Part 24 (2/2)
”And you believe that?”
He considered the question. Jane had explained everything about the mystery man, about their connection, about his claims to be able to project images and control a sad, sick man like Martin Kline into doing his bidding. But she had claimed not to know his ident.i.ty or if he had a connection directly to her. She had offered the opinion that them sharing the same gift had tied them together, that he had sought her out, drawn like a moth to a flame.
It had all made sense while she had been talking; her words had flowed over him and the whole thing seemed flawless. But now, standing in the kitchen with Zerneck, he suddenly found it hard to believe that she didn't know who had been making them all dance. All of the questions that he should have been asking burst into his mind in a flash and he struggled to understand just how he had taken everything that she'd told him at face value.
”Oh s.h.i.+t,” he said, turning quickly and breaking for the bedroom.
He ran along the hallway and flung the door open, only to find the room empty. ”She's gone,” he said as Zerneck joined him in the doorway.
”I don't understand.”
”To go to him,” Danny sighed heavily. ”Whatever new tricks she's learning, she used them on me when I was trying to question her.”
”But why?”
”Years ago, during the original Crucifier case, she led my father into a bas.e.m.e.nt and he died. She's blamed herself ever since and now she won't put me in that same position. She's going to try and take this maniac down alone.”
”So she does know who he is?”
”Oh yes, she knows who he is and where he is and if we don't find her soon, I'm guessing that she'll never show up again.”
Jane let Danny's rental car roll down the lane before she switched on the ignition. Part of her felt a stinging sense of loss and fear as she headed out alone, but that was her selfishness talking. There was no way that she could let another person die for her. Danny's father had paid that price once and there was no way that she was going to allow the son to follow his father into the grave, not by her hand.
As she drove, the scales fell slowly from her eyes as her memory started to clear, thanks to her brother's influence. All of her memories about her father were false, images sent by her mother's ability and love. Her father had died when she had been a baby but her mother had kept him alive for her. It had been a misguided attempt to spare her the pain, but in the end his sudden disappearance had been almost as traumatic. Her mother must have drained herself severely by keeping up the charade, meaning that one day her batteries just ran dry. At that point, what could her mother say? Just what reason could she give for his sudden vanis.h.i.+ng?
She didn't blame her mother for her subterfuge or for seeking out physical contact from another man. Jane's memories started to pick out the man from the background; he had been a gardener, a kindly man, quick with a smile and gentle word to her as she'd played in the back garden. His face was a little fuzzy as though someone had been blocking him from her thoughts.
As she drove, she pressed harder for the memories to flow more freely and just one or twice, as her forehead sweated profusely under the strain, she thought that she saw a small boy coming to work with the gardener. The child was a few years younger than her and his presence floated out of reach, but it was enough for her to know her own brother.
At the cabin, Simon had shown her where he was without words. It had been in a rush of adrenaline-fuelled excitement and fear. When she had been around eight years old, they had gone on a family trip to a funfair along the coast. The pier at Westhaven had been a slice of perfect fun by the sea. Her little heart had been overwrought with the sheer excitement as they rounded a corner and the fairground rides had stretched up to the sky. They'd towered over a young girl with twisted metallic carca.s.ses that loomed over the horizon. Their skeletons had been ridden by rattling cars packed full of screaming kids all terrified and thrilled in equal measure. The neon lights had showered the night with flas.h.i.+ng invitations that hummed out a hypnotic siren's call. The air had been full of frying delights and squeals of pleasure. It had been one of the best nights of her life and one of her strongest memories, but only now did the specifics start to reappear.
The road ahead was possibly the last one that she would ever take and she tried to take it slowly. She knew that she had to clear her mind of everything that she thought was true. Simon clearly had the ability to cloud her thoughts with projected images, an ability that he had inherited from their mother, but one that Jane did not yet share.
The drive to the funfair was going to be a long one and it would be getting dark by the time that she arrived. The timing sent a cold s.h.i.+ver down her spine but at least the place should be packed with tourists - holidaymakers that would make excellent potential witnesses.
”So how the h.e.l.l are we going to find her?” Randall demanded, throwing his hands up into the air.
Danny was pondering the same problem but without the other man's histrionics. Jane was driving the rental car that, perversely enough, had been procured by the man Danny had known as Nathan, a man that he had been sharing his life with. The pain in his heart was sharp and heavy. In one foul swoop, Danny's life, career and future had been obliterated and all because of love. It was only now that he was starting to realise just how much Nathan had meant to him and just how big the hole left was going to be. There was, of course, the huge dent to his professional pride. Just how could he have not known that the man they were searching for could have been found in his own bed?
”Well?” Randall asked again impatiently.
”I don't know,” Danny admitted.
”Brilliant, Sherlock!”
”Look, normally I could track the rental car, report it stolen, use my credentials and the firm's tracking system to find her in a heartbeat. But in case you've forgotten, there's a warrant out for my arrest and there's no one that I can call to help; my whole team is gone Randall, everyone.”
”We have to do something. I don't want to wait it out until you and I are stuck under Barrett's thumb for the rest of our lives.”
”And Jane, of course.”
”What?”
”Jane, you know ... saving her, capturing the man behind Kline's murders. I'm a.s.suming that they are your main priorities?”
Randall went red and silent.
Danny felt like his right hand had been taken away with his badge. It seemed like there was nothing he could do without his ID and no moves he could make; even tracing a rental car through its GPS tracker was beyond him. The next thought hit him hard and he rushed through the cabin, desperately hoping that he was right.
”What is it?” Randall asked.
”My phone, I think I left it in the car last night.” A further careful search confirmed the fact.
”What do you mean?”
”The phone company can track the phone's GPS the same way as the car's.” Danny said excitedly.
”Won't the police be monitoring your signal?”
”Not this phone, it's my private line,” Danny said thinking about Nathan again as he was the sole reason for the phone's existence.
”Really?”
”I tossed my police issue phone a couple of days ago onto the back of a lorry heading north at a service station. Hopefully, they've been tracking that signal and think that we're in Scotland by now. Give me your phone,” Danny demanded and Randall complied.
It didn't take long to access the relevant website and turn on his tracker. A small map popped up, complete with a small blinking red dot that denoted the rental car's whereabouts and hopefully Jane's as well. She was heading up the coast road and had a head start but they could follow her and Danny could pray that they reached her in time.
Danny was right about the police tracking his signal heading north, but unbeknownst to him, Barrett was also tracking Randall's for more personal reasons.
The commander sat back in his high-backed, expensive leather chair with a beaming contented smile on his face. His diary was currently full of appointments and interviews as his stature rose exponentially. He was the face of Britain's modern police force and it was his image that had been beamed into every TV and splashed across every front page. His name was now a brand and a valuable one at that. It would soon be time to parlay his new found fame into something more tangible - politics perhaps.
The intercom on his desk buzzed annoyingly, interrupting his happy thoughts. ”What?” he snapped as he reached over to press the b.u.t.ton.
”Superintendant Ripley on line two, Sir,” the dis...o...b..bulated voice replied.
”I told you no interruptions,” Barrett snapped.
”He says it's urgent.”
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