by Owen Mullen
His eyes swept the cellar, taking in the changes, finally settling on her. Did she detect a trace of confusion in them?
‘Tell me!’
He ignored her and started to unpack the food. Mackenzie spoke again. ‘You can’t keep me here forever. When this is over they’ll hunt you down. Your fingerprints are all over everything, they’ll put you away for life.’
The stalker stopped what he was doing. His head turned slowly towards her and she knew she was getting to him. That knowledge made her bold. She sneered. ‘What a pathetic excuse for a human being. Hiding behind your stupid mask. Don’t you remember? I know who you are.’
‘Shut your mouth.’
Mackenzie taunted him. ‘Take it off. Be a man for once in your life!’
She lunged at him, teeth bared. He drew back but wasn’t fast enough, she caught him and ripped the balaclava away. His reaction was beyond anything she’d expected. His fingers closed round her throat, his face inches from hers, distorted in hate.
‘Bitch! You silly fucking bitch! You’ve no idea what’s going on. Forget about your husband, he won’t be coming for you. And after I’m finished, he won’t want you. Nobody will want you.’
Mackenzie smelled stale cigarette smoke. Light flashed behind her eyes, the room started to fade and his voice seemed far away, cursing her.
‘Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!’
Unless she could break his hold her life would end in this dungeon. Instinctively she brought her knee up hard; he howled and staggered away.
The victory was short-lived. He recovered and they circled each other in the middle of the cellar, moving one way and then the other with the chain dragging on the flagstones. Mackenzie searched for something to defend herself with, but there was nothing. The stalker read her mind, took off his belt and tightened it between his hands, grinning like a maniac, certain he was going to win.
She jumped on the bed and gathered the length of chain, turning it into a weapon. It cut through the air with a swooshing sound. Her first attempt to hit him fell short; he stepped out of range and she missed. Her second attempt failed, too.
He laughed. ‘You little fool. I could strangle you right here and now. Be years before anybody finds you. What’s left of you, that is, after the rats are done.’
The belt snapped taut and struck her face. She screamed in pain. For a second her courage failed her as she realised how, inevitably, it would end.
The punch caught her hard across the mouth, knocking her to the floor. He towered over her and kicked her in the ribs. Something cracked. The pain was unbearable as he kicked her again. She struck out wildly with her legs, not knowing where the next blow would fall. He grabbed the chain, dragging her like a dog across the room and back to the bed, panting like an animal. The tracksuit and her underwear were torn from her and thrown away like rags and his mouth found her breasts, biting so hard they bled, making her cry out. He ran his hands over her smooth skin, and grinned as the belt struck her flesh. Then he pinned her under him and forced her thighs apart. Through tears she saw the cold look in his eyes. He hit her once more and Mackenzie’s mind closed down as she retreated to another place.
Ring a ring o’ roses…
a pocketful…
atish…
* * *
The cellar was in darkness. Every bone, every muscle in her body ached. Her face was sore and swollen, her lip was cut and her breasts so bruised and tender that just breathing brought pain bad enough to make her call out. Dark memories crowded on the margins of her mind, terrors old and new, ready to overwhelm her. Mackenzie didn’t want to think but couldn’t help herself.
The assault had been vicious and degrading. Goading him brought it sooner rather than later. Her naive assumption he’d keep his side of the deal and set her free must have amused him. Her fingers searched for the flimsy sheet, pulled it over her naked body and she lay still, despising herself for being foolish enough to imagine he’d ever meant to return her to her family.
That had never been his intention even if the money was paid, because she’d seen his face – the first time in the supermarket, the day she’d run from him, Buchanan Street, and now here – she could identify him. Her fate had been sealed when they hadn’t believed the stalker was real.
Mackenzie closed her eyes and sought the oblivion of sleep. She didn’t cry; there were no more tears.
* * *
The alarm went off at six forty-five and, for the first time in a week, Derek was hungry. He showered, shaved and went downstairs to make scrambled eggs. Mackenzie had rarely cooked, and anytime she’d made an attempt at it, managed to burn the arse out of the pan.
Before he left, he cleared away the last of the bottles and dropped them into a black bin bag in the kitchen. The drinking wouldn’t go on. The previous afternoon he’d put a stop to it. It was time to get his life back.
Derek had made two calls the night before, the first to the woman who cleaned for them informing her she could resume her duties the next morning, the second to the gardener.
Rose Hawthorne was delighted to hear from him: the house was beautiful, she liked working there and was happy to go back; she’d missed the money, too. So she didn’t ask questions. Mr Crawford wasn’t a man who explained himself. He’d given no reason when he put her twice-weekly visits on hold – though she had her suspicions his wife was giving him trouble. More than once she hadn’t been able to vacuum or change the bed because Mrs Crawford was still in it. On those days, she tiptoed into the room and opened a window to let some air in: the figure in the bed didn’t move. Sad to watch a young woman ruin her health with alcohol.
