AUTHOR'S FOREWORD

Previously on Photo Finish: The police turn up at the postman's address but find it completely empty. Cook uses the excuse that his car has broken down to persuade Dave Mitchell to let him inside the house. The police discover that the postman has a father who lives out in the countryside and they all pile over to see if he's hiding Naomi there. Cook pretends he needs a pee to go upstairs and peep into all the bedrooms but doesn't find Naomi. While still on the upstairs landing Cook hears the doorbell ring and decides to stay there and wait to see who Mitchell opens the door to.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: CAT AND MOUSE

The urgency and insistence of the ringing of the door bell and the loud authoritative shouting coming from behind the door left David Mitchell in no doubt as to who had decided to pay him a visit. It had to be the police. It couldn't be anyone else and he knew he had to act as fast as lightening if he was to get out of this ostensibly awkward, indeed damned tricky situation without being caught or, even worse, killed. He was very conscious that this suspicious stranger whom he could have sworn he had seen somewhere before was still lurking around upstairs having a slash in the pisser. He'd had a bad feeling about him from the moment he had let him into the house but at that very moment this guy with the weak bladder and the broken down car outside represented a far lesser threat to his freedom than the hordes of policemen who were doubtless congregating outside the house and threatening to take the door off its hinges.

He flew down the stairs to the cellar, ignoring the increasingly terrified cries of his father from the back bedroom, tore along the short corridor and unlocked the bedroom. When he was inside he rushed over to where a panic-stricken Naomi was stretched out on the bed, frantically pulling and tugging at the handcuffs and restraints that had secured her hands and legs. She had guessed something mega was going on what with the noise of all the pandemonium upstairs that had been filtering down to her and was making a last desperate yet fruitless attempt to free herself before God knows what began to kick off.

His heart was pumping the blood to his head at the rate of knots as he willed himself to remain calm and focused on the job he knew he had to do. A minute later Naomi was released from the handcuffs which had chained her to the bed for the last few miserable hours but her joy and relief were cruelly short-lived as Mitchell skilfully re-bound her arms behind her back with some heavy string. The gleaming knife that he menacingly held to Naomi's throat with an evil glint in his eyes warned her off even thinking about trying to put up a struggle or making a sudden dash for freedom the second he had released her from her restraints. He kept the masking tape in place and as soon as he was satisfied that her arms were securely bound behind her back and she presented no serious risk to him he roughly helped the frightened blonde to her feet and pushed her in front of him towards the door.

It had been some time since Naomi had registered any feeling in her feet and legs and so she stumbled at first in the darkness, finding it difficult to keep her balance, particularly without the use of her arms to steady her as a natural form of equilibrium. Mitchell was in no mood to give her time to get used to walking again and hurriedly pushed her in front of him, still keeping the sharp knife close to her throat as a constant warning not to try any funny business. He pushed her out into the corridor quickly along it and then up the stairs in a matter of a few seconds. They had just made it to the top and out into the passage way leading to the hall when suddenly the front door burst open with a deafening crack and two uniformed coppers came in through the doorway, swiftly followed by DI Straw, DS Blunt and three other members of Straw's murder squad, all of whom stopped dead in their tracks as soon as they caught sight of Mitchell standing about ten feet away from them, with one arm held tightly around Naomi's waist and an evil looking knife pressed up tight against her trembling, pale, horribly exposed throat

As soon as Cook heard all the shouting, banging and thumping on the front door he guessed it had to be the police and instinctively he hung back from the top of the stairs, mind ticking over furiously wondering what his next step should be. So deep in thought was he that he wasn't even aware that Mitchell had flown down the steps to the cellar and had temporarily left him alone in the main part of the house. Had he realised what Mitchell was doing he could have sprung into action, raced down the stairs, opened the front door and let the police in to the house before Mitchell could have got back up from the cellar. But even if he had been aware it's highly doubtful that would have been his chosen course of action in any case.

