‘So,’ he said.
One question she must ask, however much she feared the answer.
‘What … what are you going to do with me?’
‘Wait and see.’
‘If you let me go, I won’t tell people about this,’ she whispered. ‘Not a word, not to anyone. I can keep a secret, nobody knows that better than you. This can be … just between us.’
He glared as if she were out of her mind. ‘You don’t understand. It’s the story of your fucking life.’
‘I know, I’m stupid.’ Desperation was making her talk. If she kept the conversation going, he might relent. ‘Tell me, help me to understand.’
‘You’re in the punishment cell.’
‘The punishment cell?’ She looked around. ‘Are we underneath your cottage? Why would you want to punish me, Robbie?’
He groaned, as if the question was obtuse. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
Despite knowing she mustn’t provoke his temper, her own anger welled up. ‘Hurt me? How do you think I feel right now?’
‘Don’t make it any worse for yourself. You can’t escape. I can do anything I want down here. I could have fucked you all night, and you couldn’t have done a fucking thing to stop me.’
‘But you didn’t,’ she breathed.
‘No.’ He spat out the word, and for all her helplessness, she felt a surge of relief. ‘I’ll only hurt you if I need to. But you have to obey the rules.’
‘The rules?’
‘If you don’t … that’s what this punishment cell is for.’
‘But I haven’t broken any rules.’ She squinted at him through aching eyes. He seemed distracted, as if keeping a woman against her will in an underground prison wasn’t the most urgent problem on his mind. ‘What’s this all about? Nobody’s going to pay a ransom for me.’
‘Same old Joanna.’ There were dark rings under his eyes, and his haggard features had aged ten years in twenty-four hours, but an odd touch of triumph sounded in his voice. ‘Got it all wrong as usual.’
‘Why am I wrong?’
‘It’s not money that I care about.’ He sucked the foetid air into his lungs. ‘Remember Carrie? She came back to be with me.’
Joanna was locked up and alone again. Robbie had left her without another word, and when she heard the key turn in the padlock on the door, she wondered if he meant her to starve to death. He was mad, must be. Carrie North had been dead and gone for twenty-odd years. He was living in an insane world of his own, and for some unfathomable reason, he’d taken her prisoner.
As she drifted off to sleep, in her head she heard again the raucous chatter from that smoke-filled car, as it hurtled through the darkened countryside. Robbie, reeling out one dirty joke after another, while he kept one hand on the wheel and another up Carrie’s skirt. Joanna hardly listened. They’d all had a lot to drink, and she was content to snuggle up to Nigel, while his hands explored inside her satin top.
Was it the car crashing or the rattle of the padlock that woke her? She’d no idea how many hours had passed. Time didn’t exist in this stinking hell. Opening her eyes, she saw Robbie Dean framed in the doorway.
‘You need to drink some water. And to eat. Not too much, mind, otherwise you’ll spew it out.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was faint and scratchy. He was a monster, but she mustn’t enrage him, not while he had her at his mercy.
‘Come into the living room if you want. But you have to promise to behave.’
‘The … living room?’
‘Yeah, it’s where we spend most of the time. This place …’ – he indicated their surroundings – ‘like I said, it’s the punishment cell. For Carrie, if she breaks the rules.’
‘I don’t understand.’
He made an exasperated noise. ‘You never understand, do you, Joanna? Listen, are you going to behave yourself? Do as I say, or you’ll regret it.’
‘Yes, yes.’ She was whimpering. ‘Please. I’ll behave.’
‘Five minutes.’
He shut the door with a bang, and once again she heard him lock her in. Shivering, she pulled the duvet back over her skinny frame. Absurd as it was, she counted the seconds, to see if he was lying, but before she’d got to six minutes, he started unlocking the door. As he stepped inside the room, she saw that one of his hands held a short length of knotted cord, the other clutched a Stanley knife. Unable to help herself, she gave a yelp of alarm.
‘Shut it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘There’s something for you next door. Will you be good?’ She nodded, too scared to speak.
‘You’d better be. All right, keep still. I won’t cut you unless you force me to.’
