Invisible Victim

by Mel Sherratt

Genres: Women's Fiction; Thrillers; Crime Fiction; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

‘Let me out! Please!’ I shouted, banging on the door. How had I got here? What day was it? I couldn’t remember anything. But I knew I had become the fifth woman to be abducted. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I’m filled with dread. Everything looks just like the others described: a small hole in the door, a mattress and a narrow window allowing only a small chink of light. The jewellery given to me by my loving husband has gone and I’m in someone else’s clothes. Just days before, I had interviewed the third victim for the local paper. She couldn’t stop shaking. Her story was the same as those before her: an ordinary woman, locked away for ten days then released with no explanation, and nothing – nothing she could think of – to link her to the others. Throughout the ordeal, her abductor stayed eerily silent. I tell myself I’ll be safe in ten days. But I can’t help thinking of the fourth victim who is still missing. And then I hear the voice coming through the door. ‘You said everything would be fine. But it wasn’t was it?’ It is then that I realise. If I am to make it out alive, I need to revisit a dark secret of my own that I have spent a lifetime trying to forget. An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller with a truly brilliant twist, perfect for fans of Teresa Driscoll, T.M. Logan and C.L. Taylor.

Release date: June 28, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Eva Farmer raced into the kitchen, her eyes flicking around every surface. Only last night, she and her husband, Nick, had downed a glass of wine at the celebratory news that he’d passed his sergeant’s exam. Nick had been a police officer for the past ten years. With his shift work, they flitted around each other most of the time. So the wine had been a joy to share, as well as the film they’d watched, and the fun they’d had afterwards. It was good to connect whenever they could.

As usual, Eva was looking for her car keys.

‘Have you seen my…?’

Nick was sitting at the breakfast bar. He pointed to the worktop with his spoon as he crunched on his cereal. Already he was dressed for work. Even now, ten years after they were married, Eva wasn’t sure if it was the uniform or the man wearing it that first made her heart skip a beat. He’d been with her through everything, more recently when Daniel had started to pester her to meet. Several times, he’d turned up outside the Stoke News office where she’d worked since leaving university. She’d refused to have anything to do with him and, in the end, she’d had to get Nick to give him a subtle warning.

What she hadn’t told Nick was that she’d seen Daniel again, several times recently. As she’d stepped out to the shops on her lunch break. After a visit to the gym. Once when she was coming out of a meeting in town. Her rationale was the longer she ignored him, the quicker he would get the message. She didn’t want to see him – not after what had happened.

She sighed. How had she managed to put her keys in the fruit bowl again? It was never her phone: that went everywhere with her. Her job meant she had to be in touch constantly. Still, at thirty-three, it gave her a buzz for adventure that distracted her from the fact that she and Nick had been trying to conceive for the past year.

She patted Nick on the shoulder as she rushed past. ‘What time are you finishing this evening?’

‘About eight-ish.’

‘I’ll get something nice for supper.’ She picked up her keys and grinned at him. ‘I enjoyed last night. I wish we got to do it more often.’

Nick was two years older than Eva. They’d been together since they were in their early twenties, marrying four years later. He stood nearly a foot taller than her, at six foot three, and could chuck her over his shoulder as if she weighed the same as a bag of sugar. As well as lifting and pushing ridiculously heavy weights, he ran several times a week. Add to that a cheeky grin, short black hair with an undercut and Eva had everything she’d ever wanted right there.

Nick reached for her as she went past, pulling her close to kiss her.

‘You taste of milk,’ she teased.

‘You taste of ecstasy.’ He grinned.

‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were offering me a compliment there, but as you see what drugs do to people every day…’

‘You actually taste of spearmint. Oh, can you get me a card for my mum’s birthday some time this week? You know we’re due there for lunch on Sunday and—’

‘Already got it.’ She broke from his embrace and went to fill the kettle. ‘And I’ve ordered flowers.’

