Page 72 of The Truth Will Out
Sam tipped her head back and inhaled a few deep breaths. Nick took a step back.
She shook out her arms and nodded. “Thanks for your support, guys. With you all beside me, hopefully, we’ll find Bob and Rhys and bring down this evil individual.” She refused to call this person a killer, not while they still had Rhys, and now Bob.
Another message arrived.
You have one hour.Come alone. Or he dies.
“What the fuck?Where? He hasn’t given me an address. Does he mean for me to return to the warehouse?”
“I don’t think so,” Oliver said. “Why use a different phone? We need to trace the number and get the coordinates.”
“In an hour? How are we supposed to do that?” Sam said, mortified.
“Leave it with me,” Nick said. He rang his friend again. “Cheers, as quick as you can. It’s a matter of life or death, mate.” He ended the call. “Adam reckons he can have the results back to us within thirty minutes.”
“I think we should get on the road,” Oliver suggested.
“But the message says to come alone. If he or she is watching me, they’ll know you guys are with me.”
“We take two cars,” Liam suggested. “We let you go first and set off behind you after a few minutes. We can stay in contact via the radio on a frequency used only by us.”
“That’s a great idea,” Nick and Oliver said in unison.
Another message tinkled. Sam grabbed her phone and gasped. “It’s from Rhys’s number.”
Watch and learn,Inspector.
Her blood turned cold.Two people she cared about, both abducted and in the hands of this crazyperson. Who could she turn to for help? She had the rest of the team beside her, but were they going to be enough?
As planned,they left the station. Nick’s mate, Adam, had come through at the last minute and given them the coordinates of a warehouse close to the edge of Workington. It was abandoned, forgotten about and ripe for development.
She pulled up outside what appeared to be the entrance. Alone, as instructed. The rest of the team were close by. If they didn’t hear from her within fifteen minutes, they had her permission to come looking for her. Sam removed her Taser from the passenger seat and tucked it into the rear of her trousers, ensuring her jacket hid it.
Dusk had already descended. She removed her phone from her pocket, having had the foresight to put it on charge during the journey, and turned on the torch.
“Hello,” she called out.
Her footsteps echoed, and a mixture of distasteful, unrecognisable smells hit her nostrils. Receiving no reply, she wandered through the debris to what appeared to be a room at the back. Heart pounding, she turned the handle and eased the door open. She saw the outline of a figure sitting in a chair. She shone the torch at the person.
“Bob. My God! Are you all right?”
He was barely conscious, although he managed a groan when he saw her. He was tied to the same chair as in the photo, blood oozing from a wound on his shoulder. A camera was set up on a tripod facing him. She ran a hand around his face.
“Bob, I’m sorry. I’m here to rescue you. Stay with me. Please, stay with me!”
He moaned and licked his dry lips. “We got this all wrong… It’s not about… revenge… it’s aboutcleansing.”
Sam stiffened. “What? Do you know who is behind this? Have they shown themselves to you?”
“No. They were wearing a mask; they knocked me out.”
Sam held the torch over his hands. “I need something to help me untie you. Have you seen Rhys? Did they mention him? Is he still alive, Bob?”
Bob’s head lolled to the side. “No…” was the only word he whispered before he passed out again.
Sam returned to the doorway, stood still and listened. She strained an ear and heard a whimper. It wasn’t close. She had to find the source of the noise, and quickly. There it was again.
She inched forward, stepping over the remains of either a desk or a crate, and headed towards what appeared to be another office. She paused and placed her ear against the door, fearing it might be a trap. Not sensing any immediate danger, she entered the room and gasped. A screen flickered in the corner, and Rhys’s face appeared. It was live footage. He was also tied to a chair, just like Bob, not there butsomewhere else. Behind him was… Ivy Renshaw, or Michele Turner as she was called now, thanks to a fake ID. Older. Gaunt. Eyes filled with quiet rage.
