by Carla Kovach
The blanket took her there and landed in the garden. ‘There’s only one catch,’ the blanket said. ‘You have ten minutes. Use your time wisely. After that, I will depart and you will have to make a choice: go back to your reality or stay in the villa garden forever. You can never move forward, you can never leave. You can never dream, you can never come back.’
Luke spotted her emerging from the shrubbery at the end of the garden. Holding out a large glass of red wine, he waited for her to arrive at the table. She smiled and took the glass. She sipped the wine and leaned into Luke’s chest, waiting for him to embrace her and tell her everything was going to be okay. But though he coldly allowed her to lean against him, there was no warmth. She pulled away and swigged the rest of the wine. Why wasn’t he pleased to see her? Was it the new woman? Had she been brought here so that he could end their marriage?
She took the last gulp of wine and placed her empty glass on the table. Her body normally responded quickly to alcohol, but she felt nothing. Her stomach rumbled. Little dishes of tapas were spread out on the table. She reached down and grabbed a handful of croquetas de jamón and rammed them into her mouth. It had been such a long time since she’d enjoyed good food. If the wine wasn’t doing it, then maybe the food would. She chewed what was in her mouth, waiting to savour the ham and cheese, but there was nothing. She tuned to the side and spat the mulch onto the ground. ‘What’s going on, Luke?
He looked at her, no smile, no reaction, and no answer to her question.
‘Tell me why I’m here.’
‘Five minutes,’ said the blanket.
‘Why am I here?’ she asked.
Luke picked up a plate of fried chorizo and held it in her direction.
‘Say something.’ She grabbed the plate and smashed it on the slabs in front of her. He picked up the bottle of wine and proceeded to top her glass up.
‘Three minutes,’ the blanket called.
Luke, please.’ She placed a hand on his arm, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t pull her into an embrace, or stroke her hair with affection, as he’d always done.
‘One minute,’ the blanket cried. You can stay forever or come back with me, but you have to choose. If you stay, you can never leave.’
The world she had entered had no substance. What was a world without warmth, aroma, taste and love, devoid of everything to which humankind was so beholden? She stood and stepped back towards the blanket, staring at Luke as she got further away. The centre of his chest vanished, revealing nothing but the back of the garden fence. This world had no heart. Luke had no heart. He’d left her; he’d moved on. She was alone.
‘Ten seconds.’
She turned and ran back to the blanket, jumping onto it as she reached its edge. ‘I want to go back. Take me back now,’ she yelled as tears flooded her face.
The blanket soared immediately into the clouds. Blue became grey, warm became cold and safe became stormy. As she lay in the middle of the blanket, it dipped and rose in sharp bursts, threatening to throw her off.
* * *
‘You left him and passed your test. The test had no reward. There is no prize, no points, no certificate, just a sense of satisfaction that you chose me,’ Jeff said.
‘I didn’t choose. I had no choice,’ she yelled through the blanket covering her face. She struggled to move, as he’d rolled her tightly up in it.
With every bump down the stairs, the pain in her stomach and groin intensified. He was moving her, but to where? Was this the end? Was he going to release her, or release her to death?
‘Everyone has choices and everything comes to an end. You are at your end. They’re coming for me and I can’t let you go.’ All she could see was darkness. She inhaled the grey material that was threatening to suffocate her. ‘You’re not going to a better place, my little demon. You’re going where you deserve to go.’
‘Jeff? My Jeffrey? Did you get the photos?’ the old woman shouted as the main door burst open, releasing a gust of cold air through the barn. Deborah remained still, the musty blanket covering her head as she listened to the woman shuffling closer to her.
‘Go back, Mother.’
‘I need bread.’
‘You don’t need bread. You have two loaves.’
‘Help!’ Deborah called through the blanket’s fibres, hoping that her weak voice could be heard.
‘Is that my blanket?’ the old woman asked.
‘Shut up, Mother. I said leave me alone.’ He turned the frail woman around and pushed her towards the door.
