Waiting for the return train, Nicole kept picturing Alice being dragged, fighting and kicking through the back door of the restaurant and down the alley. There would have been no witnesses, no one to help. Her teeth began to chatter, and the sour taste of bile rose in her throat. She got up from the bench and paced up and down the platform.
After a minute or so, a train was there on the track next to her. As she stepped aboard, she noticed the car had one other passenger—a derelict sprawled across a rear seat. It was impossible to tell if he was asleep or unconscious.
She eyed him warily and for the briefest moment toyed with the idea that this might be Reinhardt in disguise. But this man was genuinely disgusting. His clothes were filthy and ragged, and his skin was a sick, grayish color. No, she thought. No one would go to that much trouble to follow her.
The train started up, slowly at first. She made her way forward. The next car was empty. She took a seat toward the front.
She considered what to do. Detective Keaton had urged her to call if she saw anything suspicious. But, for all of Keaton’s professed sympathy, the detective hadn’t been of any help.
The train slowed to a stop and she glanced out the window. Here, the track was still above ground, offering a skyline of tall buildings against the gray sky. When her eyes focused on the platform next to her, she felt a sudden jolt of alarm. Not twenty feet from her window were two familiar figures, one short and fat, the other tall and thin.
They were looking into the train as if searching for someone. When the fat one spotted her, their eyes met, and he gave a little smile.
For a moment she was too stunned to move, but when he headed toward the open door at the rear of her car, she jumped to her feet and rushed forward. She understood that these men had followed her to the Docklands. They must have seen her boarding the train at Canary Wharf and had somehow raced ahead to intercept her.
Then she had another thought. If these men had been following her, they must be the ones who’d taken Alice. If so, where was she? What had they done with her?
Just as she reached the door to the next car, it opened, and the second man, the skinny one, was standing in her path. She turned to run away, but the fat one was right behind her, sliding his arm around her neck and pressing something hard against the side of her head. “This ‘ere’s a gun,” he said. “Now you’re gonna to do what I say, nice and quiet. That way, I won’t have to hurt you.”
He marched her back down the aisle, shoved her into a seat and squeezed in next to her. The other man sat across from them and rested his elbows on the seat back in front of him, staring glumly ahead.
The fat one pushed the gun into her ribs just under her left breast and edged his bulk closer. The smell was overpowering.
“That’s the girl,” he said. “We’re gonna have ourselves a nice little trip. A couple of stops up we got a car waiting. We all get off, real friendly and co-op-er-a-tive like. You scream or try anythin’ silly, you’re dead. You got it?” He poked her with the gun. “The guv’nor wants to talk to you. You answer a couple a questions, we drive you home. That’s all there is to it. In’t it, Kevin?”
Instead of answering, Kevin turned and stared at him.
“That’s right,” Fatso muttered to himself. “Just tell him what he wants to know an’ you’re off the ‘ook.”
Nicole’s eyes were scanning the walls and ceiling of the car. Even if the train was completely automated, she reasoned, there must be a system that monitored the cars for muggings and other emergencies. Just then she spotted a small, glass-fronted red box labeled FIRE ALARM. It was across the aisle and several rows up, too far away to be of any use.
“About the other day,” the fat one breathed into her ear. “We jus’ wanted to give you a message. Nobody was supposed to get…”
“Chazz!” Kevin said in a low, warning voice.
The fat man was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “Never mind about that. Now we have a chance to get ac-quain-ted.” As he spoke, he relaxed the gun and ran his knuckles over her breast.
When she batted his hand away, he used the gun to poke her hard in the ribs. The pain made her eyes sting, but she was determined not to cry. “You’ve made a mistake,” she said. “I’m not who you think.”
He was silent, his small, dark eyes regarding her attentively.
“You say you know my husband,” she went on. “But you’re wrong. I’m married to Brad Graves. He’s an executive with a software company. He doesn’t know you.”
The man smiled, as if amused by the anger in her voice. “Brad Graves,” he repeated in a high, mocking voice. “’E’s an executive with a soff-air company.” He wagged his head in exaggerated imitation. Then he turned to the second man, the one he called Kevin, and repeated Brad’s name with a derisive snort. “That’s the bloke, innit?”
“No, it isn’t!” She was almost shouting now, as if by insisting loudly enough, she could force him to admit his mistake. “You’re looking for someone else,” she went on. “Tell me — it’s Frederick Lowry, isn’t it?”
Instead of answering, Chazz gazed at her with amused interest, a look not dissimilar to the way a butterfly collector might regard an especially exotic specimen before applying chloroform. He seemed entertained by the fact that she could not only speak but was challenging his judgment. It was useless trying to reason with him.
The train had reached another station where several people were waiting on the platform. His grip on her arm tightened, and he pressed the gun into her side. Surely, as more passengers boarded, someone would enter their car. That would be the time to scream and put up a fight. She doubted the fat man would use his gun. At the museum, the pair of them had behaved like cowards, quick to run away when they thought someone was coming. The very act of leaving a car bomb was cowardly.
She held her breath, watching the door, but no one appeared. Soon the train would start up again, and it would be too late. Summoning all her strength, she jerked away from him in an attempt to get up. She had nothing in mind, except a vague plan to hurl herself over the back of the next seat, scramble to her feet and run.
She managed to rise only part way before he yanked her back and twisted her arm behind her. The pain was excruciating. “Stop!” she screamed. “You’re breaking my arm!”
At last, Kevin said, “The guv’ told us we wasn’t to hurt her, Chazz. Get her and bring her along, but don’t hurt her. That’s what he said.”
“Shut yer face, Kevin,” Chazz said. “It’s not my fault if she won’t do what she’s told.” Despite the words, his grip on her arm relaxed.
