by Conrad Jones
Bob rocked a few inches to his right and then tipped himself onto his side. He pushed the belt against the edge of the door and started to rub it up and down in an attempt to saw through it. After a few minutes of agonising effort, he realised it was impossible. He stopped to catch his breath; his breathing was becoming more difficult. His fingertips grabbed at the buckle again and he felt the leather shift. It was only a few millimetres, but it had definitely moved. He grabbed at it again. The leather tab shifted again. A noise from somewhere in the house made him stop and hold his breath. He listened intently. There it was again. Tap, tap, tap. Was it in the kitchen or the living room? He couldn’t tell. It could be outside if the kitchen door was still open. He could hear birds tweeting in the trees and a car engine in the far distance but only just. The sound of his blood pumping through his veins was louder. He could barely breathe. Was it the sound of footsteps that he could hear outside or was the killer in the kitchen, coming back to finish him off? His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to explode. The pain in his wrists and ankles was becoming so severe, they felt like they were on fire. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. If he panicked now, it could kill him.
‘Get a grip, Bob,’ he said to himself. ‘Calm down. You can’t change what you can’t change. All you can do is try to break free.’
He fumbled at the belt tab again. It slid a little. Tap, tap, tap, slither. Something sounded like it was being dragged, maybe across the gravel driveway; he just couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He tried the belt again; it moved. Again, and it moved again. Once more and it had moved an inch. He kept on moving the tab, little by little; his fingers screaming in agony. The belt loosened slightly, and he felt the blood returning into his fingers. He pulled at the tab again and this time, managed to grip it tightly. It slid free of the buckle completely. The belt fell away, allowing his legs to straighten. Pins and needles coursed through his legs from his hips all the way down to his toes. It was excruciating. He had to close his eyes and remain still until the sensation past. Tap, tap, tap, slither. It was closer this time; maybe even inside the bungalow. Bob rolled over and grabbed his belt. He fed it through his fingers until he reached the pouch where the handcuff keys were kept. The press-stud clipped open and he took out the key with a finger and thumb. He aimed the key at where the hole was, guessing blindly. Metal scratched on metal as the key skated past the hole, once, twice, three times. The key slipped from his fingers onto the carpet.
‘Shit, shit, shit!’ Bob whispered. He couldn’t reach it.
Bob twisted as far as he could and grabbed the key once more; it was slippery with blood. He dropped it again. This time he couldn’t see it. He felt around with his fingers and touched sticky metal. That was it; he picked it up and aimed the key again and this time, found the hole. Twisting it in the lock nearly dislocated his thumb, but he heard the pins disengage and the cuffs clicked open. They fell onto the floor with a clunk. Bob rubbed his hands and wrists as the circulation returned but he had no time to dally. Hudson could be anywhere. He pushed himself up onto his knees and then stood on shaky legs. The weakness began to pass. He reached down and gripped the baton. April’s was on the floor next to it, but their radios were gone. His mobile was in his bag in the boot of the car. He edged along the wall to the hallway and peered along the corridor towards the living room. There was no sign of life. Bob fastened his utility belt back around his waist and took out his pepper spray. With a weapon in each hand, he felt less vulnerable. Years of training kicked in and he moved quickly and quietly along the hallway. The living room was empty, and the cloying stench of death was fading, as he crept further away from the murder scene. Tap, tap, tap. Something wet.
