Edwards raised his hands. ‘Jane, please. It’s only a possibility. But it’s the best one we have at the moment.’
‘But why Grice?’
‘Grice has a small cell in his house —’ Edwards began.
‘And the bastard kept Viola locked in there,’ Norman interjected. ‘He reckons it would be the ideal place to keep Melanie, don’t you?’
Viola nodded. ‘I’m afraid it’s not a very nice place . . .’
Edwards shook his head. ‘Let’s not worry Mrs Oliver more than necessary, shall we? It is an outside chance, but we felt we should tell you . . .’
‘We have to get her now.’
Edwards had anticipated that Jane would want to come along and had prepared several reasons why it was not a good idea, but Jane’s peremptory tone signalled that she wasn’t about to listen to anything he had to say. He had grilled Viola about the layout of Grice’s house and though he had a deep-seated distrust of working with amateurs, he had to concede Viola’s point that he would be able to get them in without necessitating the use of a sledgehammer. Grice may be a twisted individual, but he hardly constituted a threat to professionals with their training and experience. And if Viola was coming, then there was hardly a case for attempting to dissuade Jane. ‘Fine. Then we should get going.’
Downstairs they piled into Gerard’s Mercedes, still minus the wing mirror. It was not a long journey to Lakeside and they drove in silence.
Jane, in the back seat with Viola, was extremely agitated, too choked with emotion to think coherently, desperate to find her daughter and fearful of what might have happened to her. It was like driving to the scene of an accident, she thought, when all you know is that there has been an accident but have no details of how bad the injuries are.
‘Next street on the left,’ Viola said quietly.
Jane sensed that, for his own reasons, he was almost as nervous as she was. She leaned over and touched his arm. ‘It’ll be okay,’ she said, knowing that it probably wouldn’t.
‘Absolutely.’ Norman too sounded less than convincing, but he twisted around in his seat and grinned at Viola.
‘I’ll just drive past first,’ Gerard said, glancing in the rear-view mirror at Jane, whose tension was palpable. ‘Warn us when the house is coming up, Viola.’
‘You can’t miss it, it’s the big one on the corner.’ Viola pointed to a large mock-Tudor house set back from the road and partially shielded from view by two large oaks. Between the trees a narrow gravel driveway ran up to the house, culminating in a turning circle in front of a set of steps leading up to the main door. There was no sign of Grice’s yellow Volvo and so, after a quick discussion, they opted for the direct approach. Gerard would knock on the door and if Grice was in, he would tell him that Viola wanted to talk with him. Then, when Grice came over to the car, Norman would restrain him while the others went inside to look for Melanie. They parked a couple of houses along from the entrance to Grice’s driveway.
‘What if he won’t come out?’ Jane asked.
‘Then I’ll drag him out,’ Gerard said quietly and turned to Norman. ‘You ready?’ Norman nodded, unclasped his seatbelt and reached for a small bag at his feet. ‘Okay, folks — showtime.’
The others watched as Gerard got out of the car, walked briskly back along the road and disappeared into the driveway. Almost immediately he reappeared and waved to them to come along.
‘So he’s not home?’ Jane asked anxiously as they joined him.
‘Doesn’t look like it. He’s certainly not answering the door.’ Gerard turned to Viola, who was standing back from the others, still nervous about setting foot on Grice’s property. ‘You certain you know where he keeps a spare key?’
Viola nodded but showed no sign of wanting to lead the way.
‘Come on then. The quicker we’re in the quicker we’re out.’
Gerard turned and set off up the drive again with Norman and Jane by his side. Viola followed reluctantly, a few paces behind. When they got to the house, Viola went to the side of the steps and pointed to a small clay pot containing a rather bedraggled miniature rose bush that looked as though it was fast turning into a bonsai through neglect rather than design.
‘Under there,’ Viola said, but made no attempt to retrieve it himself. Jane was becoming exasperated by his docility. She thought he looked paralysed by his fear of Grice and wondered just how useful he would have been had Grice been home. Thankfully that was not the case and, impatient to get inside, she brushed Viola aside and tilting the pot found the key.