Rose didn’t drink. She’d seen the damage it could do, with her father and after that her husband before he went to AA and got help. They’d been married thirty-two years now, had three children and seven grandchildren, but in the early years they were headed for divorce. She wanted to give Mrs Crawford a hug, sit her down, and convince her that, whatever was at the root of it, it would be all right.
But it wasn’t her place and she kept her opinions to herself.
Archie Campbell’s reaction was more measured. The gardener had learned that, despite what they said, people didn’t appreciate you if you were too available. He promised to fit Derek in later in the week if it didn’t rain – the best he could do.
At ten-to-nine, Derek pulled the Audi on to the showroom forecourt in Hamilton Road, Mount Vernon, and went to his office. It amused him to see the panic on the salesmens’ faces, stubbing out their cigarettes and hurriedly finishing their coffee because the boss was back. Around eleven o’clock he got a call telling him someone was here to see him.
‘Who is it?’
‘A policeman.’
‘What does he want?’
‘Wouldn’t say. Needs to speak to you.’
‘Keep him waiting then send him in.’
Ten minutes later, Geddes came through the door, flashed his ID and introduced himself.
‘Detective Sergeant Geddes.’
Crawford stood, offered his hand then gestured to the chair across from him.
The detective looked round. ‘This takes me back.’
‘Really?’
‘Bought a car from you, must be fifteen years ago, maybe longer.’
Crawford smiled. ‘Hope you haven’t come to ask for your money back.’
‘Not at all. Got 200,000 miles out of it before it gave up the ghost. Traded it in to Arnold Clark.’
‘Glad to hear we didn’t get landed with it.’
Crawford scrutinised the officer: stocky, short dark hair, bulldog jowls, and an undisguised intelligence behind tired eyes. ‘Are you after another motor?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Then what can we do for you, Detective?’
‘We’ve had a missing person report.Your wife.’
Crawford’s bonhomie fell away. ‘That’s ridiculous. This is between me and Mackenzie. Not a police matter, surely? Understood it was your policy to av
oid getting involved in domestic upsets.’
‘In the normal scheme of things, you’d be right. Except we’re duty-bound to follow up on some of them.’
Crawford was barely able to contain his anger. ‘Who? Who reported her? She isn’t missing, as you put it. How the hell did anybody get that idea?’
The detective’s tone didn’t change. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘I’m not supposed to know. That’s the bloody point.’
Geddes knew from experience Crawford had to be hurting. Few husbands would be keen to talk about their wife dumping them. He’d been caught unawares and it showed in his blustery response: the man was embarrassed.
‘Has she contacted you?’
‘Of course she hasn’t. With respect, I don’t think you’re getting this, Detective. My wife’s left me for another man.’
‘Yes, so I believe.’
Crawford sat up straight. ‘You’re well informed.’
The policeman leaned across the table. ‘I apologise, Mr Crawford, this can’t be easy for you.’
‘What do you want me to tell you?’
‘Everything.’
‘All right. Although you’ve obviously been told already. Mackenzie has a serious drink problem. She didn’t appreciate me trying to help her, so she’s found somebody who doesn’t mind that she’s pissed all the time.’
‘Just how bad is her drinking?’
Crawford turned his cheek to show the fading marks of the cut. ‘She hid bottles in the garden, all over the house. I’d get home, she’d be out of it, and I expect you’ve been told about her fiasco at the party.’
‘I assume you suggested she needed help.’
‘A hundred times. First you need to admit there’s a problem.’
‘And she didn’t?’
‘No, no. She admitted it easily enough. Swore she’d do something about it. But she never did.’
‘Did you consider divorce?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Even at its worst?’
‘I don’t believe in it. You don’t understand, do you? I love Mackenzie and, even if she doesn’t act like it, she loves me. We belong to each other.’ Crawford paused. ‘At least I thought we did. The woman who drank wasn’t her. So no, I never thought about divorce. All I wanted was my beautiful wife back.’
‘When did she tell you about being stalked?’
Derek lost it. ‘Ah, please, please. Can’t we drop this fantasy once and for all? For the last time. Yes, there was a man in Buchanan Street, and no, he wasn’t stalking anybody. Unless you mean waiting for Mackenzie to cause a scene and walk out on me.’
Geddes repeated the question. ‘When, Mr Crawford?’
‘The first time was after I caught her drinking again. She tried to convince me a guy was following her in the supermarket.’
‘How did you react?’
‘I wanted to go to the police. She backtracked, said she’d probably imagined it. The next time was in Buchanan Street. I’d suggested a day in town. Mackenzie agreed – reluctantly – then deliberately started a row so she could leave me and meet him.’
‘You think she was having an affair with him?’
‘Wouldn’t you if some bastard waved at your wife?’
‘He waved? What did Mackenzie say?’
‘Claimed he was following her but I’m not that stupid. He was waiting for her. She tried to cover it up, of course. But believe me it was her he was there for. She’d picked a fight so she could go to him.’
‘Describe him.’
‘He looked like…a man. Just a man.’
‘How old would you say he was?’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, the age thing again. Yes, he was younger than me. Is that what you’re asking? Look, this is a bloody waste of time.’
‘Her family don’t know where she is. They want to be certain she’s safe.’
