“Oh, would you do that?” He sounded grim. He grabbed her legs and fastened her ankles with a similar kind of device. While he was still kneeling beside her, he pulled back her head roughly and thrust a balaclava helmet over her face and hair. She realised that he had put it on back-to-front, because although it was dark in the van she had at first been able to make out dark shapes and outlines and now she could no longer see at all. The knitted helmet stank of beer and cigarettes and some nameless but horrible odour of unwashedness. She felt herself begin to retch.
“I would not bother if I was you,” said the voice. “If you choke on vomit it is not my business.” He spoke haltingly, as if he had to search for the correct words.
Alex tried to assume some vestige of dignity. She opened her mouth to speak, even though she was afraid that she would only be able to manage gibberish. The voice that came out was thin and high with fear, but coherent.
“I don’t know who you are or why you want to frighten me,” she said. “You’d better not try to hurt me, because there will be people looking for me very soon. I’ve been offered protection by the police. But if you tell me what it is that you want, I will honestly try to help you, if it lies within my power.”
Her voice was muffled by the rancid wool of the headgear, but her captor seemed to understand. He appeared to find this short speech amusing.
“Very fine police protection turned out to be,” he said. “Where are the policemen now? As for hurting you, that is up to you. If you help, you will be well. If you don’t, we have guns. You must stay for a day, maybe a little longer; then perhaps you can go.”
“Why?” said Alex, suddenly fearful that it was not herself that she should be worrying about. “What are you planning?”
“Stop talking,” said the figure. She could feel his breath against her cheek; he must have been leaning over her. He stank of sweat and some other odour that she could not place – a burnt sackcloth kind of smell. “Turn yeer head this way.”
She did as she was bidden. She felt one of the large hands lift the wool from the lower part of her face and clamp a great square of sticking-plaster across her mouth. In the same instant, the van bumped into movement. Too late, Alex realised that she had lost her only opportunity to scream out for help, dangerous though it might have been.
The van gathered speed quickly. Alex’s fear was soon eclipsed by the extreme discomfort of having to roll helplessly on its floor as the driver cut corners and took bends too fast. Her arms and wrists strained against their bonds. Her knees banged against crates and van floor repeatedly, until she was certain that they must be bleeding. Her head ached from the blows and her mouth was dry. Because the plaster had been fastened tightly she could not swallow properly. And the pervasive stench of fish made her want to vomit.
During the drive she had no further contact with the man who had climbed into the van with her; nor did he speak to her again. She knew that he must still be there, because the van had been moving fast ever since he had gagged her and there was no way into the cab from the back, but he made no noise.
After some minutes the journey became smoother. She thought that it must be because they had left behind the town’s network of small streets and continued along one of the country roads that lay beyond. She had no clue about where they were going. They could be heading for the A1 or penetrating deep into one of the fens. Alex closed her eyes and prayed for simple things: release from her pain, fear and nausea; above all, to be reunited with Tom again. She desperately wanted to be with Tom now, to fall into his arms with a clear conscience – or as clear a conscience as memory would permit.
Against all odds, she must have slept for a while. She was suddenly jerked awake as she became aware that the van was juddering to a halt. Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then she heard the driver’s door open and the scrunch of heavy boots on gravel. The rear doors were yanked wide.
“Jared!”
It was the van driver’s voice.
“Jared! Come out! Where is she?”
“Tied up on the floor.”
“She better be all right. You didn’t hit her?”
“You said not to. Just one small tap before I tied, to quieten. She’s OK. I’ll bring her inside?”
“Keep your fists to yourself in future. We’ll take her in together. She’ll have to be carried, because we’ll need to keep her bound and her eyes covered. Wait with her while I ring the bell.”
The footsteps marched away. They returned after a short interval.
“They’re ready inside. Help me to turn her over.”
Alex’s original captor grabbed her by the shoulder and the waist together and flipped her on to her back.
“Gently, for God’s sake!”
Pushing ‘Jared’ aside, the van driver thrust his arms under Alex’s shoulders and the small of her back and hoisted her out of the vehicle. It flitted through her mind that now would be her last chance to struggle, but swiftly she reflected that she had no idea of where she was. It was unlikely to be somewhere she could get help readily. She lay inert in the man’s arms, making herself as dead a weight as possible.
The tactic caused him no hindrance: the man was built like an ox. He strode across the gravel and up a short flight of steps with Alex in his arms. She felt a blast of central heating and could dimly discern lights though the dark wool that covered her face. They were entering a building. She sensed rather than heard a third person approach them.
“Good God!” said a new voice. “What have you . . .”
“Shhh . . .” said the van driver. “Don’t let her hear you.” Alex thought that she recognised the voice. She strained her ears for more, but no-one spoke again.