‘Superstar.’ Nick pushed his arms into the air and stretched. ‘What do you have planned for today?’

‘I have an appointment first thing and then it’s mostly office work unless anything comes in.’

There were three journalists besides Eva in her section, all of whom covered general news. As senior features editor, she’d been delegating work for four years. Selfishly, she kept the good jobs for herself, but then it was a case of hierarchy. Out of them, she’d been the longest serving at the Stoke News, remaining loyal to the newspaper. Or rather she enjoyed the job so much, she didn’t want to leave.

Eva had never been one to glorify or sensationalise others’ bad news. Her idea of news telling was to dwell on the positive as much as possible. There was enough crap in the world without her getting normal people to bear their soul for all to read about, and then twisting it even further for reader enjoyment. She liked to add her name with pride to articles she wrote. She would never deviate from that either.

‘Let’s hope not,’ Nick said. ‘It isn’t often I get to do the day shift. I intend to make the most of the next four evenings too.’

Half an hour later, they said their goodbyes. Eva was last to leave, glancing up at the house before reversing out of the driveway. Their home really was their castle, despite long hours away from it. They were the epitome of a newer class – small, detached home on a pleasant private housing estate; two almost-new cars; and two higher-than-average salaries coming in every month. They shopped where they liked, holidayed overseas twice a year and went out as often as they could get together. Having been raised in a tower block, Eva knew she was lucky to live the way she did now. Things could easily have been very different.

Eva was meeting a property developer at a warehouse he’d recently purchased, to chat about a new business venture. She wrote a quick message to her PA to tell her she was going straight out on-site, rather than calling into the office first, and would be back around midday. If she wasn’t long, she’d buy cakes on the way back.

Eva was having trouble rousing herself. The pain in her head intensified and she reached a hand up to her temple, wincing. It was painful and swollen to the touch. Slowly she opened her eyes.

She frowned as she failed to recognise her surroundings, then flinched again with the effort. She squinted until her vision adjusted to the dim light. Was it night-time? Her hand shot to her ribs and she groaned in pain. They too felt bruised.

She reached a hand out to her bedside cabinet, to locate her phone. But it wasn’t there. Neither was her bedside cabinet. All she was met with was a wall.

Sitting up in a panic, her breathing became shallow as she took in her surroundings. What had happened to her? She tried to think back but she couldn’t remember anything. She couldn’t even recall what day of the week it was. Was it morning or evening?

The room was tiny: no bigger than a large shed. She looked closer to see there was exposed brickwork. The ceiling was low, with beams that supported the floor above. A whiff of damp permeated the musty air.

With her left hand, she covered the swollen eye that was still refusing to completely open and concentrated on looking through the other one. She was sitting on a mattress, one sheet and a tiny pillow atop it. In front was a small window, too high for her to look through, unless she pulled herself up the wall. It was narrow, perhaps twenty centimetres wide and roughly a metre high. There was no handle she could see, and the glass was opaque with wire meshing embedded inside.

Fear ripped through her the more she noticed. Her watch was gone. Her wedding ring was missing too. Her hand touched the space where her necklace would have been. Missing.

She looked down at her clothes. The grey sweatshirt and jogging bottoms didn’t belong to her: why was she wearing them? Her feet were bare, red toenails prominent. She couldn’t see her boots anywhere. In the far corner, there was a bucket: the only other item in the room except for the mattress.

She sat quietly, seeing if she could hear any noise, but there was nothing. The room reminded her of her gran’s cellar in the terraced house she’d lived in before she’d died. Eva remembered it as a place she’d loved and hated. It had been down a few steps and then underneath the house. Dark and full of dust and rubbish – and spiders. Just the thought made her waft a hand around her head at imaginary legs crawling all over her.

Ignoring the pain in her head, she turned around swiftly and put her feet to the floor. There was a wooden door to her right. Slowly she stood up and walked towards it, taking tentative steps on the cold tiles. As she reached it, she saw there was no handle.

