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“This is going to take hours, Sarge,” Lee comments.
“Just do it,” Jamie snaps, but he’s right. They don’t have hours. They need something else to narrow it down.
He stands up, walking back into the house, the phone still clamped to his ear. The boot from the hallway has been taken away, but its twin lies on the carpet, and Jamie picks it up. He pulls at a stone wedged in the tread, looking closely at it. It’s a piece of flint, broken in half but well worn. Edges smooth, like it’s spent an eternity being buffeted by waves.
“Look for a rocky beach,” he barks to Lee. Then the logo jumps into his mind. The two triangles, one on top of the other. Could it be a boat? “And a sailing club,” he adds.
There’s a pause, nothing but the crackle of static on the line before Lee speaks again. One word.
“Calshot,” he says.
Jamie turns, breaking into a run to his car, keen to get on the radio. It fits. The traces of sea salt on the blanket, the rope. Quiet and deserted in winter.
He glances at his watch. Nearly ten PM. Over twelve hours have passed since Adam was abducted.
They need to get to Calshot. And fast.
CHAPTER
70
THE CALL COMES back: CCTV shows a black VW van visiting a boathouse on the far side of the spit. It’s isolated, alone. Perfect, for whatever Maggie had in mind.
They arrive in the darkness, with a screech of brakes and a howl of sirens. The place seems deserted. Black water laps gently at the edge of the jetty; the boathouse is quiet, the air still. Men in black vests and helmets are ready to go, but Jamie can’t hold back. Fuck procedure, fuck the risk assessments—his friend is in there.
He sprints toward the property, feet pounding the boards. Shouts of “Armed police!” echo behind him. Gulls take off into the sky in alarm.
The first door is locked, but the armed response officer to his side smashes through it with ease. There is a large opening, leading out via a ramp to the water. The next door is open. He steps through into the second room then stops, stunned.
The room isn’t big. He reaches up to the lamp strung up in the center and turns it on, lighting all four corners. Gray concrete floor, bare brick walls. One window on the far side, boarded up. An ARO ignores protocol and tugs at the timbers, letting the meager moonlight inside.
Adam sits in the center, arms and legs bound to a wooden chair. His head is slumped forward, he isn’t moving.
And there is blood.
Everywhere.
His shirt and jeans are soaked in it, stained almost black. Red pools surround him, splashes, speckles all across the floor. Jamie can see a nasty gash on the left-hand side of his forehead, dried blood running down his face, down his neck. And his arms, fuck. Fuck. Jamie’s hands go to his mouth in shock. His skin is a mass of red, narrow cuts and gashes, all across his forearms, some still oozing blood. His feet are bare, what looks like two needles sticking out of the flesh.
Behind him he hears the crackle of the radio. “Victim present, conscious and breathing, multiple wounds. Ambulance to scene on the hurry up, please.”
The paramedics encircle Adam, a bustle of movement, shouting instructions. He hears mutters about cannulation, conversations whether they should use the ones already in situ. A decision is made, and tubes and bags of clear fluids are rigged up next to him.
Adam’s still unconscious. Numb, Jamie waits with Romilly, his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closely to him. Barely contained panic rolls off her. He can feel her breathing heavily, her body tense.
Jamie hears a helicopter, then moments later more paramedics rush in, clutching bladders of bright red liquid. Again, they’re hooked up to Adam, hands squeezing the vital blood into him.
Please. “Please,” he begs.
“He’s going to wake up, isn’t he?” Rom whispers.
“Yes,” Jamie replies, but he’s not so sure. Please be alive. Then slowly, he sees Adam’s head start to stir, move side to side. He squeezes Romilly close. “Yes,” he repeats. “He’s going to be fine. He is.”
The paramedics talk to Adam, trying to get his attention. The bag of blood is changed for a new one. Other paramedics try to clean up some of the mess, bandage his wounds.
Adam’s head is up now. A paramedic looks into his eyes with a bright light. He looks dazed, struggling to focus.
One of the medics comes over to talk to them.