‘Please help me,’ Deborah called, feeling suddenly light-headed. The pain in her groin burned through her body. Sweat began to pour from her brow as she fidgeted in the blanket, trying to find a way out. ‘Let me go, please!’ She felt a boot dig into her stomach. She coughed until she almost vomited.
‘I heard someone. Who’s that?’ the old woman asked. ‘Who’s in my blanket?’
‘I’ve had it with you, Mother. I can’t do this anymore,’ Jeff said.
The old woman began screaming, her voice hoarse and weak. She let out a final yelp as he dragged her away, out of the main door, towards the house. The voices got quieter until she could no longer hear them. She pushed her arm out of the top of the blanket that was rolled around her body and began to painfully wriggle out. There was no sound of the chain that had kept her prisoner for so many years. As she tried to stand, she stumbled forward, hitting her shoulder on the white van, the van that had brought her to her doom. She slumped over the bonnet, exhausted.
The dog began barking in the distance. She had to move quickly. He was coming back. She grabbed hold of one of the window wipers and dragged her weary body to a standing position. As she straightened her body, she felt a trickling down her legs. She looked down and noticed that drips of blood were following her every move. As the barn spun, she closed her eyes, trying to maintain her balance. She started to heave and her stomach contracted as nausea swept over her.
She swayed as she tried to focus. The world was like a stormy ship and she was battling a storm to stay upright. She stared down at the blanket.
‘I’m going home,’ she said, as she placed one foot in front of the other. She reached the door and pushed it open. Stepping out into what looked like a grey morning, she breathed in the damp air. Air had never smelled so clean after the staleness of urine, excrement, sweat and blood that had filled her life over the past few years. How many years, she couldn’t remember. With each step, pain burned from her groin, stabbing into her lower stomach and kidneys. She flinched as her head pounded to a sickening beat.
The dog barked again. She had to go. She wanted to be with her children, be there on Christmas day and watch them opening their presents. She staggered across the yard, away from the house. Maybe she could hide in the woodland out the back, stagger through the trees and wave for a motorist to stop.
Her cold feet soon became numb to the sharp stones and grit that dug in every time she took a step. She laughed as she staggered forward. She was going home – wherever home was. She was going to her mum and she was going to see her children. She didn’t know if her captor had told her the truth about Luke’s new woman, but it didn’t matter. She just wanted to see him again.
‘I’m going home,’ she repeated with every step.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’ She turned around and saw a needle full of clear fluid in his hand. He stabbed it into her arm and within minutes she was on the floor, seeing double.
Fifty-Two
Gina stared at her computer screen. Photos of Nicoleta Iliescu’s waxy face and body filled her screen. One eye was missing, but the freezing water had mostly preserved her features. The report stated that she had drowned, and the diatoms present confirmed that. Gina flinched and grabbed her coat.
‘O’Connor. What have we got? And make it brief,’ Gina said as she entered the incident room, where O’Connor, Wyre and Jacob were hard at work.
‘There are five farms left to investigate. None
of them have been matched to Jeffrey Wall. About the farms. Three of them produce asparagus. The closest one is run by a Mr and Mrs Wallis. They’ve had the farm for over twenty years, live there with their five teenage children. Second one belongs to a Trevor Tucker. Trevor is in his sixties and barely produces anything. He’s a sixth-generation farmer. No children and lives alone. Last one on the asparagus list is Julia Benson. Julia is in her seventies and the farm is no longer a working one and the land isn’t being farmed anymore. She lives alone and ran the farm for many years before retiring about fifteen years ago. The other two produce fruit. A couple in their twenties, Sophie and Will Stanton, run one. They have a little shop where they sell jams and chutneys et cetera. They’ve only been there about a year and have twin girls aged four. Finally, there’s a chap called Joseph Gittins. He’s in his fifties and the farm is still fully operational as he has staff. He’s never been married and lives alone. We cross-referenced the results from the vets and none of them are registered as owning a black dog.’
