Friday 28 January, 23:10
Gabriella came to and realized she was being tossed from side to side in a car trunk. The streetlight seeped through the glass tail lights and tiny gaps in the seals of the boot. It was hard to see, but already her eyes were adjusting to the gloom.
Her head hurt and she felt sick and groggy, like when you wake from a hangover. But this was much worse.
How had she got here? For a moment she had no idea. Then it came back to her. She’d been walking home after work. There’d been a scream, barely audible from an alleyway to her side. Probably a fox, but her instincts had kicked in, so she’d run down it to take a look, imagining a woman in distress.
She’d taken her mobile out of her pocket as she ran. She’d pulled up short, hanging back to assess the situation, rather than blindly running into danger. She hadn’t seen anyone, not even a fox. And then she’d spotted it. A mobile in the middle of the alleyway. The noise had been coming from there, human and animal at the same time. At that moment she realized how stupid she’d been. Loxton had warned her.
She’d stabbed frantically at her phone, trying to dial 999 and seeing Rosa’s name on her screen as she spun around, but it was too late. That was all she could remember. That screaming voice and her own rising with it. And then this, whatever this was. Her head was swimming and it wasn’t just the motion of the car. She probably had a low-level concussion, but she was awake at least.
She thought of Rosa, worried sick alone at the flat. She had to get out of this for her. She was all Rosa had left in the world, now that both their parents were dead.
She looked around her for some chance of escape. Beside her was a heavy sports bag. Next to it was a dark grey satchel, which was tied loosely, and if she craned her neck she could see gleaming metal. It was a chef’s professional knife set. She’d seen them on cookery programmes.
She let out a low moan of despair, muffled by the gag tied tightly around her mouth. It wasn’t loose. Salvation was so close, if she could just reach a knife, but her hands were bound behind her back to her ankles and these knots weren’t coming undone.
The blood supply to her hands and feet had been compromised and they had gone numb and tingly. If she could roll over to the knives she doubted if her hands would work well enough that she wouldn’t just end up cutting her own fingers off by mistake.
She wondered if her attacker had left the knives partly on display on purpose. To torture her before the real pain began. She craned her neck towards the sports bag, half undone, and saw more metals objects that looked like surgical instruments. She began to panic as she imagined what they were for. Her breathing became short and desperate. If she didn’t calm down, she’d hyperventilate and pass out.
She decided to focus on the knife set. That was her best chance. This lunatic was going to kill her, she was sure of that. Barratt must have arranged it, to exact his promised revenge at last, to kill her like one of his victims. She shivered, reliving finding them again. They’d been kept tied up in the tunnels and abused until he’d eventually tired of them and choked them to death.
That wasn’t going to happen to her. Her only chance was to free herself with one of those knives and then strike when they opened the boot up. She tried to roll over, so her back was nearer to the knives, her tied hands behind her within reaching distance.
But she couldn’t turn.
Something was holding her back. She craned her neck to look over her shoulder and saw that she’d been tied to a metal hook on the side of the boot. She wouldn’t be able to roll over. With her hands and feet tied behind her, all she could do was stare at the knives helplessly.
She howled in rage and frustration. And then she screamed for help. But the gag muffled her voice. The car speeding along the road drowned out more of it. And the loud bass music did the rest.