Page 22 of 36 Hours

Once they were out of sight, she pressed play on the Dictaphone.

Suspecting what she was about to hear didn’t make the sound of the scream any less gut-wrenching.

Neither she nor Bryant spoke as they listened in horror to a total of ten pain-filled shrieks.

The Dictaphone automatically switched off after the tenth scream. Kim could only imagine the agony of having each nail ripped out one by one.

The tape had served to tell them two things. The first was that the Jester had abducted a man and that by now he expected them to know that. Otherwise he wouldn’t have allowed that fact to be revealed.

The second was that this wasn’t a hoax. Any thought of not playing along was banished.

It was now evident to her that they were dealing with one sick individual. Had he inflicted the torture because he enjoyed it and gained some kind of twisted satisfaction from it, or was it to prove to them that this was more than just a game?

She thought about his original threat and his insistence that they follow his clues and play by his rules.

She now believed that if they didn’t, someone was going to die.

SEVENTEEN

11.25A.M.

Penn already knew that trying to establish if there was a missing person amongst the local homeless community was a gargantuan task. The whole lifestyle meant freedom to move around and remain unaccounted for. The anonymity rendered many vagrants invisible, and that’s how some of them wanted to stay.

He held no judgement about any person living on the streets. He knew that many had been forced onto that path through substance abuse, but there were other stories too: broken homes, sudden financial loss, mental illness. He’d also learned through another major case that for a small minority it was a conscious choice, a chosen and preferred way to live without the constraints of a job, a home, family, bills.

He supposed in one way he could understand it, but he’d happily cope with all those things in return for knowing where he was going to lay his head each night.

Another myth that had been busted during that previous investigation was of a brotherhood. A community that took care of its own. The only thing that mattered was survival, and if you had to play dirty to get the best spot, that’s what you did.

And that was why he guessed that the man he was about to approach might have more answers than most.

The bearded guy sitting at the entrance to Stourbridge’s Ryemarket Shopping Centre had secured himself the prime spot for this time of day.

‘Yo, buddy, shift yer carcass,’ the guy shouted as Penn stopped in front of him.

Penn bent down and introduced himself.

‘Couldn’t give less of a shit, mate. You’re blocking the view of poor little me from all these lovely, generous shoppers.’

‘Can I ask you a few questions?’ Penn asked, moving to the side as a young guy tossed a coin in the man’s tin.

‘Thanks, fella,’ he called before scowling in Penn’s direction. ‘You don’t think Sundays are hard enough?’

‘How so?’ Penn asked.

‘Shorter trading day. Only got a few hours to make some coin. Thanks, fella,’ he called again as another coin landed. Penn had no idea of the coin denomination, but every contribution elicited the same depth of gratitude.

‘You’re on prime time now. Better to catch ’em going in while they ain’t carrying bags. More likely to go to the trouble of reaching for their wallets,’ he said as a few people passed without any offerings.

‘Man, you’re bad for business. Naff off.’

‘Well, you must be doing okay to have secured this spot at prime time with no one else around. How’d you manage that?’

‘Told WhatsApp there were some breakfasts on the byfers at the coffee shop.’

Penn didn’t need telling that byfers were drinks and meals pre-paid by customers to help the homeless.

‘You got a WhatsApp group?’ he asked.