As much as he was desperate to save Naomi's life and deliver on his promise to Emily, he wasn't an entirely reckless and brainless individual and furthermore he still possessed a strongly-honed sense of self-preservation. If the cavalry had indeed arrived, surely they were far better equipped to deal with the situation than he was. They would be armed, or at least enough of them would be to take out this sadistic maniac if need be. He, on the other hand had nothing with which to defend himself from any threat on his life except his cunning, ingenuity and resourcefulness, none of which had a terribly good record of success when faced with the barrel of a gun or the blade of a knife.

Besides which, he told himself as he stood on the landing pressed hard against the toilet door, hand poised over the handle ready to press it down and take refuge inside, what if the police mistook him for Mitchell and overpowered him, forcing him to his knees at gunpoint? What if they shot first and asked questions later? It wouldn't be the first time a tragic case of mistaken identity had ended in the fatal killing of an ordinary, innocent member of the public. Not that Cook could reasonably describe himself as wholly innocent of any criminal misdemeanours but he certainly wasn't guilty of this one. But would the police marksman with the slightly itchy trigger finger know that once he saw him standing in the killer's house? He wouldn't have wanted to stake his life on it.

No, if he wanted to keep his own freedom and life intact it would be better to take a back seat until the innocence or guilt of this Mitchell guy was established beyond any reasonable doubt. If he judged it expedient to leg it through the bathroom window yet again to evade the clutches of the Bristol constabulary, then he wouldn't shrink from doing so provided he was sure that either Naomi wasn't in the house or had been saved by the police if she was. But as he stood on the landing, holding his breath, not daring to move a muscle for fear that one unintentional creak of a floorboard or one inopportune sneeze might betray his presence with catastrophic consequences, he listened with ears fully cocked and eyes narrowed in concentration to the extraordinary events and conversations that were to play out below him.

'Don't come any closer or I'll kill her!' shouted David Mitchell, his hold on Naomi's waist tightening instinctively as he pressed the point of the terrifyingly sharp blade of the knife up against the middle of Naomi's throat. DI Straw could see the poor girl was swallowing hard to control her complete terror and her eyes were bulging wide, pleading silently for him not to do anything stupid which would provoke her abductor into sinking the steely blade into her throat.

'Take it easy, David,' said Straw softly, holding both hands palms first out in front of him in a calming, placatory gesture designed to indicate to Mitchell that they recognised that he was in control of the situation and they weren't going to make any sudden moves which might unnerve him and precipitate any rash action on his part. 'We just want to talk, that's all. We're not going to hurt you, I promise you.'

'Oh, yeah, of course you won't,' scoffed Mitchell with a chilling snigger which sent a shiver up DS Blunt's back and made her doubt whether they would succeed in getting out of this situation without any loss of blood.

'We're not interested in you, David, only Naomi. We just want to find a way of getting Naomi out of this mess alive and well, that's all. She's our only concern right now.' Straw was speaking very slowly and deliberately, in as calm and casual a voice as he could muster given the precariousness of the dilemma he was facing. He desperately wanted to avoid making Mitchell feel threatened and nervous so he was making a conscious effort not to raise his voice or sound angry as his mind was working like the clappers to appraise his next few words and his next vital move.

'Tell all your men to back off or I'll kill her! Go on! I want them all out of the house. Now!' His face had begun to contort into a twisted snarl as he waved the gleaming blade ever closer to Naomi's terrified face and Straw realised he had no option but to accede to his request. He turned round and ordered everyone to get out of the house except Blunt whom he wanted to stay with him. He knew her input could be vital in getting Mitchell to calm down and in helping him to talk the young lad round into giving himself up. The officers knew better than to disobey Straw's orders and albeit with considerable reluctance and after exchanging some uncertain glances amongst themselves they turned round and went out through the front door, shutting it behind them.

'David! David! What's going on? Who are you talking to?'

Straw and Blunt looked with astonished expressions over in the direction of where this new voice had come from and then glanced at Mitchell closely to see his reaction to this unexpected interruption. Who was this other person in the house? Straw wondered if the existence of a third party to witness the unholy mess Mitchell had got himself into might perhaps give them a ray of hope that they might be able to persuade Mitchell that the situation was hopeless and not to make it any worse for the sake of this other person who Straw guessed had to be a relative of some kind.

