What had happened six months ago that had prompted a change in the girl?
One of the things the boss had asked her to look into was any male that Rozzie was close to. Identifying the father of Rozzie’s baby was a priority.
She’d pored over the last couple of years’ worth of posts, making a shortlist of boys in photos, interaction and post tagging. She’d ruled out obvious friends and ones who appeared to be in relationships with other people for now.
She now had a short, short list of two, but her gut kept reacting to Warren Cox, a boy one year older who had been in couples photos on and off for the last three years. There wasn’t anyone as serious as Warren Cox anywhere else on her social-media feed.
Due to his poor privacy settings and his frequent posting, Stacey had a good idea where he’d be. She sent a text to the boss and returned her attention to the computer.
She wasn’t done with Rozzie yet.
THIRTY-FOUR
Symes rubbed witch hazel onto his knuckles. It helped bring out the bruise and reduce the swelling. Lucky for him, he relished the pain in his hands. It travelled directly to his nerves and helped calm him down. It was like that satisfying ache in the muscles after a good workout. It was pain, but it was good pain.
After the disappointment of the previous night, he knew he was going to have to shelve his plans for decimating the bitch’s team. His euphoria had quickly been quashed when Wood had joined her partner in the car before they’d driven off together. He’d considered following them, but it was clear they’d been given instructions on staying safe. His side plan of causing as much pain as he could through her team could become a distraction. It was taking unnecessary risk which could jeopardise his real mission.
He knew it wouldn’t be long until his face was plastered all over the national news in connection with the abduction. He was going to have to be more careful and move around in the shadows, but the first part of the plan was complete, and the kid was tucked away nicely.
‘Shut up,’ he shouted as the elderly figure in the middle of the room groaned.
In all honesty he’d been surprised she’d still been alive when he’d returned earlier.
In a way he was relieved that she was. The smell of a dead body might raise the alarm quicker than he’d like.
‘Damn it,’ he said when the whimpering stopped.
He went to the sink and filled a beaker with water. He hated being responsible for another thing. It was why he’d never had a pet.
‘Here,’ he said, repeating the process he’d used before he’d left.
He put his foot over her frail bony toes and applied a small amount of pressure. One move and he’d be able to break every toe.
He lowered the gag and tipped water into her mouth.
She began to choke so he pulled it away.
‘That’s enough,’ he said, refixing the gag.
He had no idea if it was enough to sustain her, but he was more bothered about the smell. He couldn’t stand her stench a second longer.
He returned to the sink and refilled the cup almost to the top, then looked underneath the sink until he found what he was looking for. He poured a generous measure from the bottle of disinfectant into the mug before approaching the pathetic figure from behind and throwing the liquid so it drenched the back of her head and soaked the back of her nightdress.
Immediately the aroma of pine began to fill the air.
She cried out before continuing the whimpering, and he rolled his eyes. He’d given her a shower and still she wasn’t happy.
He left the living room and went back to the kitchen. The aroma of spaghetti bolognese filled the air. He had plummed so lucky in finding someone who had delicious ready meals delivered to her door weekly.
He took a couple of slices of bread from the bread bin and plonked himself at the small table in front of the patio window. Not that he could see anything – the curtains were still closed.
He hadn’t realised how hungry he was or how he’d become acclimatised to the shit, tasteless slop they called food in prison.
Once finished, he expelled a humungous belch that filled the room then laughed out loud. Fuck, he loved freedom, and if he didn’t hate the bitch with every fibre of his being, he might have considered trying to disappear long-term and having a good old time of it, but he couldn’t do that.
He couldn’t properly enjoy another minute of his life while there was breath still circulating around her body.
THIRTY-FIVE