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Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © G.D. Sanders 2019
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Cover photographs © Shutterstock
G.D. Sanders asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008313227
Version: 2019-04-10
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Part One: Junk Mail
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Part Two:: Fighting Back
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Part Three: The Trials
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Part Four: Seeking Revenge
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Publisher
You’re careful?
You’re streetwise?
You’re safe?
Are you sure?
Listen …
You’re all vulnerable.
1
Did I choose you today? At the ATM as you checked your balance? Was I behind you in the supermarket? If it was you at the checkout, I liked your skirt. If it wasn’t you, was it your friend, a colleague, or maybe somebody you’ve never met? If it wasn’t you, who was it? I certainly chose someone in town today.
If it is you, I shall know before you realize what’s happened. Does that seem complicated? Don’t be deceived. My plan is simple and elegant. I’ve done my research, completed my planning and made my choices. Now all I have to do is wait. Whoever you are, I’m here, waiting for a response.
Will you be the one? Why do I ask? I ask because I don’t know which of my chosen women it will be. I won’t know her until she makes a choice, until she chooses herself. How will she do that? One simple everyday decision is all that’s required. Take that decision, make that choice and you will have offered yourself. Follow it through and you will have let me into your life. You will be blind to the implications of your action, but be in no doubt, I know exactly what I’m doing.
Did I choose you? If I chose you today you wouldn’t be aware of it. If I didn’t choose you today maybe I’ll choose you tomorrow, or the day after, or next week. I choose and I wait. I’m patient. Patience is easy when I’m in control. One day soon, one of my chosen women will return the favour. Perhaps it will be you. I’m out here waiting. Waiting is easy because the outcome is inevitable. One of you will choose me; it’s only a matter of time.
Perhaps it has happened already. Perhaps you’ve chosen me. Is your door locked? Are the windows secured? Don’t bother checking. If you’ve chosen me, I have your key. You haven’t given your key to a stranger? Are you sure? If you’ve chosen me you will have given me a key, invited me into your home – and into your life. You will have made the choice, but I will be in control.
I may bide my time, but don’t be fooled, I’m here waiting. Delaying the moment will prolong my anticipation and bring added pleasure. When the time is right, it will happen. Even then I’ll be patient, enjoying your slow realization that you no longer have a choice, that you must accept your fate. Eventually, you’ll give me everything. You’ll give me the act I desire – you’ll show you want me by giving yourself.
Why am I doing this? It’s not as bad as you might think. All I want is for you to want me. I need to see, hear and feel you giving yourself to me. I want the moment of giving more than the gift itself. But it’s not that simple. There’s more to it than that. To be sure of the giving I must take the gift. Although the moment of giving will be the epitome of my pleasure I shall enjoy the entire dance from comprehension to panic, from panic to horror, then submission and sacrifice. No, not submission, not sacrifice. Your willingness will not be enough. I can be patient. I shall be patient. I will be patient. I shall not take the gift until your desire to give matches my desire for the giving.
2
DI Ed Ogborne wasn’t in the best of moods. She faced a day spent tying up loose ends from the team’s last major case, serial abductions which stretched back a decade. It had been Ed’s first case in Canterbury. They’d caught the perpetrator, but his evil deeds continued to haunt her. Revisiting the investigation wasn’t something she relished, but, as the Senior Investigating Officer, she had to do it.
On her way to work, she picked up a flat white from Deakin’s, hoping it would kick-start the morning. It didn’t. When she arrived at the Police Station, her humour darkened immediately; there was a new addition to the CID Room door. Some jobsworth responsible for signage was clearly out to ruin her day. Above the names of her three colleagues, she was designated Detective Inspector Edina Ogborne.
For most this would have been a non-issue, but Ed was sensitive when it came to her given name. Edina came from her grandmother, but only Ed’s parents and her grandfather had ever used it. From an early age she’d insisted everybody else call her Ed, or maybe Eddie if it were someone she knew intimately. In her mind, Edina was a homely, wholesome name; for herself she wanted something short, matching her sharply cut, blue-black hair.
After several phone calls, she eventually tracked down the man responsible for the increase in her ill humour.
‘The sign on our door needs to be corrected. I’m DI Ed Ogborne, not Edina.’