'It's okay, Dad. There's nothing to worry about. Some people have just called to see me. Don't get yourself all worked up. Everything's fine.'

'Come on, David,' said Blunt, seizing the opportunity to try to appeal to Mitchell's family ties and sensibilities. 'You don't want to get your father mixed up in all this, do you? You don't want him to see what you're doing to poor Naomi, surely. Think of him, David. Why not give yourself up before he comes out and sees all this?'

'Him? He's not going anywhere! He's been virtually bed-ridden for the last six months. He hasn't got long to live anyway, the pathetic, spineless tosser.'

'He's your father, David,' pleaded Blunt, injecting a tone of compassion and sensitivity into her voice. 'Why would you want to upset him like this?' Blunt stole a furtive glance at Straw who nodded imperceptibly to encourage her to continue with this line of approach with Mitchell. Straw doubted that this nasty, ruthless serial killer had many, if any, feelings of compassion or mercy with regard to any human being but it was worth a try, he supposed. Anything to take his mind off the knife he was holding at Naomi's throat.

'He's been no father to me. If he'd been a proper Dad he wouldn't have let Mum walk out on us. He always was weak and feeble. He didn't have the guts to fight for her to stay and then when she left he just fell apart. If I hadn't looked after him, he'd have died years ago.'

'But if you harm Naomi now, that'll make your father feel even worse, David. That could finish him off for good. Think of him, David. He doesn't deserve that.' Blunt's voice had taken on an almost beseeching, plaintiff quality as she sought to play on Mitchell's emotions as she could see he had got quite worked up talking about his mother. However just as her hopes were beginning to rise that he might have mellowed a touch and his anger and rage had been replaced by a kind of wistfulness and tearful sadness, his attention momentarily taken away from Naomi and their own presence in his house, he seemed to snap out of his reveries with a chilling brutality.

'I know what your game is, you bastards! You're trying to confuse me. You're just playing for time – only you haven't got any time left. I want you to tell all your men to fuck off out of here. I want them all to get back into their cars and drive away back into town. Do it!'

Straw held up his hand to calm Mitchell down. 'Okay, David, it's okay. Calm down. I'm getting my phone out to do it now. Juts watch me carefully.' He took out his mobile from his overcoat pocket and made a brief call to one of the murder team, instructing him to get all the officers back in their cars and drive well away from the scene. Obviously he encountered some form of incredulous protest because he was forced to repeat his orders more forcefully to get his message across. 'Don't argue! Just do it, do you hear me? I'll take full responsibility, okay? Just get everyone out of here, understand?'

'Okay, David. You heard me give the orders, didn't you? They're leaving right now. The place will be deserted outside in less than a minute. Satisfied?'

Mitchell nodded silently and looked around, as if searching for inspiration for his next move. The knife was still at Naomi's throat and DS Blunt saw the young girl was breathing heavily and had closed her eyes as if to block out the nightmare of what was happening to her. 'Why don't you let Naomi go, David? She hasn't done anything to hurt you, has she? She's just another innocent girl caught up in this sad, sad mess.'

'How would you know? You don't know anything! She rejected me! I could have loved her but she wouldn't give me the time of day! She laughed in my face, just like all those other girls did. But I soon took the smiles off their faces, didn't I? They can't knock me back any more, now, can they?'

Mitchell began chortling and chuckling and the sight of him laughing himself into near hysteria, as a glazed expression came over his face, filled Straw with fury and revulsion which he fought hard to conceal from Mitchell. He was so tempted to lurch forward with a sudden quick movement and take the sick bastard by surprise, reach for the hand that was holding the knife to Naomi's throat and force him to drop it. But he knew that it was too big a risk to take. This was a situation that demanded that the police played the percentages game and not gamble with a young girl's life. Not just yet, anyway. The game wasn't over, not by a long chalk. They still weren't quite in the last chance saloon.