The noise was coming from the kitchen. The image of Hudson tapping the severed head of April Bifelt on the floor flashed through his mind. Bob chased the image from his brain. He neared the kitchen, but he couldn’t see anyone through the open door. Bob pressed himself against the doorframe and peered through the gap near the hinges. Tap, tap, tap. The sound drew his eyes to a spot beyond the big wooden table. Tap, tap, tap. Then the sound of something soggy being dragged on the tiles. Bob took a deep breath and moved into the kitchen, skirting the table swiftly. A magpie was pecking at kitchen waste on the tiles; the pedal bin had been upturned. It dragged a chicken carcass across the tiles until it spotted Bob. The magpie hopped through the back door and flew away, a chicken wing in its beak. Bob sighed and ran through the kitchen door. He checked in all directions but there was no sign of April or their attacker. The fresh air picked up his spirits and drove him on. He jogged around the corner of the bungalow. The Gould vehicle was gone; their police car had been sabotaged. All four wheels were slashed, and the front doors were open. Bob reached the vehicle and looked inside. The wires had been ripped from beneath the steering column and were left hanging. He flicked the boot lock open and ran to the back of the car. His bag was still there. He felt anger bubbling inside him now. Bob retrieved his phone and dialled Alan Williams. He leaned against the car and listened to the ringtone. A tear trickled from his eye. He wasn’t sure if it was relief, anxiety, or fear for what Hudson would do to April.
CHAPTER 28
April woke up and the memories came streaming back like watching a bad film on fast forward. She remembered entering the bungalow, finding the bodies and the terrible carnage in the bedroom. She remembered Bob collapsing next to her. She had no idea if he was alive or dead. He went down fast and he went down hard; she also remembered looking into the eyes of Mathew Hudson. His eyes had the lifeless depth of a shark; they saw, but they showed no emotion behind them. She knew straightaway that she was cuffed and that she was in the boot of a car, probably the Scenic. When she was attacked, there were two vehicles on the driveway; she couldn’t feel any equipment around her. It didn’t smell like a police vehicle either. She was familiar with the cleaning fluids and air fresheners that the valet companies used. This wasn’t their vehicle. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. Her head was sore and bloody on the righthand side. She could feel swelling above the ear and her scalp was sticky with congealing blood. How badly she’d been injured, she couldn’t tell. She’d been hit very hard; hard enough to render her unconscious immediately. She went through a mental checklist, checking each limb for injuries, wiggling her fingers and toes. Her arms were stiff and bruised and her shoulders hurt, like she’d been dragged by the wrists and bundled into the Renault. She felt her waist for her utility belt, but it was gone. Hudson must have removed it. The keys for the cuffs were in it. She tried to focus in the dark to see what was around her, but it was pitch-black. There was nothing that she could do but listen. She had to listen to the sounds around the vehicle and try to pinpoint where she was and where Hudson was taking her. What his motive was for taking her anywhere at all, didn’t bear thinking about just now. Her heart sank, feeling helpless and desperate; she felt physically sick as she recalled the images of the Gould couple. What he had done to them was nothing short of demonic.
How could one human being do that to another? The husband had been crucified for God’s sake, she thought. Excuse the pun, she said to herself. What inspired even the sickest mind to do that? Mrs Gould was no better off. She looked like her face had been bitten off by a rabid animal. April tried to drive the images from her mind. It was too frightening to think about. Whatever Hudson had in mind for her couldn’t be predicted. How could she predict the actions of a madman? There was no rhyme or reason to what he’d done. His actions were those of a dangerous psychopath on a rampage. Taking April from the scene was either one of two things; one, as a hostage to bargain with or two, he wanted to take her somewhere he could spend time with her alone. A shiver ran through her. The fact she was a police officer seemed to have no bearing on his decision to take her. He had no concept of the consequences of his actions and she was helpless in his charge. Being helpless and at the mercy of a man with a troubled mind was one of her worst nightmares. She co
uld never watch films which depicted torture or rape; nor could she understand why others found them entertaining. They were abhorrent, evil acts which had no place in a healthy mind or a healthy society. Hudson clearly belonged to neither of those groups. She didn’t know how she would fair if he subjected her to such terrible things.
She’d been a police officer since leaving university and she’d seen her share of violence and death, accidental and otherwise. Some RTA scenes had haunted her for years and still did. Mrs Gould’s face was worse. Worse than a car crash. Was that possible? Clearly it was. She’d witnessed it herself. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she debated her fate. She couldn’t predict his intentions, but she could make an educated guess as to what was going to happen, and it sent bolts of ice-cold fear through her entire body. She’d never felt so terrified in all her days.
