You Are Dead by Peter James Page B

doing.”
    The psychiatrist turned his computer screen sideways, so that Harrison Hunter could see it. “The Argus online you said?”
    Hunter nodded.
    Van Dam opened Google then typed in the words “Brighton Argus online.”
    Moments later the Argus homepage appeared, and he saw the headline.
    ABDUCTION FEARS OVER MISSING WOMAN
    Both men read the story printed below.
    Logan Somerville, 24, of Chesham Gate, Kemp Town, has not been seen since she left the Chiropractic Life Clinic premises in Portland Road, Hove, where she worked, at 5:15 p.m. yesterday afternoon. Her fiancé, Jamie Ball, 28, a marketing manager, reported to police that she had phoned him, concerned about a stranger in the underground car park of the apartment building where they live, at around 5:30 p.m. yesterday, which was the last communication from her. Her car was subsequently found in the car park.
    A police spokesperson said that her disappearance is being treated as a possible abduction, and Detective Superintendent Roy Grace of Surrey and Sussex Major Crime Team is in charge of the investigation, Operation Haywain. A television broadcast by her fiancé is being made at 1 p.m. today, which will be followed by a press conference, at which more details will be given.
    Police are appealing for anyone who might have seen anything suspicious in the vicinity, or a dark-colored estate car, possibly an older model Volvo, being driven erratically or at high speed around that time. The driver is described as male, middle-aged, clean shaven, wearing glasses.
    The psychiatrist was visibly shaking as he looked back at his patient. “You know where she is?” he said.
    â€œI didn’t say that. I said I’m the only person who may be able to save her life.”
    â€œWhat do you need?” the psychiatrist said sternly. “Money? How much money?”
    â€œThis is not about money.”
    â€œThen what is it about?”
    Harrison Hunter stood up abruptly. “I have to go now.”
    â€œWait!” Van Dam said. “You can’t go now, for God’s sake tell me where she is, what’s happened to her. Who is she with? Has she been hurt?”
    But his patient had already reached the door. As he opened it, Hunter turned and said, “Don’t go to the police, Dr. Van Dam. If you do you’ll never see her again. I can help you, you’ll have to trust me on that.”
    â€œPlease, how exactly are you going to help me, Dr. Hunter?”
    â€œBy you helping me.”
    The door closed behind him.
    â€œWait!” Van Dam shouted, pulling the door open. But the man had gone past his secretary and out of the far door. As Van Dam reached it, he could hear the man’s footsteps heading down the stairs. He stumbled down them after him, but long before he reached the front door, calling out, “Please wait!,” he heard it slam.
    He returned to his office, out of breath, looked at the phone number on Crisp’s referral letter and dialed it. After a few rings it was answered by a cheery, recorded voice.
    â€œHello, this is Dr. Crisp’s surgery. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can. Bye for now!”

 
    25
    Friday 12 December
    Deep in thought, Roy Grace drove around the Lewes Road gyratory system. It was coming up to 11:15 a.m., around eighteen hours since Logan Somerville had vanished. If she had been taken, as he feared, rather than simply gone of her own volition, then with each passing hour the chances of finding her alive diminished. That had long been his grim experience. But he was curious about why Glenn Branson wanted him to come over so urgently.
    He turned left, in past the wrought-iron gates attached to brick pillars, and the sign in gold letters on a black background that said BRIGHTON AND HOVE CITY MORTUARY . He was confronted with death constantly in his work, and while crime scenes and deposition sites often yielded vital clues for