‘Here,’ she said and held it out to Gerard. ‘Now, for God’s sake, let’s get on with it.’
But Gerard shook his head. ‘You keep the key because we’re going to need you to open the door. Viola says there’s an alarm on it, and if we don’t want some security firm turning up we have to disable it.’ He turned back to Viola. ‘Are you sure you don’t know the sequence?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Edwards, I never knew it. But the keypad is beside the letter-stand just inside the door. I remember Master Francis saying that he had a minute to put in the code before the alarm went off.’
‘We’ll have to work with that. Fortunately the meter box is on the side of the house. Norman, have you got the battery and the tools?’
‘Right here.’ He patted the small bag.
‘Okay then, this is how we play it. I’ll call out as I switch off the power, and Jane opens the door. Viola, as soon as you get in, you take Norman straight to the keypad. Jane, you stay by the door and as soon as Norman tells you he has the circuit connected to the battery, you call out to me and I’ll switch the mains back on again. Is that clear?’
It sounded to Jane as though they knew what they were doing so she nodded and went up the stairs with Norman and Viola. She slid the key into the lock and waited. Beside her Norman opened his bag and passed a twelve-volt battery to Viola.
‘Here, hold this and give it to me when I tell you.’ He fished in the bag again and took out a screwdriver, a pair of pliers and some lengths of wire, their ends already stripped.
‘Now!’ called Gerard.
Jane immediately turned the key, pushed the door open and followed Norman and Viola into the entrance hall where Viola pointed to a small cream-coloured box on the wall. ‘There.’
Jane watched anxiously as Norman, with ease that spoke of a lot more expertise than an honest citizen should possess, removed the face plate and deftly located and cut a set of wires. Using his own lengths of wire he quickly created a bypass and connected it to the twelve-volt battery. A small indicator light blinked red then turned green.
‘It’s done.’ He nodded at her and Jane went to the door and relayed the message to Gerard. A moment later he strode through the door.
‘No problems?’
Norman shook his head but kept his eye firmly on the green light. ‘Now close the door.’ The green indicator didn’t even flicker as the door clicked shut.
Gerard pulled Viola forward. ‘Your turn. Show us the way.’
Viola, looking less than enthusiastic, led them quickly through the house to the rear of the kitchen.
‘There are stairs down from the back of the pantry,’ he said, holding the door open. Not waiting for anyone, Jane pushed past into the pantry. It was a narrow rectangular area with well-stocked shelves on either side and another small door at the far end. She opened it and found herself on a platform with a set of metal steps leading down into the dark. A waft of stale, damp air greeted her as she stood still to let her eyes adjust.
‘Let me go first —’ Gerard began.
But Jane was having none of it. ‘She’s my daughter.’
Even though she had pulled the door open as wide as possible, the cellar below still looked pitch black. ‘Melanie? Mel, are you there?’ Her voice sounded hollow in the confined space. There was no sound.
‘I need light!’ she snapped at Viola. ‘Where the fuck is the switch?’
‘There’s no light down th
ere. But I can turn the pantry light on, that should help.’
Jane heard him move behind her but kept staring into the darkness. Then the pantry light came on and she had a clear view of the short flight of stairs and a shadow-filled room below. ‘For Christ’s sake! It’s empty.’ Her voice was choked with disappointment.
‘I’m sorry,’ Gerard said quietly. ‘But it was worth having a look.’
Jane realised she was fighting back the tears and knew that there was nothing she could do but give way to the grief. But then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘The cell is further on,’ Viola said and moving past her went quickly down the stairs. Jane held back the tears and followed him. She was struggling to keep her composure, fighting against the memories of movies where the basement always held a corpse. She’s alive, she repeated to herself, letting the words go round and round her head like a mantra.
At the foot of the stairs the room felt damp and strangely warm, and as they disturbed the still air Jane became aware of a slightly acrid odour emanating from somewhere close at hand. Then she heard it — a dull thump, as though someone was moving.
