Fear Has Long Fingers

by Jeanette Taylor Ford

  “He’s not Gloria’s father then?”

  “Oh no, I don’t know oo that is. Some bloke, one o’ my customers. It were a shock, like, when I found out I was ’avin’ a kid, like, but I ’ad her an’ now I love ’er.”

  Paul held up the bottle of champagne. “Oh look, it’s empty. Would you like something else?”

  “Wouldn’t mind.”

  “I’ll see what’s in the fridge. Paul hopped off the bed and a few moments later came back with a bottle of vodka and a bottle of lime cordial. “Vodka and lime?”

  “Oo yeah, just the ticket.”

  He poured her a large glass, giving her a double measure of vodka. She took it eagerly and downed half of it right away.

  “My word, tha’s good.” She was looking sleepy. He drank his own drink, which was only diluted lime cordial.

  “Come ’ere,” she said, and he came over with his drink. She put her hand to his chest and stroked him. “Mm, I love a hairy chest on a man, so much more manly than a smooth un.”

  He allowed her to stroke him, keeping himself in check, which was difficult because it was having an effect on him. He kept reminding himself of what she was and what she might give him if he allowed it to go too far.

  “Drink up, love,” he said and she drained her glass.

  “Another one?” She nodded. He hopped off the bed and poured her another double which she downed quickly. He’d never known a woman to drink like she did.

  “Come on, let’s get you into the bed.”

  She giggled again as he undid the robe and slipped it from her and closing his eyes he lifted the duvet to let her slip under it. He went around the other side and shrugged off his shirt, shoes and trousers and climbed in beside her. She was already nearly asleep and she snuggled closer to him. He put his arm around her. It took only a short time for her to fall into a deep sleep so he detached himself and got out of the bed, and, putting his clothes back on, made himself as comfortable as he could in the armchair and dozed off.

  He awoke as the first weak sunlight of dawn crept into the room. He rubbed his neck, trying to relief the pain from his stiff neck from his head being at an awkward angle. He stretched and looked at the still sleeping Ruby. She didn’t look drunk, just peacefully asleep and appeared much younger and vulnerable with her face in repose and half her makeup gone. His heart softened towards her. Yet again, he wondered why he’d had to keep her all night. From their conversation the previous night he understood that she was a broken woman. Abused by her husband and misused by men even before him she’d become an alcoholic. She hadn’t actually said that, but only an alcoholic would prostitute herself for a few drinks night after night. He thought about the unknown daughter, Gloria, and wondered what sort of life the girl had with a mother like Ruby. He sincerely hoped she wouldn’t follow in her mother’s footsteps, for her mother was a deeply damaged individual.

  Quietly, he tidied himself in the bathroom, cleaned his teeth and put his bag, which was packed and ready, by the door. Then he sat down at the small table and scribbled a note on the notepaper provided by the hotel, and left a handful of notes with it. He walked over to the woman, still deep in sleep. He gently stroked a few hairs that had fallen across her face away with his finger, noticing the grey roots for the first time in the dawn light, and kissed her cheek. She stirred, and he stood back, holding his breath, not moving until she settled down again. Heaving a quiet sigh of relief, he picked up his bag and crept out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

  *****

  An hour later, well on the way towards Monmouth, Paul listened to the news on the radio. They’d been talking about a kidnapped girl, Anita Brown, missing from Hereford. She was thirteen years old and had been walking her dog when she’d disappeared. Paul had a light-bulb moment – could it be that The Boss was after young girls and had used him to secure one? He knew the man had been behind kidnappings before. This poor Anita had already been taken – had Gloria also been snatched while he’d been getting her mother drunk in a hotel room? Was The Boss stretching his fingers further afield from London?

  “Gloria! Oh, my goodness, surely not? Oh, please, God, don’t let Gloria be taken. It would kill poor Ruby!”

  Paul was under no illusions about the man and knew that he did all kinds of unsavoury things, including selling children for prostitution. Paul had his faults, he was a womaniser and a compulsive gambler, but he wasn’t cruel. It pulled at his heart to think he’d been used to get at another innocent kid. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry.” He hoped with all his heart that he was wrong, but deep down, he knew he wasn’t. It posed a dilemma for him; should he go back to Hereford and tell the police? Maybe he could stop it happening. But no, it would have already happened, that’s why he’d had to keep Ruby all night. It would take him an hour to get back there and another hour and the rest to get back to where he was supposed to meet his contact for the next set of instructions. In the end, his self-preservation won and he drove on, through Monmouth and found the minor road to Cwmcarvon. There, he came upon the deserted house that he’d been instructed to find. A man he didn’t know waited in a car for him. He parked up the drive and got out. The man handed him an envelope.

  “Your tickets and instructions. We’ll swap cars, because yours was a hired car and I’m to take it back. You take the car I’ve come in. Wait until I’ve driven away and give me a few minutes, in case there’s anyone around. You’re to get a plane at Luton airport. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  While he waited the few minutes the other guy had asked for, Paul opened the envelope. Inside was a plane ticket in the name of Jeremy Smith, destination, Rio. He smiled, returned the ticket to the envelope and put it on the passenger seat beside him. He turned the key to start the engine. Immediately, there was a big explosion and the car was enveloped in flames.

  Chapter 22

  “Have you heard the latest, Sir?” DS Grant greeted DI Dan Cooke as he entered the police station for work one late February morning.

  “Give a man a chance to come in, why don’t you?” Dan grumbled.