She was aware of being carried jerkily up several flights of stairs. The stairs must have been carpeted; the man’s heavy boots made no sound. At intervals she knew that they had reached a landing, because the jerkiness stopped and briefly the man was able to take smooth, even steps – several of them, which suggested that the landings were quite large. On one of these occasions her bound feet brushed against something – a bowl, perhaps, or a vase – and released a fragrant smell.
Even though she could not see, Alex sensed a certain opulence about the building. Evidently she had not been taken to some dirty old warehouse or filthy shed to die an obscure and squalid death. She tried to take courage from this thought.
She thought that she had counted six flights of stairs when the man who was carrying her paused. She had not previously been aware that someone was following them, but now she felt a second person brush past. The man who was carrying her started to move again, but they were no longer climbing. There was no carpet now – his boots were clumping on wood. She thought that they must be traversing the length of a narrow corridor, because twice her feet brushed against a wall. He cursed under his breath and turned, apparently to enable him to walk sideways for a few steps. He seemed to be taking care not to hurt her. In the van she had been treated with careless, even vindictive, roughness. Something or someone must be influencing this change in approach. She tried to draw strength from this also.
“In here.” It was said in a whisper, but she thought it was the same half-recognised voice she had heard earlier.
“Shut up,” said her bearer curtly.
She heard a door being opened. Her bearer paused. Did the other person pass them? She felt herself being lowered on to a bed.
“Don’t try anything,” the man warned. “I’m going to take the gag off now, to let you have a drink. If you try to struggle or call out, you’ll be sorry. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He hauled her into a sitting position. She heard him twist the cap of a plastic bottle and put it down. He ripped the sticking plaster from her face, leaving her lips and the skin around them sore and stinging. She felt him plonk down on the bed beside her. He seized her and encircled her with his left arm
to hold her steady. He held the bottle to her lips with his right hand. She tried to duck away from it.
“Don’t be stupid. This’ll be your last chance to drink for a while.”
“How do I know what it is?”
“It’s just water. You heard me take the top off.”
Alex hesitated, then nodded her head.
“All right – just a little.”
He tipped some water into her mouth and she swallowed. He repeated the action twice.
“No more,” she said.
“OK. Now I’m going to put a proper blindfold on you. I’ll take the hat away. Don’t look at me.”
She nodded agreement. He lifted the hat and tossed it aside. The room was quite large. It was very dimly lit by a small table lamp that stood on an occasional table some distance from the bed. Alex found it difficult to acclimatise her eyes to the half-light, though she was desperate to see as much as she could before he deprived her of their use again. She blinked and made a huge effort to focus. She could see that the bed had an iron frame and that she was lying on a white coverlet. The wallpaper was patterned in an old-fashioned flower design, but it was too dark to be able to see the colours. The lamp on the table cast a halo of light which illuminated an engraving that hung above it. It was a three-quarters portrait of a nineteenth century gentleman wearing a frock coat. The picture was the last thing that Alex saw before the blindfold was fastened tightly around her head. It was made of a silky material and smelt freshly laundered.
The man got up. He propped her against the pillows. She sensed rather than heard him walk towards the door. She was aware of a brighter light penetrating from beyond as he opened it, then of this light’s being shut off abruptly as the door closed. The blindfold was not thick. She could still make out the dimmer light from the lamp on the table. She wondered why the man had not switched it off. It was warm in the room, but she suddenly felt very cold.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Tim called the Herrick home immediately but could get no reply. Instantly he knew that Juliet’s hunch must be correct; there was always someone there ready to answer the phone, day or night, because children were admitted into care at all hours. He called Andy Carstairs again.
“Where are you now?”
“I’m heading back towards Gosberton Clough. We’ve received a report of a white van driving at speed through Gosberton village at about 6 p.m.”
“I need you to turn back immediately and get to Herrick House as soon as you can. Arrange for as many officers as you can get hold of to meet you there. I want you to cover the house from all sides, but don’t try to go in and use extreme caution. We don’t know exactly what’s happening there, but something is very wrong. No-one is answering the phone and because of circumstantial evidence we have reason to believe that the children are in danger. We must evacuate them as soon as possible, but we don’t know who may be in there with them or whether they’re armed. I’m going to get authorisation for an armed response team to join you. Then I’ll come out myself. I’ll be there in less than an hour.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
After she had been abandoned face down on the bed, Alex was at first vigilant out of fear, but eventually she fell into a troubled doze. She dreamt of the blood splatter on her kitchen wall. The face of the woman she had encountered in Chapel Lane was floating in front of it, disembodied, grinning fiercely. “Put your feet up. Ask your husband to make you a nice cup of tea.”
She could hear an unidentified noise in the background as the woman was speaking. It might have been the sound of slow footsteps. Alex stirred and half-woke. The footsteps weren’t part of the dream. She could hear that someone was approaching the door of the room. As she pulled herself from sleep, she was gripped by an agonising pain across her shoulder-blades, a legacy of the hours that her arms had been restrained in such an unnatural position. Simultaneously she became aware that her bladder was full to bursting.
