by R. G. Oram
How does he know? he thought.
He wanted to stay, pretending the words had not been spoken, now relishing the muscle aches.
‘Out,’ the voice said again.
Baker had no choice. He stretched his arm forwards to push the closet’s door open. A man staring out through the bedroom doorway, the pistol with its wood plated handle greeted Baker.
The gun holder was a muscular form, with a fading tanned complexion. The tan, what was left of it, Mark thought, was permanent; not something you could get from a day in the sun, wherever he came from, its sun’s touch marked him. He held the gun like a professional, with the proper stance to prove it. Most of the clothing hid the man’s powered physique, except at the neck, it was ridged where muscles climbed up the mountainous incline. A baseball hat hid his hair colour.
‘Raise your hands,’ the stranger said.
Mark did so.
‘Higher,’ the stranger progressively demanded.
Baker conformed by straightening his raised arms to the point his shoulders shook. With his arms raised Baker scanned the room – wanting to see what gave him away. He saw it. When making his run to the closet he had inadvertently pulled the bedspread over and it had fallen to the floor. The ass print on the other side didn’t help either.
‘Listen, I’m –’
The stranger cut him off.
‘Don’t talk. You listen, you follow, understand?’
Baker gave a nod. The stranger’s accent, American but it wasn’t local.
‘Now listen carefully. Take off all your clothes and throw them on the bed.’
Baker was about to protest but decided against it. He had no bargaining position and the idea of a hole burning through his body didn’t suit him. He did as commanded, removing his pants, shirt, jacket and shoes, leaving all the belongings in the pockets and tossed them on the bed.
‘Lift up your vest and rotate.’
Baker did so, understanding the rationality of the request. The man was checking for any hidden microphones or hidden weapons. Fortunately for the stranger there were none. Moving to the side of the bed, a bed-length length away from Baker, he checked each article in turn. The man was pathologically meticulous with his check, by inspecting every pocket and turning the clothes inside out.
‘Dress.’
While dressing, Baker looked at his captor, the man did not blink when watching Baker. As if he did not want to miss a millisecond of him. The stranger’s stare discomforted him. It wasn’t the dead-eye stare some people gave you when they tried to buff themselves up. The eyes weren’t tensed or popping out, they just gazed, directed at you. Instead of trying to intimidate you, they were looking through you, as if they went into you.
Baker tried to ignore them when redressing. The stranger pocketed all his belongings, except for Baker’s car keys and the secret set of Lewelyn’s, he told the detective to take them.
‘Now close that door behind you and put that back in its place,’ the stranger referred to and pointed at the closet and layer of bedding.
‘Next you are going to walk down that hall. Do it slowly. And don’t run for the door or for anything else you see. This will be following you all the way,’ the man jolted the gun up and moved to the side – allowing Baker passage.
His walk began. Near impossible to think. Baker monitored each step he took like it was the first time he walked. This time, the front door did not offer him any of its temptation. Now it was an ordinary door to him and not a paradisiacal path to freedom. The sunlight had dimmed during his short period in the closet. He stopped at the doorway.
‘Open the door slowly. If it even looks like you’re escaping, I’ll kill you and drag what remains of you back in here and put your pieces in a bag.’
All right I get the picture, Baker thought.
The door solemnly swung open, warm air filled Baker’s nostrils.
‘Move a few feet away from the door.’
Baker performed this, giving the stranger room to exit.
‘Lock the door.’
Baker could not see the gun now but something pointedly poked out of the man’s thin jacket.
The suspended detective reached into his pocket for the keys. He had a pretty good idea which was the correct one to lock the door; the ecstasy of adrenaline replacing the hangover and boosting his memory. It worked, as the door would open no longer when the handle became an invalid lever. Both men heard the lock snap.
‘Get in the driver side,’ the man signalled with his free hand towards Baker’s own car. No other cars were in sight. When entering the vehicle the stranger mirrored Baker’s time of entry – both men sat down at the same time, giving Baker no time to reach into the glove compartment with Baker in the driver’s seat, the stranger in the front passenger seat.
‘I don’t want any surprises. You are still going to listen and follow. I will tell you where to go. If I tell you to go straight, you go straight. I tell you to turn right, you turn right. I tell you to go left, you go left. No surprises. Start moving.’
Baker couldn’t see the stranger’s eyes now, obscured by a pair of dark goggled wide aviator sunglasses. Seeing the street in the back mirror, it was still soulless. He hoped someone by chance had looked out a window and noticed them.
Baker felt everything was new to him. His hands cradled the wheel like it was his first time driving it. He looked both ways as he reversed when he only needed to watch over his left shoulder to get onto the road.
Where was this guy taking him and what is he going to do with him?
The life signs of the humming engine were all he knew. Wheels rolled over moving tarmac. The road continuously slid along under the car.
Chapter 17
Driving usually relaxed him, gave him time to cool off, help him forget about the day – this hypnotic oasis couldn’t assist Mark Baker today; a fully-loaded firearm being pointed at him wouldn’t exactly inspire R & R.