When he took a step toward her, she flinched, but managed to keep her mouth shut. Holding the knotted end of the cord, he fitted it into a loop in the leather wrist bracelet. She felt him pull it tight before unfastening the ankle chain, and when he jerked her forward, she didn’t resist. He gave a grunt of satisfaction, and ridiculously, she felt something close to joy. Perhaps he was telling the truth, and he didn’t mean to hurt her, provided she did as she was told.
He shepherded her through the steel door, and she blinked at the unexpected brightness. They were at one end of a long, broad passageway. Recessed ceiling lights shone on smartly painted cream walls, and a brown carpet. This was so different from the punishment cell; they might have strayed into the corridor of a three star hotel. Except that two doors on the left hand side of the passageway had large, imposing bolts as well as padlocks, and were made of steel.
Robbie’s limp seemed worse than it had when she’d called at the cottage – was it only yesterday? He shuffled along like a weary, haggard pensioner. Joanna’s eyes adjusted, and she saw that further down the corridor was a bank of four small CCTV screens. The pictures were in black and white, and before she could make out what they showed, Robbie slid the bolt on the second steel door. Opening it, he yanked the cord tethering her.
‘Inside.’
Joanna’s eyes widened as she stumbled forward. She was in a large, well-heated room, furnished in a surreal pastiche of opulence. Colossal black leather sofa, plasma screen television, even a cocktail bar padded in matching black leather and two bar stools. The carpet was thick and cream-coloured, but not very clean. On top of the bar counter stood a jug of water and a tumbler, and there were four slices of buttered toast on a plain dinner plate. The two internal doors were made of steel and padlocked. Iron rings were screwed into each of the four walls, and linked to each of them was a long chain connected to something that looked like half of a pair of handcuffs.
He chained her leg to one of the rings, and then unfastened the cord from her wrist with the efficiency of long practice. She could walk, but not as far as the door. He motioned her to sit on one of the bar stools.
‘Comfier, huh?’ He forced a grin. ‘My very own Dungeon House.’
She felt dazed, as if he’d clubbed her on the head. For a moment she thought she was going to fall off the stool, but she managed to keep her balance. His boast did give her a glimmer of insight. Robbie had created a subterranean parody of the pampered lifestyle led by the Whiteleys.
He pointed to the food and drink on the counter. ‘Get summat inside you.’
‘Thank you.’ She ventured a timid smile, and nibbled a piece of toast. She’d read that captives who establish a bond with their kidnappers stand a better chance of survival. And one thing she did know, with sudden, blinding clarity, was that she very much wanted to survive. ‘Would you like to tell me … ?’
Putting a calloused forefinger to his lips, he said, ‘Don’t talk. Just eat.’
He hobbled over to the door. At eye level, he’d put an observation panel. It reminded her of those prison doors you saw in films and on television. A few seconds later, she was alone again. Nervous of being sick, she took little bites of toast, washing them down with gulps of water. Her stomach still hurt, but she kept the food down. That was better.
It was so warm that she felt drowsy, but she splashed a few drops of the precious water on to her face to help her keep awake. She needed to think, try to work out a way to escape. For all her weakness and confusion, her brain hadn’t quite stopped functioning. Frightened as she was, she told herself she must subdue her panic at being locked up in a confined space. Her life depended on it.
A loud noise broke through her thoughts. One of the internal doors behind her was opening. She craned her neck to see what was happening.
In the doorway, hands on slender hips, stood a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and vivid crimson lipstick. She wore a very short white dress with a low top revealing plenty of pale flesh. Carrie North had returned to life.
‘You do realise, don’t you?’ Les said. ‘This is the longest of long shots?’
‘We can leave it for today, if you want,’ Hannah said. They were back inside the car, watching the rain as it bludgeoned the windscreen. A poor day was turning into a vile evening, but she didn’t care. They’d asked Dean if the cottage had a cellar, and he’d said no. Why not mention the air raid shelter, if he had nothing to hide? Perhaps it no longer existed, perhaps he was just a miserable, uncommunicative sod, but instinct told her he was keeping a secret. She couldn’t help feeling excited; they might at last be getting somewhere. They’d left Daniel in the pub, finishing his chicken salad, and Les had offered to take a turn behind the wheel, ‘Or we can call Divisional HQ, and run it past the Brief for a quick decision.’
