by M A Comley
“Green, I think it was. It was something very similar to that anyway.”
“We’ll look the person up and have a word with them. Anything else come to mind?”
“No, I can’t think of anything. Adama was the type of bloke who got along with everyone. He went the extra mile to be kind and welcoming to people. He had a beautiful spirit, one of the best individuals I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. I will miss him.” She teared up again and wiped her eyes with yet another tissue. “I’m sorry. I’m trying so hard to be strong and failing miserably. He was so young, and with a new baby as well. It doesn’t seem right that he should be taken from us, not at his age.”
“I know. It’s a dreadful situation. Do you know his wife well?”
“Yes, oh God, poor Gillian. I must give her a ring. Tell her how deeply sorry we all are. Have you seen her? Is she all right?”
“Umm… we haven’t had a chance to see her as yet.” Smith hadn’t told her the whole story, why? Did he have a reason to keep the wife and child out of the conversation, or am I guilty of reading more into it?
“How strange. As far as I know she wasn’t going away anywhere. Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, what with her returning to work soon.”
“Maybe. If she rings you, will you let us know?” Katy avoided mentioning that SOCO were at the house. She passed her business card across the table.
Jacqueline picked it up and tucked it away in her top drawer. “You will do your best for us, for his family and for Adama?”
“You have my word. From what you and Mr Smith have told us he sounds a very nice, loving young man.”
“He totally was.”
Katy and Charlie both rose and walked towards the door. “Thank you for speaking with us at such short notice,” Katy said.
“My pleasure. Good luck with your investigation.”
They left the office building and wandered back to their vehicle.
Once seated, Katy started up the engine. “We’re still no further forward, are we? Not really.”
“I know what you mean. I was expecting to hear a lot more than that about the victim and his family. What do you intend to do about his parents?”
“It’s got to be worth getting in touch with the Devon media. I don’t think they’re the problem. My concern still lies with the wife and child. If the perps have abducted her, why? What purpose would it serve to hold them hostage, if her husband is dead? Maybe you’re right, what if they’ve been killed as well? However, unless their bodies show up, we need to hold on to the hope that whoever has them will eventually let them go.”
“So difficult when we have no CCTV footage to guide us at this early stage.”
“Yep, I suppose we don’t realise how much we tend to rely on having footage to direct an investigation. Still, we need to work with what we’ve got, for now, and keep everything crossed that something definitive will come our way soon. Let’s get back to the station.”
3
Mamadou Kouassi was enjoying himself so much at the pub with his friends that he didn’t realise what the time was. He glanced at his watch; it was ten past ten. “I must go. I’ll catch up with you all another day.” His friends tried their utmost to make him stay, but he raised a hand. “I truly must go. I should see my wife for a few minutes a day at least, shouldn’t I?”
His friends all laughed and waved goodbye. He left the pub which was a few streets from his home. The night air held a chill, signifying that colder weather was on the horizon for all of them. He set off, his feet working in coordination with the messages his beer-soaked brain was sending them, with every other step, sort of. He chuckled, aiming to keep in a straight line. It was a game he frequently played when he’d had too much to drink and staggered home a few nights during the week. He knew it was irresponsible to get this drunk on a school night, but his friends were always generous to him. I have the best friends ever, they care a lot about me. I hope Salimata is kind to me after coming home drunk. Maybe I’ll need to spend another night on the comfy couch.
He passed a young couple, arms around each other’s waist, sharing a kiss as they strolled. “Good evening, lovely night for it.”
The couple laughed and continued on their journey without responding.
I was only being polite. What’s wrong with people? Why ignore me? He hiccupped several times and tottered unsteadily some more. His head swimming a little, he paused to take a breather, rested his backside against a wall under the bridge and sucked in a couple of stabilising breaths to ease the nausea that had materialised during his walk. Recovered, he continued on his journey; only two roads to go. Then he could flop into bed next to his precious wife and drift off to sleep, unless she had something more stimulating in mind for them.
He crossed the road at the corner towards a couple of young men who jeered and heckled him for being drunk. He knew the lads, he’d taught them at school a few years before. Shame filled him then. Why had he allowed himself to get into such a state, incapable of either walking or thinking straight at times? He ploughed on, tiredness showing in his legs now; they were reluctant to carry his weight.
Why hadn’t I spent out on a taxi? Because her indoors would have skinned me alive for wasting money.
Turning the next corner, he was relieved to find he only had a few more feet to go. There, it isn’t that bad after all. Peering ahead, he made out a tall figure, standing beneath the streetlight. It was a man, or so he thought, it was hard to judge with his head spinning and his vision slightly off-key. Preparing to bid the gent a good evening, he straightened up and slotted a smile in place. It wasn’t until he got a few steps closer that it dawned on him the man was looking the other way. All that effort, for what? Annoyed with himself, he passed the man without uttering a word. Another few feet and he’d be home. He searched his pocket for his front door key and jiggled it in his hand.