The traffic started to build, many people trying to get home. The stranger still hadn’t told Mark where they were going. He could see they were driving through Inglewood as out of the corner of his eye the red and white Forum climbed in the distance. But it was still left, right or straight ahead. Not able to remember how many rights or lefts he had taken.
Baker contemplated the straight roads, on what would be the best course of action to take. He couldn’t keep following the guy’s orders; their destination was unknown and more opportunities to evade cropped up. The options he had considered were crashing into another vehicle. Downsides to this venture were death or serious injury, it would be hard to judge who would be in the worst shape as both men wore seatbelts.
The other option was hope, driving a long straight road and put his foot down. Speed up, undo the gun pointer’s seatbelt and hit the brakes – SPLAT! The problem with this one was the traffic and the guy’s intelligence. Calmly sharp and he could instinctively, from the opposite seat, pull up the brake lever, bringing them to an abrupt unscheduled stop.
They were nice options to imagine and in Baker’s scenarios the bad guy never won. Regrettably they didn’t help his current tangible situation.
‘Slow down and turn left at this road,’ the stranger directed.
The light overhanging the intersection displayed red for the time being, so the car was motionless. Baker could see an opening. No car on his left, the lane was empty. A business sign rotated in slow pace the word ‘Liquor.’ He could make a run for it.
While under scrutiny he perilously put his hand on the door handle, creeping it around the body of the handle, Baker angled his body to hide his intent.
‘Move.’
A moment’s hesitation, time was not on Baker’s side. The light had turned green and the cars in front began to turn. The stranger looked at him more closely now. The eyes were blocked by the sunglasses but Baker could still feel t
heir see-through gaze. Then a car came into the once-free lane.
It took him time to bring the other hand back on the wheel. He turned the wheel in line with the entrance to the new road. His left hand put its grapplers back on the wheel. The new road offered little traffic resistance. The area alongside it revealed it to be a commercial district – many buildings happily displayed their friendly occupational purposes.
‘Take a right here,’ the stranger pointed to the building in reference. Baker signalled to turn, even though there was no one to read the signal.
‘Stop by that door.’
Baker did so.
The building was derelict, weather and poor maintenance caused it to age. Its outer layer once painted red, now had a shedding pink. Ivy stretched its strands over the outer walls and wooden boards filled the windows. From outside viewing, the building could have been a factory of some kind, with the enough spaces for employees to park outside.
‘The keys.’
Engine stopped, car keys changed owners.
‘Now get out slowly. Very slowly.’
Both men got out at the same speed they had entered the vehicle.
‘Take these,’ the stranger handed Baker a different key. The man continued. ‘Use that key to open that door there. It’s stiff so you’ll have to force it.’
A pair of white and orange steel doors faced Baker. The doors had been painted white, now the rust was having its way and the keyhole shared the same devouring fate. The doors grumbled and groaned at being rudely opened.
It was mildly lit inside by the sunlight coming through the seasoned doors, the little Baker could see showed him that the building’s interior adopted the same lifestyle to its exterior. A tiled floor that was uneven and cracked. The ceiling showed major signs of leakage, yellow clouds spread over the white plaster. In the ceiling corners hung lines of webs that catered for insect eaters. Some tangled wiring overhung their loosened components.
‘Kneel,’ commanded the stranger.
Baker felt his knees unlock, letting his body fall. His knees contacted the ground, shooting sharp pains through him. He paid little attention to the neurological messages. The joints could have smashed to pieces on the landing for all he cared. All that was left was the gun being pointed at his head.
‘Did you kill her?’ Baker asked.
All that came after was a flash light bursting from behind him, creating a short shadow in front of Mark. Then hard metal was placed over his wrists, hands confined to the back.
He wondered what the point was of restricting him if his captor was going to shoot him from behind?
‘Get up and start walking down there. Don’t bother to run. I’ll get a shot off before you can take a second step,’ the stranger pushed the kneeling Baker forward – giving him a suggestive shove.
He was forcing him to walk through the dark corridor that led to somewhere, but where? Baker had been in environments like this before. In his patrol days he sometimes had to chase fleeing suspects into places like this. It gave them plenty of places to hide and you didn’t know if they were armed, where they were, didn’t know if you had gone past them and had your back to them.
His footsteps echoed down the corridor, the tiles on floors and walls rebounded his sounds. The light behind him only projected a few feet in front of him. It didn’t seem like a powerful source of light, Baker guessed it was one of those low price torches that were displayed on a gas station service counter.
It began to get damper as he went further in, the air was moist and his walking had to be carefully timed. Where did this dampness come from? Finally, in front of him, Baker hoping they signalled the end to his dark journey – another set of doors.
‘Push through,’ the man with the torch said.
Baker with his hands bound put all his weight into his shoulder to push through the doors. The next room made it all clear to him. A magnitude of non-see-through water nestled in front of him.