‘Melanie?’ Her voice now only a whisper. Behind her Norman clumped noisily down the stairs. ‘For Christ’s sake, keep quiet!’ She glared at him as he moved to stand beside her. ‘I thought I heard something.’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
Jane’s eyes were adjusting now to the dim light and in front of her she could just make out steel bars extending from the concrete floor up to the low ceiling. To one side of the cell were a couple of high-backed wooden chairs and against the side wall a wooden box seat.
‘She’s here,’ Viola whispered from in front of her. ‘In the cell.’
Jane moved up beside him, grabbed the bars and peered through. ‘Oh my God, Melanie.’ She let out a long sob and gripped Viola’s arm. ‘She’s there, in the corner. Why isn’t she moving?’
She fumbled her way along the bars until she located the gate. She pulled and pushed at it but it was firmly locked. Jane stepped back and threw all her weight against it. ‘Melanie!’ She knew she was acting irrationally, but could do nothing about it, some instinct driving her to get to her daughter at all cost. Jane felt her chest constrict. ‘Why doesn’t she answer me?’
‘She’s probably gagged. Stay here, I think I know where the key is.’ Viola turned and disappeared up the stairs.
Jane threw herself against the door again, then felt strong hands pulling her away. She struggled against them, lashing out, kicking and scratching.
‘Easy! Take it easy,’ Gerard barked. ‘You’ll hurt yourself.’ He eventually felt her relax as he held her firmly against him. ‘You can’t break it down, Jane. Wait for Viola.’
‘What if he can’t find the key?’
‘Then we’ll have to think of something else.’
Jane didn’t find that very reassuring. Unable to stop herself she slipped out of his grasp and pushed her face hard against the bars, repeating her daughter’s name. There was still no reply from the shadowy form in the corner.
Viola appeared at the top of the stairs, holding the key in his hand. ‘Got it,’ he said.
It took a couple of fumbles before he managed to insert the key into the lock, but then there was a click and the cell door swung open. Jane pushed him aside and ran to the small figure huddled against the rear wall of the cell. To Jane’s horror, Melanie was naked, curled in a foetal position. ‘Mummy’s here, Mummy’s here,’ Jane crooned softly and crouching beside her gently rolled her over, then screamed and sprang back. The face that looked up at her wasn’t human — large, inanimate eyes stared blank and unseeing from either side of a cruel beak; the entire head covered with dark feathers.
‘The bastards put her in a mask,’ Gerard said, kneeling down beside her. ‘It’s going to be okay, darling,’ he said quietly and lifting the girl’s head ran his fingers around the back of the mask, searching for the buckle. The girl suddenly came to life, writhing in his arms.
Jane, regaining her composure, squatted down and scooped her into her arms. ‘I’m here, Mel. We’ll soon have you out of here.’ But Melanie didn’t respond.
Jane clung to her daughter, shutting out the thoughts of what might have happened to her. The idea of Grice forcing her to undress was horrible enough. She couldn’t face the thought that he might have touched her . . . or worse. One thing was certain — Grice would pay for this. No matter how long it took, Jane knew that she would exact her revenge. ‘I love you, Mel,’ she whispered.
Gerard eased the strap free and as he slid the mask carefully over Melanie’s head, Jane helped her into a sitting position. ‘I’ll go and fetch a blanket from upstairs.’ Gerard stepped away, gesturing to Viola and Norman to move back into the basement and leave the two women alone.
For a moment Jane thought that Melanie didn’t recognise her but then the girl looked up, blinking and shaking her head. Then, as recognition came, she gave a half-hearted smile before burying her head in Jane’s breast and breaking into sobs of relief.
‘You’ll be fine, now, darling,’ Jane said, hoping it was true. God knew what she had been through and how such an ordeal would affect her. She stroked her hair over and over and after a time Melanie’s sobbing subsided, but still she didn’t let go of her mother. Jane could feel her shivering in her arms.
