Captives

CAPTIVES JANE HEAFIELD Copyright © 2023 Jane Heafield The right of Jane Heafield to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published in 2023 by Bloodhound Books. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. www.bloodhoundbooks.com Print ISBN: 978-1-5040-8549-6 CONTENTS Love best-selling fiction? Also by Jane Heafield Birth Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Rebirth Acknowledgements You will also enjoy: A note from the publisher Love best-selling fiction? LOVE BEST-SELLING FICTION? Sign up today to be the first to hear about new releases and exclusive offers, including free and discounted ebooks! Why not like us or follow us on social media to stay up to date with the latest news from your favourite authors? Facebook Twitter Instagram ALSO BY JANE HEAFIELD The Yorkshire Murder Thrillers Dead Cold (Book 1) Cold Blood (Book 2) Cold Heart (Book 3) * * * Don’t Believe Her * * * Her Dark Past * * * Obsessed BIRTH ‘It’s midnight, Tuesday April 19th, 2022, I’m Noa, and the phones are already ringing, so let’s take the first call.’ ‘I killed and ate my neighbour’s dog with a bottle of nice Chianti. I also touch kids and plan to blow up a school. Come get me, if you dare.’ The caller started to list his address, but Noa hit the kill switch to terminate the call. ‘He forgot the fava beans,’ she told her audience. ‘That call allows a nice segue into my introduction. I am Noa Vickerman and this is Confessions, midnight until 1am, every night here only on Divine Radio. For one hour, ring me and admit anything. Jealousy, cheating, lies, even crimes. I can’t promise you absolution, but I’ll listen. I can’t guarantee legal immunity, but I’ll listen. I can’t even promise good advice, but I’ll listen. Confess to me and maybe you’ll find peace. Or a good night’s sleep. Or just a laugh.’ After a radio jingle, Noa said, ‘Welcome all. Now, my caveat. You all just heard me cut a call. I will never ask for your name or address, but if you give those things, it will be deemed consent to inform the police. No such information, though, will be aired live. That’s my promise here.’ She had cleverly worded her pledge. The dog-eater’s call had been cut from live broadcast, but not terminated. Instead, it had been routed to another phone. The switch had been seamless; only if the caller was listening to the radio show would he know he no longer had the ears of thousands, only an old man who was recording everything. Joke or not, Dog Man had threatened to attack children and the police needed to know. Confidentiality was one thing. Moral duty was another. ‘Now, down to business,’ Noa continued. ‘The lines are buzzing. Myriad heavy hearts wish to unburden.’ She hit a button to patch through a waiting call. ‘Hello, friend. What’s bugging you at this late hour?’ ‘My mum’s a stripper,’ a young, screechy female voice said. ‘I stabbed her car tyres so she can’t go to work. Did it three days running and now she thinks some punter is jealous and trying to stop her and stalking her…’ * * * ‘So what should I do? Kiss him? Or just admit it to him?’ ‘In my opinion,’ Noa said, ‘end the relationship. Staying with your boyfriend in order to be around his hot dad will make things worse in the long run. But that’s just my opinion.’ The call continued for a few more minutes. Afterwards, it was 12.50am and Noa decided to take just one more call, and drag it out for ten minutes if necessary. Three callers were on hold and two got an automated message with instructions to try again next time. She made the final guest live with the touch of a button. ‘Hello, friend. What’s bugging you at this late hour?’ Six calls over the last fifty minutes. Three foul-mouthed pranksters who got cut off quickly. One man who wanted to know if his wife had ever called the show to admit cheating. A lady who’d been stealing from her grandson’s house because he’d never repaid her for sweets and toys given when he was a kid. And the last, a teenager who’d started dating and had even become engaged to a former schoolfriend just so she could hang around his father. All told, a night that was par for the course, and Noa didn’t expect anything memorable from the show’s final guest. Even Larry Faulds, the bald, ageing station’s producer, was close to nodding off in his wheelchair in the doorway to his office. They both sat bolt upright when a male voice said, ‘I’ve got a prisoner. I’ve had her about a year and a half.’ ‘I’m sorry, repeat that, please.’ She’d heard perfectly fine, but needed a moment to compose herself. By the time the caller had repeated himself, word-for-word, all eight switchboard lights were on: callers eager to talk about this very admission. ‘What else would you like