Read Online You Are Dead by Peter James - Free Book Online

Something’s happened. She’s a strong person, I’ve never heard her sound afraid before. The fear—the fear in her voice.”
    â€œTell me what you think has happened to her?”
    Jamie Ball shook his head, wildly. “I don’t know. But I think she’s been abducted. Kidnapped. Taken.”
    â€œYou’re watching Breaking Bad ?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you watch a lot of cop programs? Crime series?”
    â€œQuite a lot, yes.”
    â€œAre you sure you are not being influenced here? Are you one hundred percent convinced that Logan has been abducted—and not gone somewhere of her own free will?”
    â€œYes.” He fixed his eyes on Roy Grace’s.
    Roy Grace left, ten minutes later, unsure about everything except for one certainty. Logan Somerville was missing.
    The ANPR evidence seemed to eliminate Jamie Ball. But his body language made him appear guilty. Of something.
    What was he lying about?
    As Grace drove away he made a mental note that he needed to appoint a Family Liaison Officer first thing in the morning, someone who might be able to shed more light on the relationship.

 
    16
    Thursday 11 December
    I keep my projects in their own private cubicles in what I like to call my correction chamber . Tanks all plumbed in, my projects kitted out with adult disposable nappies. Cleanliness is so important for morale. I keep them healthy, plenty of vitamins, nutrients, electrolytes. I want them to live as long as possible. So that I can make the choices about when to say good-bye. It’s all about power. Power is hugely exciting.
    I don’t like to call them my victims. I prefer the term projects.
    I’m not a violent person, really I’m not. Once, when I was a kid, I hit a sparrow with a pebble I fired from my catapult. I can still remember that bird spinning round and round like a helicopter, plummeting to the ground. I’d never really expected to hit it—I’d just fired at it for fun. I picked it up, its feathers all soft and its body so warm, and I was crying, trying to breathe life back into it through its little beak.
    I dug a grave for it, laid it in the bottom, apologized, covered it with earth and said a prayer.
    I felt like shit for days after. But at the same time it wakened something inside me. Every time I looked at a bird, for the rest of my childhood, I would think to myself about the power I had.
    The power of death.
    Killing things makes me feel strong. Some people will say that’s evil.
    Here’s the thing: does evil exist? Surely only if you believe in God. Otherwise you believe in the survival of the fittest. Which means I survive and others I choose to kill don’t.
    Today I’ve chosen to kill. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for days—well, actually, for weeks!
    But, of course, you are not capable of ever knowing the pleasure this is going to give me.

 
    17
    Thursday 11 December
    Water had been steadily filling the tank for the past hour. Restraints across her neck, wrists, stomach, thighs and ankles kept her secured to the bottom of the tank, unable to move. The water was now brimming over her chin. In a few minutes it would be covering her mouth. Then her nose.
    He stared down at his project through his night-vision goggles, and saw the terror in her face in the monochrome green light. He liked to keep the correction chamber in darkness, so that his projects could not see one another. He kept them in the dark, so to speak. That term was his little private joke.
    Her brown hair floated all around her face. It was a very beautiful sight and he took an infrared photograph of her. She was staring up at him, looking as if she was ready to scream again at any moment. Some of his projects had beautiful screams that sent a surge of longing deep through him. But not this one. She had a really ugly scream. Strange, that such a beautiful woman, with quite delicious-looking lips, could