‘Here, give her this.’
Jane hadn’t noticed Gerard come back down the stairs. She took the glass of water from him and held it to her daughter’s lips. ‘Here, darling, drink this.’
To her relief, Melanie sat up and took the glass. Her hand trembled but, obviously thirsty, she gulped the water down. She passed the glass back and gratefully accepted the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders and sitting with it hugged over her knees.
‘I’m sorry, Mum —’
‘Shh dear, we’ll get you home now.’
‘I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. He told me you wanted him to bring me into town to your office.’ She looked at Jane, imploring her to understand.
Jane wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what had happened to her daughter, but knew her well enough to know that she needed to talk. ‘You’re safe now, that’s all that matters.’
‘He brought me down here and took my clothes away. I thought he was going to . . .’ Melanie’s lip quivered, she couldn’t bring herself to put it into words. The tears welled up in her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. ‘But he tied me up and just looked at me. Then I started screaming and tried to kick him and he said I had to be punished. He brought that bird mask down and put it on . . .’ She shook her head wildly as though trying to rid herself of the memory.
Jane felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘We have to get her out of here,’ Gerard said quietly. But as he did so there was a sharp metallic click and Jane suddenly sensed that something had gone wrong. She looked through the gloom to where the others waited in the basement. Norman was backed against the wall, while Viola crouched in the corner, his face a mask of terror. As Gerard moved out of the cell to join the others, she saw what they were all staring at. A glint of light flashed off the metal barrels of a sawn-off shotgun. Behind it, at the top of the stairs and silhouetted against the pantry light, was Francis Grice.
‘Nice try with the alarm,’ Grice sneered. ‘But the security company noticed the power outage and checked with the electricity company who told them that there had been no power cuts in the area for weeks. Fortunately they had the presence of mind to ring me.’
Norman made a move towards the bottom of the stairs but Gerard blocked him with his arm, pushing him back against the wall.
‘Glad you showed up. It’ll save the police looking for you. Kidnapping and molesting a fifteen year old is not something they look too kindly on.’ Gerard moved to the bottom of the stairs and held out his hand. ‘Now give me the gun.’
Grice rocked with laughter, but the shotgun didn’t waver an inch. ‘Police? Oh, you are funny. There w
on’t be any police, will there, Jane? Do you want to explain why or shall I?’
‘You’ll pay for this, Grice.’ Jane got to her feet and, gesturing to Melanie to stay where she was, went to the cell door. ‘By the time I’ve done with you, you’ll wish it had been the police.’
‘Oh, very brave!’ Grice chortled, his face wreathed with smiles. ‘I can hardly wait. Are you going to flog me?’
Peering through the gloom, he saw who else was in the basement and his demeanour changed. The smile vanished and his voice became steely cold. ‘Oh dear, the truant has returned. Viola, come out where I can see you.’
Jane watched in amazement as Viola obeyed. He rose and walked slowly forward, his head bowed, wringing his hands in front of him.
‘I’m afraid you have overstepped the line this time, Viola. And you know what that means . . .’
That was too much for Norman and he stepped forward and dragged Viola back. ‘Leave him alone, you bastard.’ But to Norman’s amazement, Viola shook himself free and stepped forward again.
‘I have to, Norman. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Norman, is it?’ Grice leered. ‘Have you been playing with my Viola?’
‘He doesn’t belong to anyone —’
‘Tell him, Viola,’ Grice ordered.
‘I belong to you, Master Francis,’ Viola said quietly, but there was nothing subservient about the tone, it was almost defiant.
Jane looked at Viola in disgust. ‘How could you?’
‘Because I say so,’ Grice said softly. ‘Now, Viola, I don’t want you hurt so come up and sit on the steps.’ Keeping the shotgun pointed into the basement, he bent over and patted the step below him. ‘Right here, so you can watch the fun and games. Then, when it’s all over, I am afraid I’m going to have to punish you. Understand?’
Delicate Indecencies Page 36