Gasping for breath, she banged on the door.

‘Hello?’

It was then she noticed the hole cut away in the bottom panel. Even before stooping down to examine it, tears pricked her eyes. Because realisation was dawning on her. There was a pet flap fitted, the flap itself removed to leave a hole. But behind it was a piece of wood that covered it. Even if she could kick it away, it wasn’t big enough for her to climb through.

Which is what the first woman to be abducted had told her. And the second. And the third.

Over the past few months, Eva had been working on a feature involving three women who had been kidnapped and released after ten days. There was a fourth woman who had gone missing too, but she hadn’t come home at all. The police were working on all cases but, in particular, woman number four, Jillian Bradshaw, a serving police officer and a friend of hers and Nick’s. She’d gone missing four weeks ago. With a fresh police appeal, Eva had been asked by her boss to compile a four-page spread on the women, to garner public interest again.

‘Is anyone there?’ she shouted, banging on the door with the side of her fists. ‘Hello! Let me out. Please! Is anyone there?’

She made as much noise as possible, until her hands hurt too much to continue. Crying, she slid down the wall and sat on the floor. Ignoring the pain in her ribs, she pulled in her knees and tucked her arms around them. She shivered, whether through cold or shock she wasn’t sure.

Eva started to think. How had she got here? Who had she met today? Or yesterday? What day was it? Where had she been going? Try as she might, she couldn’t recall any details.

A rush of nausea flooded through her and she only just reached the bucket in time to throw up. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve afterwards, she burst into tears again. She couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

She was the fifth woman to be abducted.

Eva turned her car into Carlton Avenue, located number nine and parked outside. She glanced at the house and its surroundings. It was a pleasant street, the proverbial tree-lined suburban retreat, where identical houses stood in a line either side.

The Harvey family knew she was coming. As usual, she felt excited by the feature she was putting together, though she would be sensitive to the family’s needs. Charlie Peterson, the editor-in-chief, had known Eva since she’d started as a junior reporter when she was twenty and had given the gig to her.

A man came to the door, a woman close behind him: Stephanie and Mike Harvey.

‘Hello,’ Eva said, introducing herself.

‘Please come in.’ Stephanie beckoned her forward. The hall was small with the three of them standing in it. Eva followed them through a door on their right.

The living room was a perfect scene of domestic bliss: a far cry from where Stephanie had been held for ten days. It was decorated in pale grey and white striped wallpaper. Two three-seater sofas were set out in an L-shape around a pine coffee table, with a blue rug underneath. Above an Adams-style fireplace was a portrait of the family. Stephanie used to have long red hair, teased into curls that almost touched the floor. She sat cross-legged with two little boys in front of her, Mike at her side. They were all laughing, natural and a joy to see. It was a beautiful portrait, bringing an immediate pang of sadness to her.

‘Would you like a drink?’ Mike offered.

‘Coffee would be great, please.’ Eva nodded and sat down with Stephanie. The back half of the room opened up into a conservatory. There were piles of toys in colourful plastic boxes and a train track laid out on the floor. The walls were covered in more photos of the boys: identical twins.

Eva took out her notebook. Often, she’d record a conversation when she was reporting on a story, but for this she was going old school. She’d learned shorthand in college: one of the best skills she’d gained before she took a degree in journalism.

She stole a quick look at Stephanie. Her hair was now cut in a chic pixie style that suited her oval face.

‘How are you doing?’ Eva asked. ‘Stupid question, I know.’

‘So-so. I want to get on with my life, but it’s hard.’

‘I can’t begin to imagine.’

‘What is it that you’d like to know?’

‘As I mentioned on the phone, I’m compiling a feature, if you’re comfortable with that? I think, too, the public need to know why they should stay vigilant.’

‘We’ve been through this with the police,’ Mike said, his tone a little sharp as he rejoined them, placing three mugs on the coffee table.