Crawford sneered. ‘Whatever else my wife is, she’s safe.’
‘And after that?’
‘The last time was at the party. Mackenzie admitted in front of the whole family that he was her lover. We didn’t talk about it after that and she started going out on her own at night.’
‘Had she done that before?’
‘Yes, that was the pattern. Whenever she stopped drinking she went out by herself. Wouldn’t tell me where or who she was meeting.’
Talking about it had upset him. He rubbed his hands together, agitated. Geddes gave him a moment to pull himself together.
‘How did you deal with that?’
‘I didn’t. She’s a grown woman. Short of chaining her to the radiator I couldn’t stop her.’
‘You seem very sure she was meeting someone.’
‘Sure? Of course I’m sure, I followed her twice and saw her get into a car at the end of the street.’
‘Who was driving?’
‘A man.’
‘The man from Buchanan Street?’
Crawford shook his head. ‘Couldn’t get close enough.’
‘What about the car?’
‘Too far away to see the number plate but it was a blue Vectra, the same as my brother-in-law’s.’
Geddes raised an eyebrow. ‘Gavin?’
Crawford’s lips met in a thin line. ‘So it was him that reported it. Cheers, Gavin, I owe you one. No, not him. Blair, Adele’s husband.’
‘Isn’t it possible he was just running her to her sister’s?’
‘I spoke to them about it. Adele didn’t know what I was talking about.’
‘And Blair?’
‘He didn’t say anything. Looked uncomfortable. Probably because I said the car was the same as his.’
‘Both times?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yet you can’t identify the driver?’
Crawford heard the implied criticism; his reply was terse. ‘I can’t or I’d have said so, wouldn’t I?’
Geddes let it go. ‘And that’s as much as you can tell me?’
‘’Fraid so. I was concentrating on Mackenzie. Besides, this is where we live.’ He corrected himself. ‘I live. Didn’t want the neighbours to know the mess we were in.’
‘What did she take with her?’
Crawford moved in his seat. ‘It’s difficult to guess. My wife had a lot of clothes, could’ve filled two suitcases without making a dent in her wardrobe.’
‘Are there suitcases missing?’
‘We have more suitcases than you can count, so again, sorry but I don’t know.’
‘Did she drive?’
‘Not a chance. Last thing I need is Crawford Cars on the front page of the Daily Record when she ploughed into some poor buggers standing at a bus stop.’
‘How much money did she have?’
‘Whatever was in her purse.’
‘Have you checked the bank?’
‘No need. It wasn’t a joint account. Mackenzie was irresponsible. Her behaviour forced me to keep a tight grip on her spending.’
‘Credit cards?’
‘I’ve cancelled them.’
‘Then she hasn’t run off with a bundle of cash?’
Bitterness salted Crawford’s reply. ‘Maybe her boyfriend’s got a few bob?’
Geddes stood. ‘Okay. Thanks for your time. Seems straightforward enough. Though I still need to interview the family and I’ll need to get a look at the house.’
Crawford relaxed. ‘I’ve been out of the business because of this. As you can imagine, I’m up to my elbows in it. But the cleaner’s there this morning. I’ll tell her to expect you.’
‘That would be helpful.’ Geddes dropped his card on the table. ‘If your wife contacts you, let me know.’
Crawford’s final words revealed his resentment. ‘And if you do find her, please tell her I don’t want her back. Under any circumstances.’
* * *
Geddes glanced out of the car window at Derek Crawford’s house. Some people really did have it made. If he gave up eating and drinking and saved every penny he’
d earn in a couple of lifetimes he still wouldn’t be able to live like this. Maybe just as well. It would’ve been sore to see his ex-wife’s Rottweiler lawyer persuade the judge her lazy bastard client was entitled to half of it.
A curtain rustled. Someone was watching. Before he reached the front door it opened. A woman wiped her hands on the blue overall she was wearing and brushed back her fair hair.
‘Rose Hawthorne. Mr Crawford told me you were coming.’
He showed his warrant card. ‘DS Geddes.’
‘Is something wrong?’
If the cleaner wasn’t aware her boss was missing, it could only be because Derek Crawford hadn’t told her, which spoke volumes about their relationship.
‘Just need a quick look round.’
The hall was bigger than Geddes’ lounge, expensively furnished with floral designs reminding him of the 1980s, for his taste, twee then and twee now. Nothing was out of place and the detective had the impression of a show house rather than a home.
Rose saw his expression, remembered the first time she’d seen inside, and misjudged his reaction. ‘Impressive, isn’t it.’ Said with pride.
Geddes played the game. ‘Very. Is it hard to keep clean?’
‘Not really, there’s only the two of them. Different if there were kids. Not what I tell them, of course.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Best part of two years.’
‘Do the wages match the house?’
The cleaner laughed. ‘Joking, aren’t you? Folk with money like to hold onto it. How most of them got it in the first place. Thought you’d know that.’
‘I do, but I live in hope there’s always the exception.’
‘Well, when you find them, put in a good word for an honest working woman, will you? I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.’
