The Girl at the Spa Ch. 04

To all the message leavers, really sorry about the delay. I had laptop issues that saw me lose almost half of the last chapter after a shitload of work, and meant that I had to go back to an older saved version and re-write a whole load of stuff that I'd felt really good about first time and it's never as good, at least it doesn't seem like it; but Hey, that's electronic writing biz.

Have tried really hard to recreate the feel as much as the words and I hope the rather dark 'fuck it' attitude I've had for last bit of 'The Girl at the Spa' for the last week or so doesn't come out in the story. Have tried to remain true to the tale and its telling even if it's not as good as I thought it would have been.

After all, couldn't have left Ali and Richie out there could I.

Still too OCD for an editor

Aaaanyway...

*****

"What?" I turned at the policeman's statement.

"The wardrobe," he said, "packed out with pillows and duvet's, still warm."

My shoulders sagged. She had been in the room all of the time, hence Sean stopping me from getting too close to the wardrobe and making noise when I tried to listen.

"OK Richard, this Sean, do you have any idea where he might be taking Miss Trenowden?"

"No," I really didn't have the first clue, "Janice!" I shouted down to the car park where the receptionist was staring at the three parking spaces marked McNC in the large hotel car park, "take these officers into reception and get Sean's home address for them."

"Bloody right!" she snarled, pushing the police community support officer to one side to storm up the cast iron fire escape and into the Clinic. She stopped and looked briefly into the bedroom and the set up where Ali had probably been imprisoned for at least the last two or three days. She put a hand to her mouth and cried out.

"Not now Janice," said the Policewoman, "help us find the bastard first!"

"Yeah!" said Janice, her face firming up in a new anger, "Short-arsed little twat has soooooo got it coming, and I hope you guys find him before I do!"

Within minutes the two cops were pouring across the computer screen searching for anything useful. He had a flat in Highgate and a unit was dispatched there, finding it empty and probably long since, but another community support officer was sat behind the front curtain of the neighbourhood watcher directly across the road. A quick search of the flat showed that he had a garage locally and inside they found a car and his motorbike that he was so proud of and was generally his chosen mode of transportation. It was obvious that another car had been there for some time before. Detectives searched his flat and found log books and insurance documents to give a clue to the registration numbers.

The car in the garage was an MG sports car painted in grey primer while the missing car was an E-type jaguar, a classic in British Racing Green and would probably stand out as much as Ali's Red F-type to the trained eye.

I paced around the now closed Clinic free of the howling fire alarms, my nervous energy dissipating to be replaced with a cold hopelessness. I knew the police had 48 hours until the trail would go cold and we were six hours into that already.

The various Clinic staff had been interviewed and eventually sent home; there was one glaring piece of intelligence that was discovered mind you.

I still had the envelope with Ali's ring in and Julia, one of the receptionists, recognised it having found it in the basement service entrance, recognised Ali's handwriting and seeing it addressed to me at my digs in Cambridge sent it first class on Monday morning thinking Ali must have dropped it at some stage.

"That was some brilliant work on her part," said the detective sergeant who introduced himself as Dave, "She guessed it would get posted to you and the first thing you would do was come running. And you did!" He patted me on the shoulder, "score one for Ali." He smiled, "So we have to assume she's going to be trying to get more messages to us. She scratched 'love U RM2, AT,' into the back of the wardrobe and that's nice and obvious, shame our protagonist tried to smash it up, we found this bit dropped in the car park, bit of a scuffle I'd guess." He held up a broken piece of hardboard that fitted the hole in question.

There was lots of noise from downstairs, and I heard Meghan's voice and I ran down. She took one look at my face and pulled me into her arms. It started as her trying to comfort me, but ended with me doing the same to her. In moments there was my Dad after paying off the taxi from Heathrow.

He had cancelled his last three sessions with a promise to come back and do more for free next month and hopped first class onto the first England bound plane.

At the same time, Detective Dave's phone rang to say that Ali's Jag had turned up in a private house in Virginia Water reported by the owner that had returned from work to find it parked on her lawn.

"He could be West bound then," said Meghan, herself an occasional driver from Cornwall to London and back.