Stephanie rested a hand on his arm. ‘He’s concerned about me dredging it all up again,’ she explained. ‘I want this story told properly, and I know you’ll do a good job. A sensitive one. And besides, he’s still out there.’ She turned back to Eva.

Mike snorted in disdain. Eva saw Stephanie throw him a cautionary look. He sat back in his chair with a sigh.

‘Would you like me to recap for you?’ Stephanie asked Eva.

Eva nodded. Although she had all of those details in her notes, she wanted to encourage Stephanie to talk.

‘The room I was kept in was dark with one narrow window that let me know whether it was day or night. It was a godsend at first, but then I forgot whether I’d been there for five days or six. After that, I lost count and until I was told it was ten days after my release, I didn’t have a clue.’

‘And no one spoke to you at all?’

Stephanie shook her head.

Eva wondered how she’d react to having her own hair cut off, among the other degrading things that had happened to Stephanie when she was held captive. Eva would have been devastated to lose all those beautiful waves. And it was a cruel trick. Was it to make Stephanie seem a shadow of her former self? Was that what the kidnapper wanted her to be?

‘I was beaten up before I was locked in the room, my wounds left unattended,’ Stephanie went on. ‘I wasn’t let out to wash or use the bathroom. There was a bucket in the corner of the room.’ Her eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment, but then she looked straight into Eva’s eyes. ‘I was given hardly any food. There was nothing to wash with. I stank when I came out. And I was naked.’

Even though Eva knew a lot of these details, the hairs on her body stood on end as she listened to Stephanie recount her ordeal. What had happened to her was barbaric, way beyond a joke if someone was out to seek revenge.

It would be Eva’s worst nightmare, being locked in a room for ten days. She was a chatterbox and needed her phone like it was a drug to keep her alive. She wouldn’t be able to cope as a prisoner.

And yet there seemed to be no reason why Stephanie had been chosen. Eva went through Stephanie’s history with her, but there was nothing else she could tease out because there wasn’t anything to tell. Stephanie Harvey seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. When Stephanie was let out after ten days, the mystery deepened: it was so unusual for anyone to be released – especially if it could lead to an arrest and conviction.

‘I still don’t know why he singled me out,’ Stephanie went on. ‘I’m just a normal person. I’ve done no harm to anyone. I’ve only had three jobs all my life – a support worker at a charity for teenagers, a few years in an office doing accounts and then again at an insurance brokers. I finished the last position because I was ill with cancer. But now I’ve had the all-clear, I’ve recently gone back to university to study psychology.’

Eva watched Stephanie reach up to her neck. During her captivity and while under the influence of drugs, she had been tattooed with the number one. Stephanie had covered it with four intertwined hearts in black ink. It might look better now but, equally, Eva assumed it would always serve as a reminder of those harrowing days. Every time Stephanie saw it, she would know what lay underneath.

Eva knew Nick and the team had been doing their best to find the kidnapper, but without any details of where Stephanie had been held and then her being returned to where she had last been seen, it would be hard to piece together. It was clear, however, that someone knew Stoke well, knew how to stay invisible and under the radar.

‘And after he let you go?’ Eva went on.

‘I was dropped off in the middle of the night, in a street where there was limited CCTV.’

‘And you’re sure you have no idea who it would be?’

‘I think that’s enough,’ Mike said, getting to his feet. ‘I don’t like what you’re insinuating, that my wife must have done something wrong for this to have happened.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that at all. I live and breathe stories but I never embellish anything. I think it’s a disservice to you if I don’t tell the truth. And we’re not a national paper. We serve the local community. My articles are always sensitive, I can assure you of that.’

‘It’s okay, Mike,’ Stephanie insisted.

Eva thought about her visit later that afternoon when she sat down to write the piece. It would be run in the newspaper and online the following day. The photographer had been to take more photos: Stephanie and Mike sitting on the settee, hand in hand. Eva had stared at it for a while, still unable to contemplate how they must be feeling.

She began to write with a. . .