'Okay, David, what now? Where do we go from here? I've done everything you wanted so far. How are we going to get you out of this mess?' DI Straw looked Mitchell calmly straight in the eyes, searching for a glimmer of confusion, uncertainty or even desperation to give him hope that the young guy's resolve might be weakening. Instead the DI saw only coldness in his expression, a dark pool of emptiness in his eyes and an indifference to the detective's subtle attempts to appease and placate him.

'You!' he cried out, nodding at DS Blunt, 'Take my van keys down there,' he said, pointing with his knife-wielding at a set of car keys lying on the table which was situated against the wall behind the front door. 'Go and start up the van and leave the keys in the ignition. No funny business, mind. If you're not back in thirty seconds, I'll kill her.'

Blunt looked up at Straw who nodded at her to do as she was instructed. Blunt grabbed the keys without a word and disappeared through the front door, closing it softly behind her. While she was gone Straw continued to appeal to Mitchell to give himself up, pointing out to him that he couldn't hope to get away with this and that there was no sense in killing another girl. It would only make things worse for himself whereas if he gave himself up now that would look good as far as his sentence was concerned at the trial. But Straw's valiant attempts at reasoned, logical persuasion fell on stony deaf ears. Mitchell just ignored him and seemed to be miles away in thought as he held Naomi even closer to him, using her frightened, trembling body as a shield to protect himself from Straw's psychological warfare on his nerves and composure.

Having ordered Straw and Blunt to go down the steps into the cellar after which he carefully closed and locked the door, not forgetting to get them to throw their mobile phones onto the floor before sending them down to their temporary prison, Mitchell was now free to make good his escape. He wasted no time in pushing Naomi out through the front door whilst still taking care to hold the knife hard against her throat to deter her from even thinking about making a run for it and quickly grabbing his coat before they emerged out into the cold, dark evening air. There wasn't s soul about. Clearly his threat to kill Naomi if they tried any funny business had been taken seriously by the police. There wasn't an obvious sign of a police car or van to be seen anywhere so Mitchell made straight for the back of the van, opened the van doors and unceremoniously bundled a still terrified and compliant Naomi inside where he told her to lie down on the floor on her stomach next to a few dirty old dust sheets and sundry tools and equipment and not to move a muscle otherwise he would kill her. She was too frightened to stand up to him and challenge him, fervently believing that as long as she was alive, obeying this sick fucker's every command was the best policy for remaining that way- at least for the time being until the situation became more desperate and threatening.

Once he was satisfied that she was in no position to escape, he shut the back doors and, after quickly taking care of one last precaution, scurried round to the front of the van whereupon he jumped into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut before revving up the van and slipping it into gear and putting his foot down. Within seconds the van had shot forward and was speeding out of the driveway and onto the road where he made a left turn and screeched off down the road. He was anxious to put as much distance between him and his Dad's house as he could before he eventually told himself sternly to slow down a bit and try to drive normally. Did he want to attract the attention of every single person out there unnecessarily by driving like a complete lunatic? He couldn't afford to crash the bloody van, for Christ's sake! He needed time to think about what he should do next and for that he had to have a cool head. There was no sense in driving around like a headless chicken – that would only make matters worse. 'Come on, you idiot,' he rebuked himself. 'You're still in control here, you know. They daren't lay a finger on you while you've still got Naomi. You've got them by the balls. Don't forget that!'

It took Straw and Blunt longer than they would have expected to break down the door to the cellar and free themselves from their embarrassing captivity. For a start it was pitch black down there and they had to feel their way up the steps to the top by degrees. The last thing they needed was for one or both of them to have an accident and fall crashing down to the bottom, breaking an arm or a leg in the process. Secondly, it was nigh on impossible for Straw to get any real forward momentum going in his efforts to break down the door with his shoulder and side of his body. It wasn't like he could take a good long run-up and break the door down with a couple of well-judged hits. In the end he took to kicking it open with his feet as much a with his shoulder but after a good couple of minutes of hard, sweat-stained effort he succeeded in bursting the door down and the two detectives leapt through the doorway and into the half-light of the house, relieved to be free at last.