A noise behind him drew his attention. Mamadou turned quickly and lost his balance. He landed with a bump on the ground, looking up at four faces, all peering down at him. His hand reached for the sky, as if pleading for them to take pity on him and help him to his feet.
One of the men booted him in the leg.
He cried out, “Hey, what are you doing? Help me up, I took a tumble and need to stand up now.”
The men laughed at him—not a normal laugh; even with his muddled mind he could make out the sinister tone their laughter held.
He gulped and tried again. “Please, help me get up.”
Two sets of arms swooped down, grabbed each of his arms and hoisted him to his feet. He tottered a little because of the velocity of the swift movement.
“Thank you,” he slurred and tried to unhook himself from their clutches. It proved useless. He searched each of the four men’s faces, his stomach tying itself into large reef knots as the fear spiked. “I’m sorry to have been a burden. I only live a few doors down, I can find my own way home now.”
One of the men, with blond hair and a handsome face, got up close to him. “Oh, is that right?”
“Yes. Thank you for your aswistance… aswistance…” He tried to correct his slurred words but failed.
The men laughed again.
“Put him in the car. We’ll take him somewhere else and have some fun with him,” the blond muttered.
Before Mamadou had the chance to answer or react, he was lifted off the ground and then thrown in the back of a four-by-four. “No, please. I don’t want to go with you. Let me go home. My wife will be worried if I’m not home soon. She’s expecting me.”
“You do talk a load of shit, man. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
The four men piled into the car. There was already a man sitting in the driver’s seat. He revved the engine, and the car roared down the street.
Mamadou watched his house approach, and his heart sank when they drove past it at speed. “Please, that’s my house. I want to get out now. You have no right taking me like this.”
“Shut the fucker
up, Toby,” the blond shouted over his shoulder from the passenger seat.
A fist connected with Mamadou’s jaw, knocking him out.
He woke up, his head in a far worse state than on his struggle to walk home. He tried to move his arm, to shield his eyes from the glare of the torch shining in them, but his hands were restricted as if they were tied behind his back. “What’s going on here?”
“Don’t you ever listen? I told you to shut up.”
“Who said that? I can’t see you, the light is blinding me. My head hurts.”
Laughter filled the building. Where the hell am I? Who are these men, and what are their intentions? He had a rough idea the evening wasn’t going to end well, but that didn’t give him the answer he was seeking as to why this was happening to him. Or who the men were. He peered into the light and saw the outline of five figures in front of him. Their faces obscured by the glare. His gaze lowered to their hands. Each of the men was holding an object which appeared to be some kind of bar or possibly a bat. Shit! They’re going to beat the crap out of me. That’s when he felt the bowel movement in his trousers. Fuck!
“What’s that frigging smell?” one of the men shouted.
“Idiot, the fucker has just shat himself.”
“That’s gross,” another one said.
Then he heard it, or thought he did. In the distance, a baby crying and someone telling it to hush. He lifted his ear to listen.
“Will someone go and shut that fucking kid up?”
One of the men walked away from the group.
A woman screamed, and the baby cried out as if it had been struck. “Leave her alone. I won’t let you touch her. You’ll have to go through me if you want to get to her.”
“That can be arranged,” a male voice bellowed in response.
The woman screamed again, and the baby cried, a heartbreaking cry that Mamadou feared wouldn’t end well.
“Please, what’s going on here? Who does the baby belong to? Why is there a woman here?”
“Full of pathetic questions you are, aren’t you?” The question was ended with a jab of the bar to Mamadou’s stomach.
He yelled out, shocked more than hurt by the jab. “Ouch, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to annoy you. Please, don’t hurt me. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“We don’t need you to do anything for us, you just sit there and enjoy what’s around the corner.” He recognised the voice as the blond man.
“I don’t understand what this is about. Do I know you? Have I done something wrong towards you? If I have, let me put that right.”
“Shut up! I’m sick of hearing your voice droning on.” The man struck Mamadou again, in the lower leg this time.
He cried out; the strike was much harder than the last one. He bit down on his tongue, trying his best not to cry out again. That was until the man struck the other leg. He closed his eyes, searching for the strength to combat what he feared awaited him.
The other men joined in: another blow to his stomach, his right thigh, the left one, another prod to his stomach—that one hurt. The bar smashed his rib cage and he feared it had done some serious damage to one, or a few, of his ribs. There was no point in him crying out, he sensed the beatings would only get worse if he did. Why? What did I do to these men? Each hit came directly after the last one. He grunted and winced with each blow but refused to let the bastards know how much pain he was really in, in the hope that they would get bored and give up if he didn’t react.
The group of men refused to be lenient with him. Instead, the blows kept coming, their intensity magnifying with each strike. At first the hits were to his body, but now they were moving northwards, towards his head. His fear escalated to a dangerous level. Finally, he plucked up the courage to plead for his life. “Please, don’t do this. You’re hurting me.”
“Is that right? It’s going to get worse, fucker, so hang on tight,” the blond sneered. He moved a few inches to the left and raised the bar he was clutching high above his head before unleashing his killer blow to Mamadou’s skull.