‘I’m sorry, Inspector, the official records show your name as Edina.’
‘That’s as may be, but I’m known as Ed.’
‘We’re obliged to use the official form of your name.’
‘What do I have to do? Change it by deed poll?’
‘If you wish Ed to be your official—’
‘Thank you for your time.’
Ed terminated the call with the feeling she should have been more gracious. Then, with a wry smile, she put aside her increasing annoyance by thinking that the issue of her name was probably already an in-joke among her colleagues.
3
Confident but cautious – that’s me to a T. Can you be truly confident if you’re cautious? Let’s not go there. I know what I mean. I’m confident when I’m in control. I’m confident and in control because I plan. Careful planning is where the caution comes in.
The project has been up and running for three months. I’d chosen Canterbury for the main event. It’s a good-sized town, there’s easy access to the countryside and I could readily lose myself among the tourists. I’d rented a small flat and spent a week or so choosing my women. The first to take the bait wasn’t suitable: married and expecting a baby. How did I miss that? Sloppy work, but no problem. Statistically, it had to happen and, not long after, I got the perfect woman: single, unattached and living alone. She wanted the right things, things that made her vulnerable, and she made the right choice. She offered me access and now the incidentals are all in place; that’s stage 1 completed. Soon, I’ll complete stage 2 and she’ll be mine; we’ll be isolated together in her own home.
When that happens, we’ll be at the crux of the project, stage 3, conversion; leading my chosen woman from her initial panic and horror to a position from where she’ll recognize my true worth. Obviously, successful conversion will depend on how I handle things once we’re alone together. The problem is, I’d no experience of that. Back in Gravesend, the stuck-up graduates at work had all turned me down. I was reduced to clubbing and copping off with the thin girl’s friend. Unfortunately, they were easy, did anything, anytime, anything to please. With them it was open access and willing isolation: no conversion required. The women I want are not like that.
I’d known from the start that I’d need practice, the right experience; gaining that experience became a parallel part of the project. Confident but cautious, I took time to plan and prepare: a cheap phone, a couple of pay-as-you-go SIM cards and a dating app for which I created two fake profiles. To find the right practice woman, I’d need to meet several and check out promising candidates more than once. When it was over, if any of them complained to the police, I didn’t want to be tracked down. Public places have security cameras and my bleached hair is eye-catching. I bought several simple disguises, as many as possible from charity shops. Faded baseball caps and worn beanies were good; lightweight reversible hoodies and a reversible cotton bag were essential.
My plan was to pick less attractive women from the dating app, reckoning that would maximize my hit rate. Location wasn’t important; any small town in Kent, apart from Canterbury, would do. By day, I worked on the main event – my chosen women. The evenings I put aside for my practice runs – nothing fancy, just well planned. I’d let the women choose where and when we met, as long as it was a large bar, in the centre of town, and at a busy time of day.
Using my first fake profile, I went for Jackie from Rainham. She was immediately up for it. I asked where she’d like to meet and we settled on a pub near the station at six-thirty; a time when I knew there’d be plenty of commuters dropping in for a drink after work. I arrived a little late, bought a pint, checked where she was sitting and positioned myself to observe without being seen. After a few minutes I changed my hat and jacket in the Gents and returned to my pint. It was quite touching watching her angular face, expectant, then concerned, checking her phone for messages, and finally crestfallen.
Eventually, she left the pub and I followed her home, taking great care to hang well back and to walk on the opposite pavement. She turned into a street lined with semi-detached bungalows and my heart sank. Sure enough, she lived with a couple of wrinklies, probably her parents. There was no way I’d have time to get rid of neighbours, let alone people in the same house. My practice woman had to live alone and in a spot with nobody close by.
4
The day was coming to an end and the young Detective Constables Jenny Eastham and Nat Borrowdale were the first to leave the CID Room, but not together. Jenny let Nat get well clear of the building before she locked files in her desk drawer and said she was off for an early night. Ed had noticed the atmosphere between Jenny and Nat had changed dramatically. They’d always been competitive but now there was a new edge to their exchanges. At team meetings Nat had stopped trying to catch Jenny’s eye; in fact, he noticeably avoided doing so.