‘Great work.’ Gina picked up the list and gazed at the names. ‘Right, you and Driscoll can visit the Stanton’s, Mr Gittins and Mr Tucker. Wyre and I will head to see Mr and Mrs Wallis and Ms Benson. If you catch sight of a dog with black fur, call it in immediately. It might not be registered with a vet. We’re also looking for a white van, any suspicious activity and outbuildings. Keep your eyes and ears open at all times. Deborah’s life may depend on us doing a good job today.’
‘Yes, guv.’ Jacob nodded.
‘One more thing. Wall is dangerous – remember that. For those who weren’t there, whilst searching Wall’s flat, we found a photo driving licence belonging to a Nicoleta Iliescu. From this photo and the autopsy report detailing the cadaver’s age and the fact that she had a previously broken nose, we believe there is a high possibility that this woman is the body we discovered in the river just after Deborah’s disappearance. We need Wall in custody now. I want to know exactly what happened to Nicoleta and I want Deborah brought home safe.’
O’Connor stood and put his coat on. ‘Let’s go.’ Jacob grabbed his car keys off the desk and followed him out.
‘I’ve printed the addresses out for the Wallis and Benson farms. Where first?’ Wyre asked.
They weren’t looking for a couple. What could their suspect have to do with a couple? Unless he was residing in a part of their estate that was unused. Or maybe he rented a lockup or another type of storage unit from them. Their investigation into the farms hadn’t thrown up any storage rental activity but she also knew farming worked on tight margins and subsidies didn’t always cover their needs. Maybe they were renting out some space for a cash sum.
Then there was Julia Benson, a woman of mature years, living alone. Maybe Wall had befriended her and was using some sort of space on her land. Due to her age, her senses may not be quite as sharp as they could be. If that were the case, Wall might be able to falsely imprison a woman on her land. Perhaps she wasn’t very mobile, making parts of her estate impossible to check. Gina had noticed that O’Connor had found very little information on Ms Benson when he’d compiled the notes. She’d lived at the farm for over fifty years and had never married. There was barely anything about her on record. ‘We’ll start with Julia Benson.’
‘Good move,’ said Wyre. ‘Although, I’m wondering if the other two will find anything on their visits. Mr Gittins, man living alone in his fifties. Plenty of farmland. Possibly in cahoots with Wall.’
Gina felt her heart rate speed up as adrenalin pumped through her body. Today might be the day. She had to find Deborah. Reuniting this wife, daughter and mother to her family was all she wanted. Christmas was fast looming. If anyone deserved a good ending, it was the Jenkinses.
‘If we find her, things will never be the same again for the family,’ said Wyre. ‘How do you get over years of captivity and pick up where you left off? How as a husband do you fix things? How as children do you attempt to feel close to someone you can’t remember that well? How as a mother do you look at your child and not think about what she went through? How long does that take to subside?’ Wyre looked down and placed her hand on her forehead.
Gina placed her arm on the young woman’s shoulder. ‘I know we all put a face on when we deal with awful cases, but we’re human at the end of the day.’
Cold air blew through the door as Smith walked in. ‘I’ve left one of the team outside Wall’s flat. You know you’re using up all our PCs on sentry duty and tracking your perp? We have drunks in the cells that need processing and barely anyone to do the paperwork. I don’t know how long we can offer this level of support for, I mean, we can’t—’
Grabbing the address list, Gina did up her coat and brushed past Smith. ‘We’re on it now. I’m really sorry, but we’re all under-resourced. We have worked all night and now we are working all day. O’Connor has been called in early. It’s the way things are. I wish it wasn’t like this but I don’t know what to say. All I can say is that this man is dangerous and we need to find him. We need your support.’
Smith exhaled and stepped aside. ‘I know, it’s getting to us all. Lack of staff, lack of everything. We haven’t even got any bog roll in the men’s,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s bad when you have to bring your own bog roll in.’
Gina smiled. ‘I wish we had more, I really do, but, this is the way things are at the moment.’