“Good job. That’s another one gone,” Joe announced, as if the rest of the gang hadn’t cottoned on that their captive was dead yet.
The four others shrugged.
Casey spoke next. “What are we going to do with the woman and that damn kid of hers? It’s driving me fucking nuts.”
“I haven’t decided yet. She’s good to have around, you know, to vent our anger on. I suppose the kid is hungry. I heard they need feeding every few hours.”
“That’s what her tits are for, ain’t it?” Otis sniggered.
The men laughed and high-fived each other.
Joe paced the floor. “We need to feed the woman so she can pass it on to the kid. If we starve her, her tits are likely to dry up.”
“Want me to nip out to McDonald’s?” Wes volunteered from the back of the group, ever the considerate one, always last to join in on the action as well. He’d only hit Mamadou the once. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Joe, either.
“Yeah, okay, that’s a good idea. As it was your idea, you can cough up the funds for it. I’m skint until payday, which is over a week away.”
Wes rolled his eyes. “If you insist. I ain’t gonna ask if any of you miserable buggers want one, ’cos my funds are low, too. I can stretch to feeding the woman, that’s about it.”
“You gonna feed her from both ends when you get back, Wes?” Toby grinned.
“Screw you, moron. Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think, Wes?”
Wes gulped, and his eyes widened. “I didn’t say that. It’s just… well, she’s got a kid, and if you hurt her, both of them end up feeling the pain, if you get my drift?”
Joe nodded. “That was the objective, mate.”
“Oh, sorry. I must have missed the point of the exercise. Why are we holding her?”
“Are you questioning me, Wes?”
“No, well… yes, sorry. I’ll keep my mouth shut and go and do something useful instead.”
“Very wise to keep on the right side of me, for your own good. Stop asking dumb questions, got that?”
“Yes, sorry, Joe. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Yeah, how many times have I heard you say that before?”
“I mean it. I’ll be on my way. Be back soon.”
Joe smiled. “We’ll do our best to keep her occupied until you get back, so don’t rush.”
Wes scurried out of the warehouse.
Joe and the rest of the men held a conversation about what to do with their latest victim. “I say we dump him in the Thames, that way it’ll get rid of any DNA we might leave on it when we’re disposing of the body. Anyone else got any suggestions?”
Toby scratched the side of his head, Casey stared blankly at Joe, and Otis shrugged.
“Great! You guys wear me out. I have to do all the thinking around here while you reap all the benefits.” He glanced over at the woman tied up in the corner.
“That ain’t fair, Joe, we do our best. You’re just better at organising things than we are.”
Joe had heard enough of their excuses. He left the group and strode over to the woman. She cowered under his stare. Spotting the fear resonating in her crystal-blue eyes, a thrill shot through him. “Ready to have some more fun, are we?”
The woman’s gaze drifted to her child who was lying on a blanket Joe had kept in the boot of his car. It stank of diesel, but what did he care? It wasn’t his responsibility to tend to the child, it was hers.
“My baby needs feeding. I can’t do that with my hands tied up all the time. She needs to be cuddled, to be reassured.”
“Tough. She’s here with you. That should be all the reassurance she needs.”
“She needs food otherwise she’s going to become ill. Would you really want my child’s fate on your conscience?”
He snarled at her. “Why do you women always have a knack of turning the t
ables on us blokes? She’s your responsibility, not mine. Get a grip and stop whinging, got that?”
The woman shuddered under his glare. “I can’t win, can I? I need to attend to my baby. I know her crying and screaming is getting on your nerves, but how do you expect me to keep things under control if you persist in keeping me tied up all the time? A baby needs to feel its mother’s arms around it during the day. I can’t do that.”
“Food is on the way, for you. Then I’ll untie you to allow you to feed it. That is how it works, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m breastfeeding her, if that’s what you’re asking. Why are you doing this? Why did you hurt that man?”
He leaned in, and his lip curled up. “You know what, lady, you ask too many frigging questions. If you want to get out of this situation alive, I’d watch that if I were you.”
Her chin dipped onto her chest. “I’m sorry. Put yourself in my shoes. Wouldn’t you be concerned?”
“Nope, because I wouldn’t have allowed myself to have been abducted in the first place. Does that answer your question?”
“Why have you abducted us? Where is my husband?”
He pushed his shoulders back and straightened up, sick to death of her whining. His gaze locked on to hers, and he told her, “He’s one less thing you need to worry about.”
She gasped. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I suspect you’re a bright lady, I’ll leave you to figure that one out.”
Her hands covered her face, and she sobbed. He walked away; he wasn’t into offering words of comfort, not to the likes of her. Raping her, well, yes, that was a different matter.
4
Awaiting Katy’s arrival at work the following day were Eliza and Kolo Kone, the victim’s mother and father who had contacted her late the previous evening, after she had made another plea through the media based in Devon.
“Hello there. I’m DI Katy Foster, the Senior Investigating Officer in charge of your son’s case. Thank you for coming so quickly. Why don’t you come upstairs to my office and I’ll run through what we know?”