As the pain subsided, Nicole swallowed a deep gulp of air. The car seemed unbearably hot. Her clothes were sticking to her, and a trickle of sweat ran down her face. She thought of her self-defense class, but the techniques she’d learned had abandoned her. Dimly, she understood there was something she was supposed to do, a trick that might persuade them to let her go. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was.
Already the train was underway again, hurtling toward the next station. She had a sudden vision of Alice, limp and lifeless, sprawled in a deserted alley or stuffed into a dumpster. Her stomach contracted, and she felt as if she was going to be sick. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, in an attempt to fight it off.
If she was going to save herself, she had to do something now. By the time they forced her from the train it would be too late.
It wasn’t long before the train slowed and came to another stop. The men stood up. “This is it,” Chazz said, his voice loud in the sudden quiet. He pulled Nicole out of her seat. Then he and the other man began to herd her toward the exit. “No funny stuff,” Chazz said. To emphasize his point, he poked her again with the gun.
Just then, she heard something at the back of the car, a whooshing sound she recognized as the door opening. Kevin must have heard it, too, because he looked around and released her arm. She turned to see what he was staring at.
A man wearing a conductor’s hat was observing them from the shadows of the doorway to a short passage leading to the car behind theirs. He was holding something that resembled a baseball bat.
By now, Chazz had turned to look. His body was angled slightly toward her, and his hand still gripped her left arm. The sight of him standing like that brought it all back — the hand-to-hand exercises they’d practiced with the instructor. Chazz was in the perfect position. She heard movement behind them and sensed the conductor heading toward them. This was her chance.
She turned toward Chazz and quickly slammed her knee into his groin with every bit of her strength. When they’d practiced in class, the instructor had been wearing a padded body suit, with a specially designed codpiece for protection.
This time, instead of the rigid armor, she felt a soft pouch of flesh that flattened as her knee collided with the bone beneath. The impact sent a shock of pain through her kneecap and down her leg. But this was nothing compared to its effect on Chazz. He let out a high-pitched scream like the cry of a wild animal. Then he doubled up, clutching his crotch, and crumpled to the floor.
Meanwhile, Kevin took off, bolting from the train. Through the window, she saw him streak along the platform toward the exit.
Only when the train began moving again did Nicole realize she was free. Inexplicably, she felt a fresh wave of panic. She bolted for the door to the next car, jabbed the button to open it and ran. Although the danger had passed, she couldn’t seem to stop running. As if pursued by demons, she tore through the rest of the train, passing a handful of passengers who stared as she ran by.
When she reached the front car, she stopped; panting for breath, she dropped into a seat. The car held four other passengers sitting in a cluster, Asian men in business suits. For the briefest moment, they regarded her curiously then averted their eyes.
As she sat there, sweating and trying to calm herself, she remembered the conductor, the man whose sudden appearance had saved her. Still trembling, she wondered why she’d run away without stopping to explain what had happened or even to thank him for saving her. It occurred to her that Chazz might be seriously wounded. From what she’d learned in class, however, the pain she’d inflicted was only temporary. No doubt the conductor and whatever crew was onboard would detain Chazz and, presumably, summon law enforcement to meet them at a station down the line. She had the feeling the conductor would soon send someone in search of her. She’d be asked questions for some form they’d have to fill out.
The train continued along its route, stopping at each station, but no one came looking for her. As far as she could tell, the police weren’t waiting to meet the train at any of these stops, nor did anyone get off who remotely resembled Chazz. At last they reached her station; she stood up and got off. Eventually, she’d have to report the incident to Keaton or someone else. At the moment, however, it was a relief to walk away without having to face another round of questioning.
The train had disappeared down the track, presumably carrying Chazz and her unknown rescuer to stations beyond. She rode the escalator from the depths of the system up to the street and hailed a cab. On the way back to Chiswick, she checked her phone for calls or messages. It was dead; she’d forgotten to recharge it. As the cab traveled on, she tried to remember what the conductor had looked like. In her mind’s eye, he bore a striking resemblance to Reinhardt. This she recognized as a trick of memory. She’d been too frightened, her glimpse of him too brief to register any detail of his face.
The Lowrys’ phone was ringing when she reached the front porch, but by the time she unlocked the door, it had stopped. She was certain the call had been from Brad. He’d probably been trying to reach her on her cell and couldn’t get through. Although she and Brad hadn’t spoken much at breakfast, she had mentioned that she was planning to spend the day at the Victoria and Albert.
He’d done his best to dissuade her. “Why are you running all over London?” he said. “The doc told you to take it easy for a few days. And I worry about you.”
She told him she’d be back around 3:00 p.m., and now it was past 5:00. He’d probably been calling her for the last two hours and was now arranging to leave work so he could come home and check on her. Perhaps he’d even called the police.
She turned and went into the kitchen, picked up the phone, and called his office.
“He’s not in, luv,” the man told her.
Nicole’s stomach tightened. “Is Brenda there?”
“Uh-h-h. Seems to me I saw her a while back. Hang on. We’ll have a look.”
It was a minute or two before Brenda came on the line. “Hi, there,” she said. Her voice was throaty and flirtatious, as if she thought she knew who was calling.
“Brenda, it’s Nicole,” Nicole said, “I want to leave a message for Brad.”
“Brad?” Brenda repeated. “But I thought…”
“What?” Nicole said. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry,” Brenda said slowly. “I mean, I thought he was with you.” She paused, and her voice grew more anxious. “He said he was taking you to the doctor.” Then she added in a small voice, “You mean you don’t know where he is?”
After they hung up, Nicole fought a growing sense of dread. Any satisfaction she might have drawn from Brenda’s discomfort was overshadowed by the larger question of Brad’s whereabouts — how he’d spent the afternoon.
One thing was undeniable. Whatever Brad was up to, he was now lying to both her and Brenda.