IMPOSTURE: Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery, Ray Clark [classic books for 10 year olds .txt] 📗

Chapter Thirty-five

Stretched out on the bed, Zoe Harrison felt drained: low energy levels, joint pains, headache. She hadn’t felt well for a couple of days but, in her opinion, her condition was slowly worsening. She couldn’t be sure of the reason but she had an idea. Sleepless nights due to all the banging, hammering and whining of machines hadn’t helped. God only knew what was going on.

At the other side of the room her computer monitor pinged.

She paid little attention, examining her skin instead, which was dry, coarse to touch. For years she had suffered with an overactive thyroid gland, more commonly known as thyrotoxicosis; her gland produced too much of the hormone thyroxine, which can speed up your metabolism. That meant medication for life.

She knew her heart rate was a little faster than it should have been, with occasional extra beats, indicating she may have atrial fibrillation which, left unchecked or uncontrolled could lead to heart failure, and possibly death. Not that she was under any illusion she would leave here in anything other than a box, but she was determined that she wouldn’t go alone.

To ensure she’d remained healthy, Zoe had always tried to maintain a balanced diet, with calcium rich foods and supplements. Once again, it was a fine line. Some of those interfered with the Carbimazole absorption. Often, a gap of a few hours was enough to ensure no significant impact on blood thyroxine levels.

Since she’d been imprisoned here – wherever here was, and she had an idea – Zoe seriously doubted that the driver had been concerned about her diet, resulting in a feeling of serious lethargy. She barely had the strength to move from the bed, but she would have to.

She also needed to ask him for a vitamin supplement, and for it to work fast it had to be an injection.

The compromise would work both ways. The driver needed Zoe. He needed her brains, and her skills with a computer, which was why she was allowed access to one. After all, who else was capable of wiping out Anthony Palmer? A fortnight before he’d returned home, she had spent at least ten days eradicating any existence he might have built up. By the time he finally did make it through his front door, he would have a shock coming his way.

Strange how she hadn’t been asked to do that for Michael Foreman or James Henshaw.

As far as Zoe was concerned, James was still alive. She hadn’t heard otherwise. She doubted the same could be said of Michael. The Lord only knew what she’d been made to inject him with, but it wouldn’t have been vitamins. As for Anthony’s existence, she had no idea.

One thing she was pretty sure of, none of them would remain alive, which meant that Zoe had to concentrate on number one – herself. She may have spent all her life being a selfish bitch, and she may have done wrong on the night of the hit and run, but that character trait would help her survive.

Zoe figured she was being kept somewhere local, somewhere she knew. In her book, that could only be one place – the industrial unit they had all used for DPA business. It was big enough and secret enough for the driver to do what he wanted. And with the amount of noise he’d been causing it sounded like he’d been rebuilding the place.

Probing the computer she was beginning to recognise some of the characteristics of the programs they – as a team – had originally installed onto the server. The driver must have paid someone to make changes because there were areas she had been blocked from entering. She didn’t think he was clever enough to sort that out himself.

But Zoe was. And she would find a route through.

She struggled but forced her body from the mattress and strolled over to the chair in front of the desk. The pinging sound had been an email from Rosie Henshaw.

Another one.

She’d had one yesterday. James’ wife had been anxious to know what was happening. James had been missing for weeks. Rosie said Michael had been chasing him but even that had ceased. Yesterday, Rosie had received a call from Anthony, who had been as evasive as ever; either he didn’t know much or he wasn’t letting on. At least he was still alive, thought Zoe.

She spotted something concerning in Rosie’s email. According to her, someone had been wandering around Leeds yesterday and had died shortly afterwards. She explained what she knew, but that was very little because there appeared to have been a media blackout.

Michael perhaps?

Zoe had obviously injected him with a lethal compound, that could lead to a painful death. God only knew what it was, but the driver, in her opinion, was ex-military, so it could have been anything.

She replayed the scene in her mind, remembering how odd it was that the driver kept his distance from the needle.

Why?

Was he frightened of what was inside the syringe; or was he actually frightened of the needle itself? A lot of people were. Was that the chink in Iron Man’s armour?

Zoe glanced at the screen, deciding she would really test the water. She sent an email to Rosie telling her everything.

She sat back and waited for the fireworks.

Within minutes, the driver opened the door, dressed in a military uniform, wearing a snug fitting mask with holes for the eyes, nose and mouth. He carried with him a piece of A4 paper, which he placed on the desk in front of her.

“Don’t be stupid, young lady.”

“What do you mean?” Zoe played dumb.

“Do you honestly think I would let you play around with all this equipment, knowing how dangerous you are,