by S J Mantle
Harriet reflected on this and realised that arresting Jack Peters and Steve Smith was paramount to poking a hornets’ nest.
Bad news came early the following morning in a call from the hospital. Overnight, Harriet’s father had suffered a significant rectal haemorrhage. He’d lost so much blood that a transfusion had been necessary.
“I feel I need to tell you that in the short term, the transfusion will have a positive effect on your father. But, it will only work for a while. In the meantime, however, he has rallied and is awake and sitting up in bed,” said the nurse.
Harriet and her mother made for the hospital. George had been moved to a bed on the main ward. He grinned as they entered. The whole time they were there, he did not speak but continued to smile through his overgrown beard. At one point, much to Jane’s obvious embarrassment, he blew his nose heartily on the bed sheet, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. Harriet had to stifle a giggle.
All too soon the time came for Harriet to head back to the incident room. She leaned forward and tenderly kissed her father on the forehead. As she made her way out, something made her turn to give him one last wave. To her utter delight, he smiled directly at her and put his hand to the side of his head in a salute.
Despite it being mid-August, it was raining hard. Her Protection Officer, Greg, threw her the car keys suggesting she run to the car whilst he went to the pay station. Head down against the pelting rain, Harriet made her way across the tarmac. She became aware of a heavily built lady wearing a grey raincoat approaching.
“Sorry to bother you, but you couldn’t change a five-pound note for me, could you? I’ve not got enough change for the machine,” she said.
“I’ll have a look.” As Harriet delved into her handbag, the woman lunged towards her and forced a cloth in her face.
Greg was not initially concerned, assuming Harriet was in the car in the dry. But when he reached the vehicle, he found there was no trace of her. He found the car keys in a puddle nearby along with her mobile phone.
The driver and passenger were still laughing about the ease with which they’d abducted their backseat passenger when Harriet came around. She felt groggy and it took her several minutes to fully come to. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but it was dark outside. She looked around her. There was a female driving and another in the front passenger seat. She found she couldn’t move, her hands and her feet had been tied with electrical cable and she was laid out on the back seat. She listened to the conversation taking place in the front of the car.
“What’s in the handbag?” asked the driver.
“Let’s see… a makeup bag, tissues, ooh a warrant card, a diary, a purse, nothing much of interest,” said the front passenger.
“Look in the diary,” said the driver.
“What am I looking for?” replied the passenger.
“Anything of interest.”
The passenger fell silent as she went through Harriet’s diary. It was soon discarded.
It wasn’t long before they turned off the main road and wound their way up a narrow driveway. Harriet could just make out that it was tree-lined. The car swung round and halted on a gravel area. With no idea where she was and undecided on her next move, Harriet pretended to be still under the influence of what she presumed had been chloroform.
It wasn’t long before she found herself being lifted from the vehicle and swung over a broad shoulder. Whoever the woman was, she was large framed and very strong. Harriet was carried up several flights of stairs. Eventually, they stopped at a door and entered a cold, musty smelling room. With her hands and feet still bound she was unceremoniously dumped on her back on a small single bed. The door closed, and Harriet was plunged into darkness. A key turned in the lock.
CHAPTER 26
Kate Squires was shown into a non-descript office. Grey metal window frames, grey walls and a grey carpet. There was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach, she bit her nails as she paced up and down. The door opened and a male in a suit entered.
“Kate?” She nodded.
“Well, I’ve been told by the Chief Constable that I must work with you, that you can be trusted. You will forgive me if I remain cautious for the time being. This is not the way we usually work. Indeed, I don’t profess to understand exactly what’s going on, but I trust the Chief. It appears that you’ve been brought in to try to avoid any internal leaks, so you will report directly to me. I’m Derek Wynn.”
“I understand. I too find myself in a position I wouldn’t have chosen, but I have been directed to work with you and to help you in whatever way I can. And I’m unable to decline to do so.”
“Seems we are stuck with each other then.” Derek looked at the young woman before him.
“What can you tell me about Jack Peters?” he asked.
“I’ve learnt that Jack Peters is supremely confident and thoroughly corrupt. His dishonesty is something he wears like a badge of honour. He uses people and does not care who gets hurt in the process. He’s a bully who derives personal pleasure from pushing others around. Jack Peters is a vain narcissist, a deeply immoral man.”
“You’re not a big fan then.” Derek was grinning despite himself.
Kate did not reply.
“Well, you are about to meet him in person. You will accompany Superintendent Nick Lacey and myself to his office. Please don’t say anything, your role is to observe and take notes of what is said, understood?”
“Yes. Do you want me to record the conversation word for word?”
“If you can, yes please.”
As they walked down a long corridor on the top floor of Police Headquarters, Kate could see a man at the far end. He was wearing uniform and sitting at his desk. In fact, he was lounging back in his black leather chair, hands behind his head. As they appeared in the doorway, the man grinned. Kate thought he looked absurdly smug.