"Could be," said Detective Dave, "according to the local neighbourhood policing team, a blue E-type Jag has moved from the street outside."

"They got a registration number?" I said.

"Yes, it had been there about four days and someone reported it to the council as being dumped. They don't like cars being parked outside their houses in Virginia Water, not even E-types. The local council didn't do anything with it because it came back as being taxed and with an MoT certificate. We ran the car through the computer an hour ago and someone spoke to the owner who said that his car was still in his garage, and when he went to out to check he found his number plates had been nicked," said the policewoman. "Turns out the owner is in the same classic car club as Patterson. We're working with the club to get a message out to any other E-type owners to check their garaged cars in case he's helped himself to some of those as well."

"So we have every number plate recognition wired traffic car driving around looking for it with a request to stop all E-types," said Detective Dave.

After Dave brought us all up to date with what had happened and took Dad and Meghan next door to see what was missing or what had changed in their bedroom. I looked at the wardrobe where my beloved Ali had been imprisoned. I saw several bloodstains on the side wall, and on the back were the damaged section was. Dad saw it too but instead of the blood saw something else, recognising something in the edges of the letters still attached.

"That piece of back board from the wardrobe," said Dad.

"Busted up I'm afraid," said the detective, "These are Ikea aren't they," said the policeman thinking about repairs and making good.

"Where's the rest of it," said Dad staying calmer than everyone in the room.

"Here," said the officer handing across a sealed bag marked 'evidence'.

"For fuck's sake Richard!" shouted Dad. I just stared stunned, "The tree you tosser, the fucking tree with our names scratched into it. Ali's left us another message," he handed the piece of wood back to the detective, "It's too obvious," he sniffed, "I bet at some point she took that cunt Patterson into the woods and showed him her name and ours scratched into the tree. She's done this to remind him of the tree! Your name, my name, her name. He would have hated that, and I reckon she's telling us they are heading back to the Spa. He wants Ali Richie," said Dad, "but he doesn't like you and I get the feeling the same goes for me too."

"A good guess," said Detective Dave, "and we've got to check it out. I'll contact Devon and Cornwall Police."

"I'm going to contact Mateo Rodriguez," said Dad, "he owns a helicopter, he owes me a few favour and is playing West Ham tonight."

Devon and Cornwall Police headed straight for the Spa and had the one road to it pegged with unmarked police cars. Marked police cars were cruising the main roads into the West Country alert for E-types with a description of one Sean Patterson and of a dark haired female of 24 although everyone guessed that she would be drugged or tied up. The adjacent hotel car park cameras showed Sean dragging a still bound dark haired female down the fire escape, then out of shot the Red F-type driving out and the wrong way down the street.

Mateo was good to his favour and his helicopter was given police permission to land in a nearby park and in seconds Detective Dave, Meghan, Dad and I were lifting into the London night and heading westwards following the line of the Thames.

The pilot said that once his Bell 429 was clear of London airspace he would open the bird up to its full 150 knots - in English, about 170 miles an hour.

Meghan, being Meghan, had brought flasks of coffee and we sat there in a nervous silence sipping it and looking at each other easy smiles to easy smiles, hoping that we would be calming the other down.

It wasn't working.

Soon the pilot chatting to Dad through the other headset told him that we were across into Cornwall and asking where he could best land.

"Head for the co-ordinates I gave you," said Dad, "We can land on the roof of one of the buildings."

"Really?" said the pilot, "I mean what I'm actually able to land on what I can't is..."

"Does this helicopter weigh less than 8000 kilograms?"

"Much less," said the pilot.

"Excellent, when we get over the Spa, they'll turn the lights on so you can see my new landing pad, all thanks to you actually..."

And that's what happened. Apparently after Dad's dash to St Mawgan that summer he was chatting with the pilot, this pilot, about where these choppers could land. He had a discussion with a few engineers that autumn and then during a quiet period in February he had a pad built over the posh bungalow, the one that Ali and I had used, Mateo's one, using the extra cash that the footballer had given him for his mercy mission during my holiday. Mateo was over the moon and now knew that he could travel totally incognito to the Spa. It was just another posh service the Spa could offer to the richest clientele.