CHAPTER 29
When Alan and Kim arrived at the Gould property, they were met with a scene of organised chaos. The driveway was rammed with police vehicles; an ambulance; a coroner’s van, and a Sky TV outside broadcast vehicle was parked on the road, blocking the entrance.
‘How the bloody hell have they got here before us?’ Alan said. He tutted and shook his head. He honked on the horn and the driver of the Sky van flicked his middle finger out of the window. Alan flushed red and reached for the door handle.
‘Don’t get out. I’ll deal with it,’ Kim said. ‘Cheeky bugger.’
She climbed out and jogged to the driver’s window, showing her warrant card. Alan didn’t know what she was saying but the driver’s face turned purple and he drove away without any argument. The force helicopter flew overhead.
‘About time,’ Kim said, climbing back in. ‘They should have been here hours ago. It’s amazing. One of our officers goes missing and suddenly the chopper is available. Bad for the public image, I guess.’
‘You know how this works. Until we lock someone up, we’re doing a crap job. We’ll need all the help we can get,’ Alan said, pulling the BMW onto the driveway. He navigated his way to the end of the drive, close to the kitchen. Bob Dewhurst spotted them and made his way over. ‘You should be in hospital having your head checked out.’ The paramedics had taped a gauze dressing to the wound on the back of his head. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Not good,’ Bob said. His eyes filled up and the words stuck in is throat. ‘April…’
‘I understand,’ Alan said, switching off the engine and opening the door. ‘It isn’t your fault.’ He patted Bob on the arm. There was a look in his eyes which told Alan he thought it was his fault. ‘Are CSI inside yet?’
‘Yes. Pamela Stone is in there with a photographer.’
‘Get us a couple of suits,’ Alan said to Kim. ‘I want to have a look around. Are you up for talking me through what happened?’ Bob nodded that he was. ‘Calm yourself down. We’ve got half the force looking for April and we know what vehicle we’re looking for because you’re a good copper.’ Bob took a breath and nodded. ‘Talk me through it,’ Alan said.
***
Joss saw the pole sign first. Tacla Taid Transport and Agriculture Museum. It was a while since he’d been there to see his cousin Anwen. As he turned the corner, he was taken aback by the striking new editions that could be seen from the road. A jet fighter, an armoured vehicle with a machinegun mounted, and an old fire engine stood out from the dozens of steam rollers and steam engines. She’d built the museum from scratch, starting with a handful of American cars, which he’d imported for her. Now, she had hundreds of exhibits. He was proud of what she’d built but felt a little guilty that he hadn’t been around in her personal life. He appreciated how her collection had grown. The Land Rovers and the workshops were around the back. He pulled the tow truck to the side of the road to wait for Naz to arrive. There was no point in waiting inside and making Anwen open the gates twice. He switched the radio on and tuned into Mon FM. The presenter was talking about the murders, speculating that more bodies had been found, although the police wouldn’t confirm or deny it. What they had confirmed as a fact was that Mathew Hudson was still at large and now, he had taken a hostage. The hostage was a serving police constable, born and bred in Holyhead. She’d joined the police from university and was a well-respected member of the force and a mother of two; girls aged five and seven. Joss listened intently. The officer’s name was April Bifelt . He turned up the volume and swore at the radio. April had been best friends with his cousin Anwen when they were at school and they remained close into adulthood. They’d been like twins, one rarely seen without the other.
He saw movement in the mirror and recognised the dark blue Defender turning the corner behind him. He waved for Naz to follow him and sent Anwen a text. The main gates opened, and they drove towards them, Naz in front. In his peripheral vision, Joss saw a Renault people carrier coming from the Newborough direction; its driver was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. The gates closed behind them and he didn’t give it a second thought.
***
Bob recounted what had happened. Alan and Kim were listening while they donned their forensic suits.
