Her naked skin was gooseflesh. That had as much to do with ambient temperature as fear. Though certainly her fear was enough to produce goose pimples in a tropical climate. One minute she’d been working on her monthly billing, the next minute there had been a knock at the door. She’d looked out of the window. An unfamiliar white van in the drive. But the man standing on the doorstep with the package and the clipboard wore the familiar uniform of the courier that her company always used to send her packages of work.
She hadn’t been expecting anything from head office that afternoon. And it was late for the courier, who usually arrived mid-morning. It must, she thought, be something urgent. Perhaps the Brantingham contract. Phil had mentioned in that morning’s e — mail that it was close to finalization. Susannah had opened the door and smiled at the courier.
She never knew what hit her. Only that something did.
The next thing she knew was excruciating pain. Pain expanded to include blackness and movement. And the low thrum of an engine. She was lying on her side, drool running from her mouth. And she couldn’t move. Slowly, as if she was very drunk, she identified the pain. The principal source was her head. Like a very bad migraine, except that this originated in the back of her head, not the front.
Next in the hierarchy were her shoulders. Her arms seemed to be pinioned behind her. That was the information her screaming muscles sent her. She tried to straighten up and a new wave of pain swept up her legs. As far as she could figure out through the blitz of sensory overload, her feet were fastened together and linked to her wrists. Hog-tied, wasn’t that what the Americans called it?
By keeping perfectly still, the pain diminished. Still unbearable, but at least now she could think of something else. Blackness and movement. And the rough feel of carpet under her cheek. What else could it be but the boot of a car?
That was when the fear kicked in.
She had no idea how long they’d been travelling. There was no way to measure the duration of pain.
At last, the movement stopped with a jerk. Then the engine noise ceased. She strained to hear something but nothing came. Then the boot cracked open. The shock to her eyes triggered a nauseating pain in her head. Then they adjusted and she saw a dark silhouette against the night sky.
Susannah opened her mouth and screamed. The man laughed. “No one to hear you, pet,” he said. The accent was Geordie, she registered that much.
He bent over and grunted with the effort of lifting her out of the car. He staggered slightly under the weight as he walked. With her face jammed against his shoulder, Susannah could see nothing. The quality of the air changed and she realized he had taken her indoors. A few more steps, a turn to the right and suddenly they were in glaring fluorescent light. He let her fall and she screamed as she hit cold tile. Her head cracked against something cold and hard.
The next time she came round, she was naked. She was sitting on a toilet, her right arm handcuffed to a towel rail firmly bolted to the wall. Dazed, confused and in pain, she worked out that her legs were shackled, the chain passing behind the bowl so she was anchored to the toilet seat.
But at least now she knew where she was. Thomas had rented the cottage on a remote Cornish headland to celebrate their first anniversary. They’d spent a week here, walking on the cliffs, watching the birds, cooking simple meals, making love every night. It had been idyllic.
This was a nightmare.
And it had only grown worse.
When she had called out, he had reappeared. Tall and broad, with the muscles of a weightlifter. His dark hair cropped in a crew cut over a face that seemed oddly familiar. She couldn’t figure out where she’d seen him before. But then, his face was unremarkable. Nondescript. If she’d written an inventory of his features, it would have fitted thousands of men. Dark eyebrows, blue eyes, pale complexion, straight nose, average mouth, slightly receding chin. The only strange thing about him was that he was wearing a white lab coat and he had a stethoscope hanging round his neck like a doctor. He stood in the doorway, appraising her.
“Why are you doing this?” Susannah croaked.
“That’s none of your business,” he said. He produced a second set of handcuffs. “If you struggle, it’s going to hurt a lot more.”
She lashed out with her free arm, but he was too quick for her. He gripped her wrist and snapped the cuff round it. He extended her arm and fastened the other cuff round a water pipe. Then he took a roll of elastoplast and taped her wrist and hand to the wall so her arm was immobilized.
As bemused as she was terrified, Susannah stared disbelieving as he wrapped a blood pressure cuff round her upper arm and inflated it. Then he left the room. She recognized the apparatus he came back with. She’d been a blood donor for years. “What are you doing?” she protested as he located a vein and inserted a needle.
“Taking your blood,” he said calmly, with all the assurance of one of the nurses at the blood transfusion centre.
Incredulous, she watched mesmerized as her blood started to flow down the tube and into the container. “You’re mad!” she shouted at him.
“No. I’m just different,” he said, settling down on the edge of the bath to wait.
Susannah stared. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m going to feed you and make sure you have enough to drink. And I’m going to take your blood.” He got to his feet and started to walk out of the small bathroom.
“You’re a vampire?” she said faintly.
He turned and smiled. Its very normality made it the scariest thing she’d seen so far. “No. I’m an artist.”
When he came back, he was carrying an assortment of paintbrushes, from the finest calligraphy brush to one that was almost an inch across. Satisfied that he’d drawn almost a pint of blood, he detached the apparatus and released the blood pressure cuff, keeping his thumb over the puncture. He applied cotton wool and elastoplast to staunch the bleeding, then stripped away the restraining tape. He unlocked the handcuffs and stepped back quickly so she could not hit him.
“There, that didn’t hurt a bit, did it, pet?” He placed the jar of blood in the sink and walked out of the room. He returned with a can of energy-giving electrolyte drink and a paper plate that held a stack of liver pate sandwiches and half a dozen chocolate biscuits. He put them on the floor, within reach of Susannah’s free left hand. “There you go. That’ll stop you feeling faint. And it’ll help your body replace some of the blood you’ve lost.”
Then he turned his back, as if she had ceased to exist for him. He picked up the jar of blood and stuck the brushes in his pocket. Then he stepped into the bath and stared consideringly at the wall. There were two rows of tiles above the edge of the bath, but above that there was an area of blank plastered wall about six feet square. He selected a medium-sized brush and dipped it into the blood.
Then he began to paint.
Susannah began to sob.
THIRTY-SIX
By the time he was on his second cup of coffee, Steve was beginning to wonder if he’d turned into a manic depressive overnight. Less than an hour out of bed and he’d already swung between the poles of nervous anticipation and deep despair more times than he could count.
But then, as he’d commented to Fiona only the day before, these were only the symptoms of mental illness if they were groundless. And he had good reasons for both sets of emotions. His optimism, tempered though it was with his natural wariness, all centred round Terry Fowler. If she was as good at her job as Fiona had promised, and if Joanne had identified the right cases, the Susan Blanchard case might take its first positive move forward in a long time. That would be reward enough. But added to that, he had the prospect of dinner with her this evening. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to a date with a woman with such conviction that it would be fun. He’d better remember to book somewhere for dinner. Not too upscale; he didn’t want them to feel uncomfortable. But not too informal, either; he wanted her to realize that he was taking her seriously. Normally, he’d have asked Kit to recommend somewhere. But that was out of the question today.