It paid for itself that night and the helicopter moved through a prepared flight path and thank heavens the weather, the wind mostly, was behaving itself and the pilot dropped gently on to the bungalow roof right on top of the black 'H' surrounded by uplights. We were out of the helicopter and running down steps that one of the staff had wheeled to the side of the flat roof.

Walking down I briefly saw that this was a pad over the original roof and I was most impressed. It seems that the steel prop legs were straight into the ground and bolted to the bed rock.

We ran through the Spa to the gates being held open by Paula, a scared look on her pretty face.

"They aren't there," she said the tears on her face evident. I gave her a hug. She wiped her face, "It'll be fine Richie," she said, "Ali's made of strong stuff... she'll..." Her face crumpled into despairing sobs and she broke down again.

"They might turn up yet," said Detective Dave, "we have a waiting game we have to play now. You guys rest, this is one for us now."

We went to the apartment and sat around. With both Dad and Meghan away for a week, the Spa was open to Day guests only so there wasn't the problem of having to warn people that there was a would be assassin trying to do for me or my Dad. Meghan prepared food that we didn't eat and decaf coffee that we drank by the mug full. I took coffee out to the police officers currently sat in the main office with the company CCTV watching all of the Spa, only to find that Paula and some of the other girls had already done so and they were being extremely well looked after.

I lay on the large sofa continually going over what had gone on, beating myself up for the mistakes I had made in not spotting what now seemed obvious.

He was in Dad and Meghan's room in London and probably had been since last week, he must have had Ali's 'swipe' card to get him into those rooms. That meant that he had access to the Spa in the same way so, unable to sleep anyway I got up and walked to Dad's office and the main computer that controlled the access cards.

I tapped in and found the necessary application and searched for Ali's card with a view to closing it down. I tapped into it and found Ali's card menu and prepared to close it down. Next to it I saw a notes list that was typed in block capitals.

It shouted out from the page,

"RM2 S KNOWS ABOUT CAGE FROM BEACH IF YOUR READING THIS AT SPA HE ALREADY INSIDE HE HAS CAMERAS AT"

Fuck!

I looked at the screen my mind racing. I tapped into another folder marked 'CCTV' and saw that many of the folders had been opened - that day, in fact three hours ago.

I closed Ali's access card, then made to do Sean's. I checked through the options and saw that I could set the cards to trip the system in whichever sector they were in, whenever they got within ten feet of a sensor pad. I did this straight away, but set the system to remote the warnings to Dad's mobile phone.

How had Sean got into the system?

Ali's laptop! With all of that discussion Ali's missing laptop that had been thrown across the room was missed in the whole 'car had turned up in Virginia Water, let's all be really clever and fly to Cornwall in a millionaire footballers helicopter' moment. I looked for records of the card usage and found a file but it was blank up until an hour ago. It must have been scrubbed.

I set that, and thought about what I should do next. I stood up and stretched, rolling my neck from side to side just how Ali had taught me to ease the tension. It didn't work.

Sean was probably already here!

I left Dad's office and slowly walked back to the apartment, thinking about every turn and twist in the corridor or doorway that could hold an attacker. I got to the apartment, and there was a very red eyed Meghan asleep in Dad's arms. I went and sat next to him, smiling pathetically. He put an arm around me and pulled me to him. I put my arms and around his neck and hugged him.

"The bastard is already here," I whispered into his ear, trying to make my shoulders heave convincingly.

"Explain," said Dad simply.

I told him about the message that Ali had left us, probably when she messed around with the security and CCTV from the Clinic, and that chances are every camera was visible to him and there could be more.

"OK mate," said Dad convincingly, patting me on the back and still hugging me.

"I've set the various door scanners to look out for both of their cards, it should be popping up on your phone and telling you where both of the cards are." Dad took out his phone.

Like many of his ilk, Dad was a iPhone devotee and would have nothing else, and taking his phone out, he pressed a few buttons. He nodded.

"OK Richie," said Dad patting my back then taking hold of my face and squeezing it, "Go make the coppers some more tea," he said, "you need to keep your brain fired up, GO TO BED!"