‘When we were approaching the property, a Renault Scenic was pulling out of the driveway. The driver was wearing a cap and shades and I only got a brief look at him. I was checking the names on the list of properties, so I wasn’t paying much attention. April was driving. We pulled into the driveway and the place was closed up, curtains drawn. It looked like the owner had just locked up before we got there and was going home but I had an uneasy feeling about it,’ Bob said.
‘Why was that?’ Alan asked.
‘Instinct, I think,’ Bob shrugged. ‘In hindsight, I think it was because the Renault driver didn’t look his age. The vehicle details all checked out, but I wasn’t happy. Maybe because the driver was alone in a family vehicle.’
‘Okay. Then what?’
‘April knocked on the front door and I looked through the gap in the curtains of the front room. I noticed dark smudges on the far wall. They were out of place in such an expensive property. I know kids and dogs can make a mess, but I hadn’t seen either. Something rankled in me. We went around the back and saw the kitchen door was open. Alarm bells started to ring, and April wanted to call in for support, but I said no,’ Bob said, his voice breaking. ‘I thought there might be someone still in the house and wanted to make sure before we called it in. I didn’t want to call officers off the search unnecessarily. If I’d let her call it in, we wouldn’t be in this mess. It’s my fault.’
‘If you’d called it in, would you have waited outside before going in and checking it out?’ Alan asked.
‘No.’
‘Then the outcome would be the same. Come on, stop beating yourself up,’ Alan said. ‘Tell me what happened next.’
‘We checked the kitchen, the living room, a spare bedroom, and found the Goulds in the master bedroom. I’ve never seen anything like that, and I think I must have frozen for a moment. I didn’t hear anyone coming behind us. The next thing I remember is waking up, tied up like a prize pig. April was gone. I struggled myself free and called you.’
‘Do you think Hudson was driving the Renault you saw leaving the driveway?’
‘In hindsight, yes. He must have turned around up the road and come back.’
‘It looks that way,’ Alan said. ‘Go and get your head checked out. We’ll catch up with you later on.’
‘I’d like to help with the search,’ Bob said.
‘You’ve had a bang to the head. You can’t drive. If you pass out, you’ll be more of a hindrance than a help. Go and get checked out and come back when you have the all clear. Hopefully we’ll have found April and locked Hudson up by then.’
‘Will you call me if you hear anything?’ Bob asked.
‘Yes. Go to the hospital,’ Alan insisted. Bob reluctantly walked away. Alan and Kim headed for the kitchen door, which was being guarded by a uniformed officer. They went inside and looked around, trying to piece together what had happened. ‘Look
at this,’ Alan said, pointing to the sink. ‘One plate, one knife and fork, and one cup, not washed up.’
‘What are you thinking?’ Kim asked, frowning. ‘Surely, he didn’t make himself something to eat.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him. He doesn’t seem to fear anything,’ Alan said, moving into the living room. ‘Why did he turn around and follow two police officers back to the scene of the crime?’
‘Because he’s a psycho?’
‘He’s definitely that, but he was away. There was no need to follow them. Not that I can think of.’
‘Bob said the kitchen door was wide open, didn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, Hudson saw the police turning onto the property and realised that if they saw that it was open, they would probably go inside and find the victims.’
‘Whereas if he came back, he could stop them from calling the murders in. He took April and planned to come back to finish Bob off later. No one would know until he was long gone?’
‘Adds up.’
‘The odds were against him. He followed two police officers and took his chances of coming out on top.’
‘Did he though?’ Kim said. Alan raised his eyebrows in question. ‘What if he didn’t weigh up his chances? What if he didn’t care one way or the other and just got lucky?’
‘I’m not sure what’s more concerning. I think we have to assume Hudson doesn’t care and therefore is being reckless. If he is, we’ll nail the bastard.’
‘That’s probably not the best phrase to use in here,’ Pamela Stone said, from the doorway. She didn’t smile hello and looked physically shaken. ‘I’ve done my initial analysis. Feel free to take a look. The photographer is just finishing off. You need to catch this monster and throw away the key. He’s escalating and he’s not going to stop until you stop him.’