‘Just go. We’ll back you up with everything we have. I’m heading down to the drunk tank to deal with the piss and vomit. Could be here all day and all night too at this rate. Go and find him and bring her home. We may gripe but we’re all rooting for Deborah’s safe return.’
‘Julia Benson’s it is then. Let’s go,’ Wyre said as they left the incident room.
Fifty-Three
They drove up the bumpy mud track, watching as the unkempt farmhouse in the distance got nearer. Ivy grew up the left side of the building, covering all the windows on that side of the house.
They pulled up at the gate. Wyre got out of the car and unlatched it before jumping back into the passenger seat. Magpies pecked at what looked like the carcass of a rat. The road narrowed. They’d have to walk the rest of the way. Gina pulled up on the grass verge and they both stepped out of the car. ‘There’s tyre tracks in the mud.’
‘Maybe Ms Benson has gone out,’ Wyre replied.
‘Maybe,’ Gina said, trying to avoid the rain-filled potholes. ‘She certainly wouldn’t walk out of here easily.’
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a message from Hannah, saying the memorial service was at ten the next morning at St John’s. She took a deep breath. The whole thing was a farce. Terry hadn’t even been religious, and in her mind, he wasn’t deserving of any form of remembrance. She ran her fingers through her knotty hair as she tried to reign in her unusually mixed emotions. Her hand got stuck in a tangle. ‘Get lost,’ she muttered, as she snatched her hand away from her head and ripped a few strands out.
Wyre stopped beside her. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing. Family problems.’ She’d said it. No more blaming the virus or brushing past it. ‘I’m going to a memorial service tomorrow for my ex-husband, Hannah’s father. Thing is, we had an awful relationship. I’m doing it for her, and if I’m honest, I’m absolutely dreading it.’
The young woman placed a hand on her arm. ‘Family is a funny thing. I don’t get on with my dad, he left us when we were still in nappies, but the other year, I had to attend his bloody wedding. Not only is he close on being a member of the EDL, he’s a sexist, racist and… What can I say, I just don’t like him and I resent the abuse he showered on my mother. Anyway, sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. I didn’t want to go to the wedding, but my fear of future regret was so great that I still did it. I suppose I hoped he’d changed. Am I glad I went? I have no idea.’
‘I had no idea about your dad.’ Gina smiled and they carried on avoiding the potholes as they neared the front door.
; Wyre knew that her father was an unsavoury character, but Hannah didn’t have a clue about her father’s shortcomings. The father Hannah had created in her mind was so different to the real person. He’d died when she was two. Gina had been twenty-five – such a long time ago, though it still haunted her everyday memories. One day she would share her past with her grown-up daughter. Maybe secrets were a bad thing. Though perhaps the circumstances around his death weren’t for sharing. After all, she still wasn’t sure what had happened. Did she help Terry down those stairs or was he going anyway? That uncertainty would stay with her forever.
The black paint on the front door was mostly chipped away, right down to the hard wood. Gina knocked and the flimsy door rattled in its frame. She gazed at the front window, trying to see beyond the dirty yellow netting. She spotted something that looked like a sideboard with a lamp on it. Gina walked around the corner and saw a two-storey barn in the distance. The woodland behind almost reached the back of the barn. As with the road, the approach to the barn was defined by trodden mud and wild shrubbery.
‘I wonder if she’s gone out,’ Wyre said.
Gina walked back to the front door. She rang the bell several times and followed it with a loud knock. ‘We’ll try again. If no one answers, we’ll go and take a quick look at that barn behind the house.’ Gina walked back over to the window and stared hard through the dirty netting. She could just about make out the back of a white-haired woman, a crocheted blanket draped over her shoulders. The wind picked up, blowing a gale around her ears. She shivered as she began tapping on the glass, hoping that the hunched woman in the chair would notice, but there was no response. She stared for a moment longer; there was no movement. ‘There’s someone there. Shout through the letter box.’