It wasn’t her concern but, from soon after her arrival in Canterbury, Ed had wondered if Nat was the right man for Jenny. Physically, they were a strikingly attractive couple. Nat’s dark hair and sharp features contrasted markedly with Jenny’s fresh face and honey-blonde head. Ed’s doubt came from her perception of them as people. Jenny was bright, open and honest. Nat was more closed, with a suggestion of potential danger behind his eyes.
Ed watched the door close behind Jenny before turning back to the document on her screen. A few minutes later, her second-in-command, Detective Sergeant Mike Potts, stretched, yawned loudly and pushed back his chair before levering his somewhat overweight frame to its feet.
‘D’you fancy a drink before calling it a night?’
At that moment Ed could think of nothing better than a cold glass of white wine, but she was determined to finish the job she’d set herself.
‘Sorry, Mike, I must finish this. I can’t face one more day with these abductions.’
‘Another time then. I’m off, see you tomorrow.’
Ed had just re-gathered her thoughts when the telephone rang. It was DI Saunders, calling from Maidstone.
‘Hi, Brian, what can I do for you?’
‘I’m calling to ask a favour.’
‘Hit me.’
‘We’ve just appointed a new DS.’
‘And?’
‘He’s sharp, but still a bit police school. I want him to start thinking laterally, outside the box. I was wondering if—’
‘Surely you can handle that?’
‘Yes … but I think you’d do a better job.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘If you could spend an hour with him, talk through the way you handled the serial abductions investigation.’
Ed thought for a moment and then decided to reward herself with a trip to Maidstone.
‘Okay … how about tomorrow? I could get over to you by nine.’
‘Give me five minutes. I’ll call you back.’
Twelve minutes later Ed’s phone rang. It was Brian.
‘First thing tomorrow’s not good for him. Is there any chance you could make it after eleven?’
‘Tell him I’ll be there at half past.’
‘Thanks, Ed, I’ll make sure he’s here waiting.’
‘By the way, what’s his name?’
‘It’s Dan, DS Daniel Wheadon. As I said, he’s not been with us long. It will be good for him to have a chat with you.’
‘No problem, but you owe me.’ Ed paused as her memories of previous visits to Maidstone came flooding back. ‘Remember those coffees you used to greet me with? It would be good if Dan did the same.’
‘Consider it done.’
5
DS Daniel Wheadon looked younger than his 26 years. Short sandy hair, tight and wiry against his head, enhanced his boyish features. His clothes hung easily on a slim, lithe body which, as Ed would discover, was more muscular than it first appeared. He’d greeted her with a coffee in each hand and led her to an Interview Room where they sat in chairs arranged at right angles across the corner of the table.
‘Right. Brian said you’d like to hear about our recent case of serial abduction.’
Dan looked a little embarrassed. ‘He said I’d learn a lot from the methods you used to solve the case. It would be a privilege to hear it from the Senior Officer.’
‘It was a team effort. I’ve got a good bunch of colleagues in Canterbury. As for DI Saunders, we didn’t overlap much, but from what I saw of Brian, you’re lucky to be working with him.’
‘We’ve got on well so far.’
‘Keep it that way.’ Ed paused. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’ She took a sip and then began. ‘Right, I’ll take you through the investigation from the beginning. Stop me at any time if you have a question.’
Fifty minutes later, coffees drained, they’d finished their chat. Daniel picked up the empty cups. ‘I’ll just get rid of these.’
Ed smiled. ‘I’ll go to the loo and meet you back here.’
As Ed re-entered the corridor, she saw DS Wheadon standing by the Interview Room door. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned and smiled.
‘It’s a bit early, but, if you’re not in a hurry, I thought we might grab some lunch. There’s a pub round the corner.’
‘I was thinking the same thing.’ Ed didn’t add she’d been thinking the same thing ever since Daniel had introduced himself earlier that morning.
The pub was literally around the corner.
‘I’ll go to the bar. What’ll you have?’
‘A sandwich would be good, anything but tuna.’
‘Drink?’
‘Tonic, ice and lemon,’ said Ed, ‘I’m driving back to Canterbury this afternoon.’
Familiar as she was with the drinking habits of old colleagues at the Met, Ed didn’t remind him they were technically on duty, so she was pleased to see Daniel return with her tonic and a mineral water for himself.