"But Dad..."

"Tea and coffee, then back to bed," he said in a stern Dad voice, "Go on, back to your room, the best room!"

My room, that was it. Back to the bungalow with the helicopter pad, that must have been where they were or had been last.

I walked out of the apartment, working on the fact that I could be being watched remotely through the CCTV now I was in the office.

Into the main office and the all of the policemen, I put my hand on the snoozing detective's shoulder and he woke with a start.

"I just wondered if you fancied some more coffee?"

Detective Dave gave me a look that said 'did I look like I wanted coffee?'

"Come through to the kitchen," I said, you can try some of Meghan's special blend."

"I'm OK really," he said with a yawn.

"I insist!" I said.

"OK..." he stood and followed me into the large kitchen and I pulled open the chiller door and stepped inside, he followed.

I explained about the message and the compromised CCTV and Dad's smartphone and Ali's missing damaged laptop that was probably out there somewhere.

"Leave it with me," he said.

"We need to get out there," I whispered, "Dad's phone will have an indication of where their cards are and they were last near the last bungalow, the one with the heli-pad."

"I'll round up the troops and get it sorted," he said. We went back to the office and the CCTV. The cameras were quite simple ones, and a few could pan around and zoom in and out. They all looked perfectly normal, and the policeman sat at the controlling computer swung the central camera and all looked well.

I stared at the screen, peering into the darkness looking for anything amiss. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

"They could be in one of the bungalows," said the policeman.

"Yes, can't we get out there and look?" I said.

"We're getting more officers," said Detective Dave, "we've got all the roads policing teams driving around looking for E-type jags, a team in Port George woods waiting for them to turn up there, I need a couple more lads before I'm happy to get out there, I'm just waiting for a ring back from the control room."

We waited. There were no phone calls.

"Dave," said, "Can't you and I go for a walk around?"

"Not until the support gets here." He said shaking his head and being professionally firm.

"Anything could be happening to her out there!" I hissed.

"And we'll be straight onto it the second the search team gets here."

"Can you at least phone them and see how long they are going to be?"

Detective Dave gave me a long look and pulled out his phone, with a 'just this once - I'm used to dealing with hysterical people like you' look. He pressed the screen with his thumb a few times. Then a few times more.

"No signal," he said, "the curse of being out in the country!"

I took out my phone, I had no signal either, I pressed the buttons and it still told me that I was out of range. That was shit, I'd used my mobile here dozens of times. I remembered my Mum ringing me during my summer holiday and I decided that I would go to the bungalow (a good excuse to get me outside) and call from there because I knew I could get a line out. I told the cop.

"Dial 9 to get an outside line and ring from here," I said, "I know I can get a signal from the last bungalow I'll try down there."

"Richard, what did we discuss earlier?"

"Don't you want to find out where your team is?"

Detective Dave looked at the policeman working the security system.

"Get on your personal radio Steve," said Dave, "Find out where everyone is."

"Whiskey four five to Victor one receiving..." said policeman Steve. There was no sound, "Whiskey four five to Victor one?"

"Keep trying," said Detective Dave picking up the desk phone. He pressed the 9 button, then pressed it again. He pressed the button in the cradle rest to cut off the call, and pressed 9 again. He looked confused.

Whiskey four five to victor one receiving!" said Steve with increasing crossness. I was pissed off with the whole thing and just headed for the 'out' door expecting Dave to follow me. I stepped outside and strolled purposefully but carefully down through the paths between the bungalows and the treatment rooms watching my phone for the signal bars to appear. The steps for the heli-pad were still there so I thought I'd go for broke and step up. Still nothing; fuck.

I trotted down the steps leaping the last few and landing with a thump. I got out my swipe card and touched the pad to get me into the bungalow, expecting a click from the door to indicate access. It didn't open. My card was access all areas and it should have opened, there was no way it could lock from the inside that I couldn't open with my card.

I turned and headed back to the office and reception and there was Detective Dave and the glazed doors banging on them and trying to attract my attention. I ran up the pathway and put my card on the access panel. Again there was no click-clunk to indicate that the lock had disengaged.