“Good morning Nick, good morning Derek. Young lady, how can I help you this lovely morning?” he smirked.
“Can we come in for a minute, Sir?” asked Nick, as Derek closed the door to the office.
“Jack Peters, I’m arresting you for conspiring to assault Detective Sergeant Harriet Lacey, and for participation in the murder of Superintendent Alec Brown. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” said Derek.
Kate watched as the smile disappeared. Spots of perspiration appeared on Peters’ top lip. For a moment, he said nothing.
“Don’t be utterly ridiculous, I’m the Deputy Chief Constable. Have you any idea what you’ve just accused me of? It’s totally outrageous, ridiculous, you can get lost. I absolutely refuse to indulge your foolishness,” he bellowed.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but you will need to come with us,” said an uncharacteristically calm Nick Lacey.
“Read my lips. I am not going anywhere, now fuck off out of my office before I have you removed. You have no evidence and no idea who you are dealing with,” he said with menace.
“Oh, I think they do,” said Kate, unable to contain herself. Derek Wynn shot her a look.
“What?” raged Peters.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but you remain under arrest, now please come with us,” said Derek.
Remaining seated, Peters reached for his desk phone.
“Sir, can you spare a minute? There has been the most terrible misunderstanding.”
Kate watched as Mark Jones, the Chief Constable, emerged from his office opposite and made his way towards them. Jack Peters stood up. “Sir, this is outrageous, Wynn and Lacey are trying to arrest me for some trumped-up fantasy. It’s unacceptable, it’s contemptible, a disgrace.”
“Jack, I fully support Superintendent Lacey and Detective Inspector Wynn. Now I suggest you go quietly or I will ask one of the Police Support Units to come and drag you out. I believe the term is innocent until proven guilty so I suggest
you call your solicitor and get him or her working on your behalf. Now, get up and go quietly with these officers,” said the Chief firmly.
Jack Peters had no alternative but to do as the Chief Constable instructed, but Kate was sure that he was already planning his revenge.
Mark Jones and Kate were the last to exit the office. “Thank you, Kate, well done. Good to see you again.” She smiled back at him.
Kate had just finished writing up her notes when news broke of Harriet’s abduction.
CHAPTER 27
Harriet had no idea how long she had been left languishing in the cold, damp, dark room. Indeed, she had no idea whether it was day or night, for the small window behind her head had its shutters tightly closed.
Without warning, a woman entered. With limited visibility Harriet could just make out she was wearing black leather trousers and a grey woollen tunic. The woman moved closer until her face was next to Harriet’s, her warm breath caressed Harriet’s cheek.
“Good, you’re awake.”
Someone flicked the light switch and Harriet was able to take a proper look at the woman towering above her. Mid to late twenties, pretty, her long dark hair in a ponytail. Her make-up was subtle, except for her black painted nails. It was Nick’s girlfriend, the girl on the stairs. But it was when Harriet spotted a small viper tattoo on the inside of her left wrist that she knew exactly who she was.
“Hello, Cleo.” Harriet’s heart was racing.
“Well done, Harriet!” sneered Cleo. “I’m impressed.”
Harriet didn’t reply.
“Now let’s get one thing clear from the outset. I’m in charge and you’re not. That means I call the shots and you do as I say. Power is a funny thing, Harriet. I have it and you don’t. And believe me, if I choose, I can be your worst nightmare. So, let me establish the ground rules. I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer truthfully. If you don’t, then you will experience pain the like of which you’ve never endured before. By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be begging me to put you out of your misery, imploring me to finish you off.”
Harriet remained silent, wondering how she was going to survive this. It wasn’t long before she discovered just how much her silence had annoyed Cleo, who kicked her in the stomach and punched her face. Still tied up, Harriet could do nothing to avoid the blows.
Cleo’s mobile chirped into life and she left the room to answer it.
Unable to move and sore, Harriet resolved that no matter what, she would not beg. She was on her own, she knew that, but she would do her utmost to survive, even if her fate had already been sealed.
After a while, Cleo returned. Harriet’s feet were untied and she was placed on a chair.
“It’s quite simple, Harriet. I just need to know where you’ve put Troy Manning’s note book.”
“Troy who? Never heard of him.” For this she received another kick in the stomach and punch to the face.
“Troy Manning’s note book, where is it?”
Harriet remained silent.
Time and again Cleo tried, but, Harriet remained steadfast, claiming that she didn’t know what Cleo was talking about. The more she denied knowledge, the harder and more frequently she was hit, until eventually she lost consciousness.
Sometime later Harriet awoke. Her whole body hurt. She could feel her face was swollen, particularly her lip and her right eye. Her stomach felt like it had been run over by a very large truck.
There was to be no respite. Every two hours for two or three days, Harriet wasn’t sure exactly how long, Cleo would appear. Sometimes it was ice cold water thrown over her as she slept. Sometimes fists. Sometimes props were used to beat her. Between the assaults, Harriet explored her tiny sparsely furnished room, looking for a way out. Try as she might, she was unable to prise open the shuttered windows. The door was solid, the floorboards nailed down. It was hopeless. Exhausted, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Her situation was bleak for she was sure no-one knew where she was. It could only be a matter of time before Cleo lost it and killed her.