DS Blunt immediately reached into her inside jacket pocket and took out the second of the two mobiles she always carried around her, thankful that Mitchell hadn't possessed the presence of mind to order them to empty all their pockets out. She was on the phone to Cathy in a trice to get an update on their position. Straw went down the passage way to see that Mitchell's father was all right and by the time he had returned Blunt was finishing her call. 'They've got a trace on the van,' she said triumphantly. 'One of the guys left a tracker hidden under it before they left the scene.'

Straw nodded appreciatively. It was exactly what he would have expected of his team – a bit of ingenuity and imagination which was sorely needed to get the better of this maniac. 'Come on then,' he said making straight for the door. 'We haven't got much time to catch him up before he starts to panic and lose his head. Naomi's still in real danger. We've got to get him quick.'

They flew out of the front door and over towards Straw's car which he had parked just a little way down the driveway. But they had barely reached the boot when Straw pulled up short, looked down at the back of the car and started cursing at the top of his voice. 'Jesus Christ! The fucking bastard! The shitty little fucker's gone and slashed the tyres!' And indeed, the shitty little fucker had done precisely that before he had taken off in his van. Doubtless Mitchell would have smiled hugely if he could have witnessed the scene taking place outside his Dad's house at that moment. DS Blunt's eyes were closed in disbelief and her shoulders were slumped forward in despair while DI Straw was content to do a passable impression of Basil Fawlty jumping up and down on the spot, shaking his fist at the car and generally erupting in a spluttering explosion of uncontrollable rage and frustration.

David Mitchell was feeling much calmer and more in control of his thoughts and emotions now that he had got out onto the main road and could see that no-one appeared to be following him. He turned his head slightly and looked behind him where he could see Naomi lying still on the floor of the van, seemingly still and lifeless. He thought he could hear a gentle tears being shed so he called out to her softly. 'Are you okay, Naomi? I'm sorry about the discomfort but I'm sure you'll understand I can't very well have you riding in the front with me.'

Naomi turned her head away from his face and shook it violently, trying to hide from him the tears that were slowly trickling down her cheeks. She didn't want him to see how frightened she was. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her so terrified for her life, so numb with fear and so utterly convinced she was never going to see Emily alive again. He smiled at her ruefully and turned his head back to the road in front of him which was more or less empty at this late hour of the evening. He started whistling now which served only to put the fear of God into Naomi even more My God! What a callous, unspeakably vile twisted bastard he was! How could anyone be so happy with himself to start whistling with happiness and smugness when he's got an innocent young girl trussed up like a Christmas turkey in the back of his van? She couldn't suppress a few more tears from flowing down her face as she guessed that her fate was pretty much sealed.

Suddenly Mitchell broke off whistling and pounded the dashboard with his fist. He had suddenly remembered that guy who had turned up at the house and had been having a pee upstairs when the police had arrived. Jesus! He had totally forgotten all about him in his frantic urgency to go and get Naomi to use as his passport to freedom and safety. What the fuck had happened to him? He probably would have heard the coppers shouting and banging for help and gone downstairs to see what the fuss was all about! Still, does it really matter now, he asked himself. It was highly unlikely he would ever see the guy again. If only he could remember where he'd seen him before, though! That question was nagging away at him and he suspected he wouldn't be able to sleep properly until it would finally come to him.

Naomi was lying quite still in the back of the van, silently crying herself into a vortex of misery, depression and despair that she knew she would never escape from alive when all of a sudden she heard the tiniest rustle of something stirring just a few inches away from her. At first she thought it must have been her imagination playing tricks on her frazzled and freaked out mind. But then she heard it again and she blinked hard several times in the darkness to try to focus on the space in front of her. Oh my God, she thought. Don't say there are rats in the back of this fucking van. That's all I need. I think I'd rather die from a fatal knife wound than be eaten alive by a horde of hungry rats!

The noise of the van on the road must have been loud enough to mask any sounds coming from the back and so Mitchell couldn't have heard a thing as one of the dust sheets began to move slightly and all of a sudden a human face popped out from under it and stared right into Naomi's face. She nearly died of fright on the spot. The immediate shock hit her worse than anything the postman had said or done to her that day. Her heart practically leapt right out of her chest like the creature in Alien 1 and her eyes felt like they were about to bulge out of their sockets. She swore she had actually stopped breathing for a while, maybe no more than five seconds at most, but she definitely felt as if time had stopped and life had briefly become extinct. She couldn't prevent a scream from escaping her mouth which only the masking tape managed to contain to a stifled, muffled squeal of disbelief.

