocolate stuck to the creases at both corners of his mouth. She wasn’t about to tell him so.

  She turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her, amused at her own pettiness.

  Chapter Thirty

  The week hadn’t been going too well for Jason Whitely. After several failed attempts to get hold of Sebastian and arrange a face-to-face meeting, he was at his wits’ end. And he knew something was up. When he’d first invested in Liberty-Lite along with other franchisees, he’d thought it was going to be his way to financial security, a great business deal. Why else would he have invested? And he’d invested heavily, nearly half a million in fact, scraping the money together from all over, re-mortgaging his house and borrowing off his father. It had been a huge opportunity for him, a deal
that would ensure a successful future for him. That had been only twelve months ago, when Sebastian had been nowhere near the picture and a different CEO, [Brian something], was running things. While Jason had known even then that Brian was never going to set the world on fire, the man was as straight as a die and knew what he was doing.

  But something had changed, and he had been given his marching orders quite literally overnight. That had meant someone new at the helm, a majority shareholder: Sebastian Stevens. And Jason didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. Apparently, neither did the other franchisees. But as a majority shareholder in Liberty-Lite, Sebastian held the power, and with the others only holding around ten percent each, none of them had much say in things. Now Jason wanted out, to cash in his shares before it was too late, but his agreement stipulated that the majority shareholder had the final say if another investor be found, as to whether or not they could in fact, invest. In other words, if Sebastian didn’t like the potential new investor for whatever reason, even if the price was right, he could veto it.

  Looking back, with the team as they were then back at the start, it never seemed to Jason that this could ever become an issue. Everything had started out fine. But now Jason smelled a rat, although he didn’t know what that rat looked like, or just how big and ugly it might turn out to be. The company had changed direction from the software that he’d been so keen on three years ago, and had since been dabbling in other areas to generate more sales interest. But none of these other areas had panned out, and they’d burned through a huge amount of working capital, leaving the company grossly undercapitalised. Jason wasn’t happy, and neither were the others, although they weren’t quite as nervous as he was; they couldn’t see what was happening right under their noses. And now Jason was good and stuck: no one wanted to buy his shares from him. Anyone could see the company was a dog with fleas, and Jason didn’t stand a chance to get back anything close to what he’d paid out, ever again.