The key turned in the lock and the door was opened. Someone approached the bed – she sensed that it was a lighter and more nimble person than the man who had deposited her there. But it was a man – she could smell the sweet astringent aroma of Paco Rabanne. She knew immediately who he was. She felt sick with shock.
Gently he cut the ties that were binding her wrists and rolled her on to her back. He peeled back the sticking-plaster from her mouth. Her legs were still bound, but she succeeded in sitting up unaided. The light of the small table-lamp enabled her only to see his face dimly, but she had no need of further proof.
“Oliver!” she said.
“Hello, Alex,” he said. “I am inexpressibly sorry about all of this.”
She was simultaneously incredulous, furious and almost speechless with tumbling questions and demands. She could articulate only one of them.
“I need to go to the toilet,” she said.
He whispered his reply: “Of course. That’s one of the reasons that I’ve come. But please keep your voice down. Swing your legs to the edge of the bed and I’ll cut the ties around your ankles, as well. I must warn you not to try anything, though. If you either lash out at me or try to escape I shan’t be able to guarantee your safety. You’ll have gathered that I am neither working on my own nor in control of the turn that events have taken. I want you to know that at no time have I sanctioned ruffianly or violent behaviour, nor any action that might result in injury or worse, especially to you. I have been very foolish; I’m trapped by something that I did years ago.”
He bent to cut the plastic ties that bound her legs together. Fleetingly she thought of kicking him in the face, but his warning had convinced her that the action could only harm her.
He pointed to a door in the far wall.
“There’s a kind of en suite washing closet with a lavatory through there,” he murmured, his voice low.
Alex hauled herself awkwardly to her feet. She took a couple of steps and stumbled back against the bed. Oliver gripped hold of her.
“Steady!” he breathed. “Your muscles have stiffened up because you’ve been lying in the same position for so long. Would you like to take my arm?”
Alex pushed it away indignantly and hobbled towards the door that he had indicated.
“Don’t turn on the light in there,” he said quickly. Although he was still barely more than whispering, there was a tautness in his voice. “No-one must know that I’ve released you, even temporarily. If you leave the door open you should be able to see well enough from the light of the lamp.”
Alex’s anger was gobbled up by fear. The terror that she had felt during the van journey came flooding back, sapping her will. She did as Oliver bade her.
A large old-fashioned porcelain lavatory with an oversized cistern stood behind the door of the room that he had indicated. By leaving the door ajar she would be able to preserve her modesty, if not her dignity. She tried to pee as quietly as she could.
“Don’t pull the chain,” said Oliver in the same taut voice.
“You will at least let me wash my hands?” she hissed.
“No. Just come back here.” He motioned her towards the small two-seater sofa which stood between the door and the bed. “Sit there for a while,” he said. “Swing your arms and legs about to get the blood circulating in them again, but try not to make any noise.” He listened intently, then went to the window and made a small chink in the curtains.
“They’re not back yet,” he was whispering again, “but we still need to keep quiet. We can’t afford to take any chances. I think that they’ve all gone out, but I can’t be absolutely certain of it. As soon as we hear them coming I’m going to have to tie you up again. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Oliver, for goodness sake!” sighed Alex, her irritation getting the better of her fear. “You’re behaving as if we’re acting out some kind of boys’ own adventure.”
“It would be like that,” said Oliver
, very quietly and gravely, “if it weren’t for the fact that the people who took you are for real. And unlike comic strip super-heroes, once we cross them, we’re finished. We shan’t have the power to heal ourselves miraculously in time for the next episode.”
“Do ‘they’, whoever they are, intend to kill us?” Alex’s tone now matched his own in sombre gravity.
He paused.
“I think that you stand more chance of getting out of this alive than I do,” he said. “I know too much about them; they won’t let anything or anyone get in their way now. That makes me a liability. The fact that you know very little and – I’m guessing – don’t at all understand what is going on can only help you, which is why I shan’t tell you much. But there is no point in my pretending that they won’t kill you if they think that it’s necessary. One of them is actually quite capable of murdering you on a whim, if he feels like it.”
Half an hour had passed. Alex remained on the sofa. Oliver was still jumpy, but less nervy than when he had first cut her bonds. Every few minutes he looked out of the window, making as small a gap in the curtains as possible. He listened intently each time he heard a slight noise. Evidently he thought that they were now alone in the house, but he wasn’t certain enough to relax. After some time, he went to the small bathroom, flushed the toilet and returned with a glass of water, which he gave to her.
“I’m sorry I can’t make tea. I’ll need to tie you up again the minute they come back. They mustn’t see any evidence that you’ve been free.”
“I’m hardly free, am I?” said Alex, her voice heavy with irony. “And neither are you, from the way you’re behaving. If we’re both in danger, why don’t we just leave now?”
Almost Love Page 38