A considerably dishevelled yet undeniably triumphant James Cook looked across at Naomi and, rather unnecessarily in the circumstances, quickly put a finger to his lips to caution silence. Naomi's eyes grew as big as footballs as she struggled to take in what was happening here. She was being driven God knows where, all tied up and gagged in the back of a disgusting old van, by a sick, murdering postman with a an unhealthy fixation on her and her mate Cook had appeared to have decided to come along for the ride. What in the name of fuck was this all about? She decided she must be going completely mad. She had to have gone out of her mind with fear.

Cook had been thinking up a plan from the moment he had crawled under the dust sheets to hide. He had worked out during their short journey so far that he had to strike while Mitchell's attention was distracted which in all essence meant while his eyes were on the road and he was relatively relaxed. He knew he couldn't afford to wait until Mitchell had stopped the van and got out to go round and get Naomi out. He would have the knife on him then and Cook didn't want to take his chances against a mad serial killer with a knife in his hand. He could see that the knife was lying on the front seat next to Mitchell and so this was his chance. It had to be now before the bastard decided to pull in somewhere. He realised he was taking a big risk, not only with Naomi's life but also with his own but he didn't see what other option he had.

It all happened in a matter of seconds although to Cook it seemed like the whole incident took an entire lifetime to act out. After giving a signal to Naomi to brace herself and blowing her an extravagant kiss for good luck, Cook waited until he thought Mitchell's eyes were looking down at the gear stick for the moment to rise up as far as he could without banging his head on the roof of the van and lunge forward with his arms and wrap them around Mitchell's neck. He certainly took the driver by surprise for it was a good second or two before he reacted to being slowly but powerfully throttled from behind the seat of his van. He had the presence of mind to keep one hand on the steering wheel to try to stop the van from lurching wildly out of control while the other hand thrashed about manically behind him, desperately raining punches and random blows onto Cook's head which Cook attempted to avoid by ducking to one side then the next as much as he could. Cook applied as much pressure as he could to Mitchell's neck with his forearms, trying to throttle and strangle the guy into submission and unconsciousness. The van started to lose a straight course and veered wildly across the road as Mitchell abandoned the notion of keeping it under some semblance of control and reached out for his knife, fingers clawing feverishly for the passenger seat next to him as Cook, spotting his intentions, started to pull him over towards the driver's door and away from the knife which he knew could signal his downfall.

The two guys fought tooth and nail, each letting out blood-curdling grunts and gasps as each strived manfully to overcome the other in a desperate life and death struggle for male superiority and human survival. Just as Cook was starting to think that Mitchell was weakening and that he was maybe slumping forward in his seat as the last few breaths of life were slowly escaping from his body, the van careered right off the road and plunged headlong down ten feet into a ditch, throwing all three of them right off their feet and crashing at various speeds and trajectories into the windscreen, the doors and the side of the van. In a few seconds the van had come to a halt, courtesy of a large tree that had sprung out of nowhere and which the van smacked into with a deafening thump which seemed to echo inside the heads of all the passengers for ages after the vehicle came to a shattering, shuddering halt. No-one moved, no-one groaned, no-one even cried The silence was absolute save for an eerie hissing sound which hung over the scene of apparent devastation like a .heavy fog.

Author's Message

I hope I've left you all sufficiently on tenterhooks and on the edge of your seat! Has anyone escaped from the crash alive or has it been complete carnage? You'll have to wait for the 30th (and probably the FINAL) chapter to find out, won't you! Sorry! In the meantime do let me know what you think of this latest instalment. Your reviews and comments have been brilliant all the way through the story and I've really enjoyed reading them (as well as picking up a few helpful suggestions and tips along the way). Tell me how you would like to see the story ending – I'll be fascinated to read how your different versions of the ending compare with my intentions!

John (matureskinsfan).

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