‘Cheers.’ Daniel touched his glass against Ed’s. ‘Thanks for making time to talk me through the investigation. I’d already heard about the neat way you narrowed your search for the abductor’s hideout. It’s entered local folklore.’
Ed smiled inwardly, but she wasn’t about to bask in perceived glory. ‘As I said, I’ve got a good team at Canterbury.’ She took a mouthful of tonic. ‘How about you?’
‘I came here from Medway, Chatham actually, to get my promotion to Sergeant. Still settling in, but I’m getting on well with the team – as you said, Brian Saunders is a good boss.’
‘And apart from work?’
‘Rugby. I used to play for Medway, now I’ve transferred to Maidstone. You?’
‘Nothing so energetic. I work out at the gym, but since I outgrew self-defence classes, I prefer to spend my free time in a wine bar or restaurant.’
Daniel’s phone rang, but he ignored it. ‘Favourite food?’
‘I’m open to anything, but if pushed, I’d say Italian. We’re well served in Canterbury. There’s a good family-run trattoria near the County Courts.’
With her eyes on Daniel, Ed stirred her drink, waiting for him to reply.
‘We’re playing a summer friendly at Canterbury next Saturday. If you’re free, and fancy meeting for a meal, I’ll forgo the post-match beers.’
‘I’d like that. Are you sure you’ll be up for it?’
‘Friendlies aren’t particularly gentle, but I’ll make sure I’m intact.’
‘Excellent. I’ll book Gino’s, the Italian, for seven-thirty if that suits.’
‘Sounds good to me. The match will finish late afternoon. I could meet you earlier.’
‘Okay. Here’s my mobile number. Call me when you’re free. Perhaps we could meet for a drink before eating.’
6
By now, counting Jackie from Rainham, I’d worked my way through seventeen lonely women in flat-shares, bedsits or still living at home. Frankly, I was getting anxious. Everything was in place for the main event. In less than a fortnight, I’d have to move in on my chosen woman in Canterbury. Then, just when I thought the practice run would be a nonstarter, I struck lucky; Kay from Dover, the eighteenth woman from the dating app, was up for it.
Kay was great, no need to nudge her at all. When I asked where we should meet, she opted for a pub in the town centre at seven-thirty, but then insisted we swap numbers, in case something came up. I set up a WhatsApp account because it’s encrypted, but she didn’t use it. I was on the train to meet her in Dover, when she texted, asking if we were still on. I replied, sure, see you there, which was exactly what I intended to do. After a drink near the railway station, I arrived at our rendezvous ten minutes late. On my way to the bar, I caught sight of Kay from the corner of my eye. Keeping my back to her, I bought a pint and moved away to a stool from where I could see her, but there was little chance she’d notice me. Anyway, if she did look in my direction, she’d be searching for the guy in my fake profile; she’d not give me a second glance.
Kay from Dover was sitting alone, at a table by the wall. To my surprise, she looked exactly like her photo; face a little chubby with too much make-up. Her clothes, a loose top and knee-length skirt, did nothing to disguise the fact that she was more than a little overweight. Definitely not my type, but what the hell, she was only a practice run. I went to the Gents, reversed my hoodie, turned my cotton bag inside out, swapped my beanie for a baseball cap and went back to my pint.
Fifty minutes after we were due to meet, Kay was looking thoroughly miserable and she showed signs of being about to leave. I drained my glass, slipped out ahead of her and lingered across the road, checking my phone. When Kay left, she walked along the Folkestone Road towards the outskirts of Dover. I hung back and followed on the opposite pavement. When she turned into a side street, I pretended to look at my phone and saw her go into a small block of flats with a For Sale sign by the door. I watched the dark windows of the building until a light went on in a second-floor window, to the right of the entrance. Pocketing my phone, I walked further along the Folkestone Road and then circled back, to stroll past the building and check the agent’s board.
Maxton House
AVAILABLE SOON
SIX ONE-BED FLATS
NEWLY RENOVATED
The next day, I rang the estate agency and – bingo. Renovation was scheduled to start in a month, when the last remaining tenant would have moved out. She might not be my ideal woman, but for this stage of my project, Kay from Dover was perfect. She lived alone and the other flats in her block were empty.