The next time Cleo appeared, she brought a companion with her: a huge python draped around her neck. She made a fuss of it, kissing and caressing the gigantic serpent. To Harriet, it was grotesque. It was as much as she could do not to be sick. It took every ounce of her remaining strength not to show her revulsion. In her terror, she began to perspire. She knew Cleo would be watching for any sign of weakness she could exploit. She prayed Cleo would not notice the beads of sweat forming on her top lip. So anxious was she that her breathing became shallow and she became dizzy. When she regained consciousness, the snake had gone. Cleo was standing over her observing her closely, before setting to work on her again. This time she abandoned the kicking and punching for a cigarette lighter. Still, Harriet held out.
“You really are the most stubborn fucking bitch I have ever encountered,” Cleo growled. “Just tell me where the diary is and this will all be over.” She was burning the flesh on Harriet’s forearm as she spoke. Harriet had reached her tipping point.
“Which bit of I don’t know what the bloody hell you are talking about don’t you understand? You stupid cow, are you thick or something?” she screamed.
Cleo stared back, mouth open, before she lunged forward and punched Harriet in the face.
“That was predictable, Cleo. You can do better than that,” taunted Harriet.
Cleo looked at her prey quizzically for a moment. Would she ever tire of the violence? wondered Harriet.
“You know, the death of your friend Professor Hudson was pointless. He really was a foolish man not to talk to me. I mean, it’s strange, you seem to evoke such emotion in men: some aspire to protect you, others to silence you. You must be very special, except, it would appear, to your husband. You know he’s quite the lover.”
Colouring, Harriet flung herself from her chair, striking Cleo with such force that she was knocked to the ground.
“You fucking bitch.”
Harriet landed heavily on the floorboards. It took her a few moments to get to her feet. Meanwhile Cleo had turned white and seemed to be struggling to breathe. Her face was etched with pain.
“What’s the matter, Cleo? Can’t take your own medicine?”
With no reply forthcoming, Harriet continued her rant.
“You know, I don’t get you. You are pretty, well educated, clearly intelligent, and yet you choose to do the bidding of others. Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it? You’re someone else’s bitch. You follow their orders. You pretend, but you’re not running the show; someone else is pulling your strings. Is it just that you are not up to it? Scared you’ll fail?” Harriet was expecting a blow to the head any minute, but it didn’t come.
Still looking pained and breathless, Cleo clambered to her feet.
“Harriet, Harriet, this isn’t personal you know. You’ve failed to include one very important fact. You have no option but to follow orders. I choose to, for now. You do know I’m going to kill you, don’t you? Usually I feel nothing towards my victims, it’s a job, but in a peculiar way, you remind me of myself.”
“Oh, my God, I can’t wait to hear your rationale for that!” said Harriet sarcastically.
“You may mock, but we’re really not that different. We’re both loners, we don’t seek close female friends, we’re self-assured, self-reliant and very good at what we do. We’re thorough, possess enquiring minds, are intelligent and have a clear sense of self-worth.”
“We do?”
“Yes, we do. We’re capable, strong, and we don’t suffer fools gladly. You know, in another life, we would be friends.”
“Cleo, I can assure you that would never happen. You’re missing one vital factor here, we sit on opposing ends of the moral compass.”
Cleo laughed loudly. “A minor detail.”
“But that’s just it, it’s not minor, it’s fundamental to everything we do. It’s what drives us. How do you do what you do? How do you jus
tify the pain and misery you leave in your wake?”
“I don’t, it’s a job.” And she left the room.
Harriet dropped to the floor and sobbed, for her father, for her marriage, for Poppy, for Andrew Hudson, and out of sheer exhaustion and pain.
Cleo did not visit for a day or two, but the cold and damp were miserable. By now Harriet was in desperate need of a shower. She kept herself busy drawing on the walls with a small pencil she’d found underneath the bed, concentrating on images that made her happy: birds, animals, friends and family. It helped to keep her mind off the pain and hunger. During this period a wisp of a girl in her late teens began to visit. She brought facial wipes, a deodorant, a change of clothes, a bottle of water and a sandwich. The girl didn’t say a word, just put the items on the bed. Despite her best efforts, Harriet could not persuade the girl to speak. She wasn’t very tall, of slight build painfully thin with greasy mousy shoulder length hair and delicate fragile-looking features. She never stayed more than a couple of minutes at a time. Most welcome of all was the blanket she left on her third visit.
During the long lonely hours, Harriet had plenty of time to reflect amongst the squalor and pain. Sitting on the floor in the dark she began to think about the day she’d been removed from Operation Eagle. She recalled she’d been entering and labelling paperwork from Troy Manning’s house. Then it started to come back to her, there’d been a smoke damaged orange exercise book containing number sequences.