Les snorted with derision. Hannah’s new boss, appointed in a temporary capacity after the unmourned departure of his predecessor, was notoriously cautious. One of the Fed reps had nicknamed him the Brief, because he was as cautious as any lawyer. The Brief would wet himself if there was any prospect of a complaint about police harassment from a self-righteous Robbie Dean.
‘“This man committed his one and only crime almost a quarter of a century ago, and he paid a high price”.’ Les, an unexpectedly good mimic, captured the Brief’s gift for sounding more like defence counsel than a detective. ‘“He’s already allowed you to look round his home, without any hint of compulsion. Turn up again ninety minutes later, and you run the risk that he’ll slam the door in your face, and get on to m’learnt friends first thing tomorrow. And the last thing we want is litigation, isn’t it?”’
Hannah laughed. ‘Perish the thought.’
‘All right, let’s rattle Dean’s cage. Doesn’t matter if we spook him. Our last visit probably did the damage. This rain’s lashing down, and if we don’t get a move on, we’ll find ourselves marooned. Don’t know about you, but an overnight in Little Drigg isn’t on my bucket list.’
‘For all we know, Dean’s cellar flooded years ago. Or was bricked up.’
‘Fine. The minute he shows us the evidence, we’re out of there.’
‘Who are you?’ the young woman demanded.
‘My name’s Joanna Footit,’ she stammered. ‘And you …’
‘He calls me Carrie.’ Her voice shook with contempt. Her gaunt features reminded Joanna of Carrie North’s skinny chic, but despite her appearance, she sounded nothing like Carrie. She was better educated, for a start. ‘Really, I’m Lily. Lily Elstone.’
‘Oh my God! He’s tried to turn you into …’
‘Carrie North, yeah. A fucking dead bitch.’ Lily paused. ‘You knew her?’
‘Yes, yes. I was with her in Robbie’s car … when she died.’
‘Is that why he brought you here?’
‘I was tricked. I was sent a message pretending to be from … someone else. Then Robbie made me drink some horrible stuff …’
‘Chloral hydrate,’ Lily said. ‘Tastes like shit, huh? Trust me, I know.’
‘Three whole years you’ve been here?’ Joanna struggled to grasp the enormity of it. Robbie Dean, a kidnapper. A successful kidnapper, too. Everyone else believed Lily was dead. Down here, you might as well be. His elaborate precautions made escape impossible.
‘Yeah. Stinks like a pig sty, this place, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, you get used to anything in time. The first year is the worst, you’ll find.’
Her laugh was harsh, but Joanna told herself the girl didn’t mean to be unkind. ‘What happened?’
‘He knocked me off my bike, and next thing I know, I’m trussed up like a fucking chicken in some underground Alcatraz.’
Joanna breathed out. ‘What has he done to you?’
‘All sorts.’ Lily rolled up the left sleeve of her dress. A livid scar ran down her arm from elbow to wrist. ‘That’s for when I bit him.’ She lifted up her skirt, and pointed to a faded red mark below her thigh. ‘That was when I tried to get out of this shithole. There’s more, but I’d need to know you better.’
Her laughter was raw. Joanna didn’t know what to say. Gray’s daughter: it was too much to take in. At least he missed her, and thought about her all the time. Would anybody even notice her own disappearance? Might Nigel raise the alarm? Was it too much to hope that he’d suspect Robbie had taken her, and ride to the rescue?
‘Don’t worry,’ Lily said. ‘He won’t rape you. Probably won’t even try. He gave up with me ages ago. And, no offence, but I’m the one who looks like his long lost love.’
‘Gave up?’
‘Can’t manage it, can he?’ The crimson lips curved in a brutal smile. ‘But don’t make fun of him. I called him an old softy once. Big mistake.’
‘He tortured you.’ Horror after horror. How had this poor girl survived? She must be so strong.