It was an abandoned fitness centre and this, its pool. Though it wasn’t swimmable now, its dark colouring made it seem to have an abyss depth. A fabric covered hand was placed on the back of Baker’s neck, exerting high pressure, telling him to kneel down again. At first he thought the hand had gone through the back of his neck, crushing the spinal cord. With no voice, his mouth had strenuously gaped open in response to the grip of the man’s hand. After coming out of his interim frozen shock, with bound hands, Baker kneeled down heavily.
‘Did you kill her?’ Baker asked again.
No form of communication by the other party. Words then came out, not following Baker’s question.
‘I’m not going to kill you. I have just brought you here to ask you some questions. You answer them truthfully then we’ll have no problems. All I want is the truth.’
Baker let the words sink in. Whoever this guy was, one thing was for sure – precision. He only caught glances of him though. Held himself straight, never eased from his reserved posture and knew how to give concise orders and chose his words. Infatuated with strength, from the sharp drilling pain he had been given from just a squeeze of the guy’s hand. No deviation from his movements, restriction of face-to-face contact, mirroring Baker’s flow, watching each step and only taking the amount the detective took.
‘I won’t kill you. Like I said before I could have shot you back at the house. You have my word that no harm will come to you as long as you are truthful,’ he went to Baker’s side and showed him a key in his hand.
‘This key releases the restraints. I’ll give it to you when we are done,’ then he retreated back behind Baker.
Baker considered his options. He had little choice, the guy’s offering freedom for information – seemed like a good deal to him.
‘Okay, what do you want?’
‘First tell me what you were doing at that house?’
‘Well, I guess I was investigating a suspect.’
‘David Lewelyn?’
‘Yeah,’ Baker was taken aback but then saw the logic, the guy must know about Lewelyn because what other reason could explain his presence at the house?
‘Is he still in custody?’
‘No, he’s no longer a suspect.’
‘If he’s no longer a suspect then why were you in his house?’
‘Because I don’t trust him – the guy’s a fraud.’
‘Okay, then do you have any other suspects?’
‘Wouldn’t know, not on the case anymore.’
‘Explain.’
‘I got suspended hence the no badge or gun in my pockets. It’s in the papers if you want the full details.’
Silently Baker waited for the next question, but nothing came for a time, all he could hear were drops of water slapping the floor.
‘Why was this Lewelyn a suspect?’
‘He was the girl’s boss and he was last person to see her on Friday night.’
‘Then why was he released?’
‘His DNA didn’t match the sample found at the scene.’
‘A sample?’
‘Yeah, saliva was found on the girl’s body.’
Again more silence but this time Baker thought he could hearing a heavy intake of breath.
‘Who else is working the case?’
Baker considered his answer here. Should he reveal Tom’s involvement? This guy would find out eventually; Freedom of Information. He knew about Lewelyn, so why bother lying? He gave the stranger his partner’s name.
‘What is he like?’
‘He’s a self-centred prick.’
‘Why?’ the stranger let some curiosity slip through.
‘Won’t do what’s best for everyone. Doesn’t follow the crowd. Most of command doesn’t like him. Tells them to their faces he doesn’t believe in bullshit departmental politics. Makes you work pointless overtime. Sometimes I’ve been finish
ing work at midnight waiting for some forensic results that would have been there for us in the morning. When I try to make basic conversation with him he ignores me most of the time. He’s either on the computer or reading something in the murder book. Every time I offer to make him coffee he says he’s fine and forgets I’m there. So goddamn serious, never met anybody like him.’
‘Where does he live?’ the stranger asked.
Baker raised an eyebrow to his forehead. He gave him the address.
‘Okay, I’ve heard enough. Here,’ a ping of metal surfaced next to Baker. ‘I’m a man of my word.’ The stranger had dropped the key in front of Baker. He was touched with relief. His body relaxed and the eyes were stiff and dehydrated from the lack of blinking. Baker had concentrated intensely on the questions as if he was back in high school, wanting to be able to give the right answers before anyone else.
He was about to twist his body to reach for it, when a peculiar sound entered his ears. Scraping and scratching filled the room. A great weight was being pushed across the floor and leaving deep trailed marks on the tiles. The terrorising unknown source treaded towards Baker.
What is it? was the question he asked himself.
He could see an object coming to his side, its shape circular, the exact weight was imperceptible but it was clear the stranger couldn’t lift it off the ground. It came to the edge of the pool and gone. Baker saw a chain which followed it downwards.
Suddenly a monstrous tug seized the metal over his wrists; the chain was attached to them!
The stranger must have done this when they were conversing. Then the surface disappeared, the light above slowly materialised. He found himself in a depth of darkness. The water shouted its confusion with the new arrival. A clang of metal sounded, signalling to Baker that it has reached the limit of descent.
Baker’s ears popped. He could feel the deep pressure of the water crushing on him. His panicked state caused him to ingest water, bringing pain to his lungs. It was permanent darkness; even if the key had followed him it could be anywhere down here – not able to see his own despairing arms swinging above him.