‘Sort of.’ The smile vanished. ‘It’s not all one way traffic, though. He’s smart, but not that smart. Now and then, I get the better of him. Small victories, tiny really, but they keep me sane. More or less.’
‘Robbie’s the one who is mad.’
Lily gave the cocktail bar a withering look. ‘Yeah, I guess you might just have a point. Anyway, there are two of us now, and only one of him. Besides, he’s on the edge.’
‘The edge?’
‘Yeah, he’s changed this past day or two. Don’t ask me why. He seems knackered. And he’s getting careless.’
‘Really?’
‘Not so long ago, he wouldn’t have dreamt of letting me walk around without my chain. It’s like he’s losing heart. Any idea why he’s brought you here?’
‘No, no, I can’t imagine.’
Lily was trying to be strong, Joanna thought, but her thin arms were shaking. ‘I only hope, like, he’s not thinking of … doing something really rash.’
‘What do you mean?’ Joanna’s voice was scarcely audible. ‘Oh God, what can we do?’
‘We don’t have a choice,’ Lily said. ‘It’s kill or be killed.’
‘That’s Nigel Whiteley!’ Hannah said, as a black BMW shot out on to the main road ahead of them. ‘See the personalised number plate?’
‘Hard to see anything in this rain.’
‘Trust me, it’s him. That lane he came from is the back road to Ravenglass Knoll.’
‘You’d expect him to be staying at home. Waiting to hear more about Shona. And he’s had a fair bit to drink.’
‘Must be something special to bring him out in this weather.’
‘He’s driving like a man with a plane to catch. Hey, he’s turning left.’
‘To Drigg? Better put my foot down.’
‘Not in these conditions, please. We don’t want to end up skidding into a hedge.’
Les turned into the Drigg road with exaggerated care. No sign of the BMW. ‘He might be on his way to Seascale. Paying a call on Gray Elstone?’
‘No, it’s quicker to stay on the main road.’
‘You think he’s off to see Robbie Dean?’
‘His old pal, yes. They go back a long way.’ A phrase of Cheryl’s floated into her head. The two of them used to watch porn together. ‘He knows Dean better than anyone.’
Les groaned. ‘What d’you reckon? We’ve little or nothing to go on. If we march in, and find Nigel and Robbie are havin
g a cosy get-together to celebrate the good news about young Shona, we’ll both … shit!’
A white van heading from the direction of Drigg overtook a parked car on a bend just ahead of them. Speeding straight toward them. Les wrenched the steering wheel, and their car skidded across the road, but the van was too fast. At the moment of impact, Hannah glimpsed the name on the side. Deano Garden Services.
Time passed. To Joanna, it seemed an eternity before the observation panel in the door slid open. Looking up, she saw Robbie Dean peering at her from the passageway. He said nothing, and neither did she. She heard a sound – shuffling feet? – and the panel slid back into place.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, the steel door swung open. Joanna held her breath as the man stepped inside. The instant he crossed the threshold, Lily, standing on the far side of the door, brought down on his head the chain she held in both hands. The noise made as his skull broke was sickening. He screamed in agony, and fell on to his knees. Without hesitating, Lily smashed him again with the chain, right across the face, and then on the back of his head. His squeal made Joanna think of a dying pig. Blood spilt from his wounds, spattering on the wall, and staining the cream carpet on which he sprawled.
Joanna gasped in horror, and Lily froze before she could land another lethal blow with the chain. Their plan had been simple. They’d agreed it was foolproof. Attack Robbie, steal his keys, and find a way out.
Only one problem. The body wasn’t Robbie Dean’s.
‘Omigod!’ Lily shrieked. ‘Who is he?’
Robbie stepped in from the passageway, and ripped the chain out of her hands. Tottering, Lily caught her foot on the man’s arm, and tumbled to the floor, landing an inch or two away from the body. Rocking on his heels, Robbie watched her, and the dark, spreading pool on the carpet.
‘Saved me a job, huh?’ Mockery glinted in the deep-set eyes. ‘You killed lover boy.’
The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries) Page 25