  “Sorry. It’s just that it’s been a bit quiet for us lately so I’ve been gossiping.”

  “Oh yes? Who with?”

  He pressed a button on his desk phone. “Get Johnson to bring me a coffee, will you please, Bert? Thanks.”

  “So, enlighten me.”

  “It seems we have a new crop of pushers on our streets. Dave Wilkins from Narcotics told me. Not local. They can’t seem to pin them down. Slippery as eels, Dave says.”

  “Oh crikey, that’s all we need,” groaned Dan. He looked up as the door opened and the young constable came in with a mug. “Ah, thanks very much. You know, often I think our beloved little Hereford is like a little London. We have everything here that they have, except for bombers. Thank goodness we’ve had none of them.”

  “Don’t speak too soon, Gov,” warned Grant.

  “Oh, don’t say that! Anyway, we can’t do anything about it, it’s not our province. Has there been any information on our missing girl?”

  “No, Sir.”

  The phone rang Dan picked it up. “Cooke. Oh no! We’ll be there right away. Give me the address.”

  He scribbled on a piece of paper, put the phone down.

  “Another missing girl. We’ll take my car.”

  Friar Street wasn’t far. Dan groaned. “Oh no, I know who lives here.”

  The blue door was flaking and pealing; the window frames not much better. At their knock, the door was opened by a woman who, in spite of her high heeled shoes, tight skirt and red lipstick, looked as though she had definitely seen better days – a lot of days.

  “Oh, it’s you.” She went back into the house, leaving the door open for them to follow her into a small room that held a brown settee and another chair, neither of which looked too clean. At the window hung a grubby net curtain that looked as though it should be consigned to a bin. The brown curtains hung on a rail that had come off the wall
one end, so one curtain drooped lower than the other.

  “Hello Wiggy, nice to see you.”

  “Well, I wish I wasn’t seeing you. But I suppose I need you,” she sighed, sinking into the lone armchair and lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. The two men sat gingerly on the edge of the settee and waited while she inhaled and blew out the smoke.

  “So, Gloria has gone missing?”

  “Yeah. I were out last night, on – erm, business and when I got ’ome, she’d gone. Trust ’er ter go missin’, she always got my breakfast, see?”

  Dan did see. While Hereford’s most famous ‘lady of the night,’ Ruby Wigington, always known as Wiggy, was out working, her young daughter could be up to all sorts. However, Dan knew the girl, had watched her grow up and knew that actually, she was not a bad kid. Surprisingly, she was quite clever and doing well at school. She was bookish, not prone to being a good time girl and she did her best to look after her wayward mother, who was often not capable.

  “Are you sure she’s not with a friend?”

  “Nah, she don’t ‘ave none really.”

  “Can I see her room?”

  “Yeah.” Wiggy led the way up stairs covered by a threadbare carpet of indeterminate colour a opened a door and stood back. Grant’s eyes widened. This room was a complete contrast to the one downstairs. It was painted white and had hand-drawn pictures of flowers on the walls. Piles of books sat neatly on a chest of drawers. The bed, however, was in disarray. Although the bedding was clean, the pillows had a dent where the girl had obviously been lying and the duvet in its pink cover was on the floor as if it had been dragged from the bed. A teddy bear and a toy rabbit were askew as if they had been knocked around. A book lay on the floor, open, some of its pages bent in contact with the floor.

  “She done it ’erself,” said Wiggy, proudly. “She bought a tin of paint wiv ’er pocket money and drew the flowers. Whoever her father was, ’e must ’ave bin arty, ’cos she don’t get it from me. She gets ’er beauty from me.”

  Grant’s eyebrows went up even further and Dan nudged him.

  “Obviously, she was in or on the bed. Is anything missing? Clothes? Have you checked?”

  “Of course I ’ave. It’s all there, nuffing’s gone. ’Ave a look.”

  Pulling on some latex gloves, Grant opened the small wardrobe which seemed to have no spaces. He opened the drawers, two of which were full of jumpers and underwear. The top one had a hairbrush and dryer on one side, on the other side was an artist’s pad, pencils and water-colour pencils. He shut the last drawer.

  “It certainly doesn’t look like anything is missing, Gov.”

  Dan noticed a chair with a black pair of trousers, a white shirt and a navy school jumper

  “Them’s wot she was wearin’ yesterday. Look!”

  She pointed to a single pink slipper, which looked as though it had fallen off and landed on its side down beside the chest of drawers. Certainly, there had been violence in this room.

  “What could she be wearing?” asked Dan.

  “’Er’s wearing ’er night fings, o’corse. Pyjamas aren’t there, nor ’er dressing gown. She liked sitting up ’ere in ’er pjs and gown, it’s pink and fluffy. I gave it ’er fer Christmas. She’s bin taken, I tell yer.”

  “Let’s go back down. Did you notice if your front or back door has been forced?”

  “The b***** back door was wide open, letting all the cold in. B***** house is cold enuf, without leaving a b***** door open.”

  “Show us.”

  Dan expected the kitchen to be as filthy as the living room but surprisingly it was pretty clean and the only things in the sink were what Wiggy had probably used that morning. Obviously, Gloria made sure the kitchen was kept like her bedroom. Examining the door, Dan said to Grant, ‘Get forensics over here, will you, Grant? Don’t go outside until the team has done their stuff. And get a liason officer over here. Come on, Ruby, let’s sit down.”

  He gently led her back to the scruffy living room and sat down again.

  “Now, Ruby. Firstly, do you have a photo of Gloria that we can use?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She got up, went out and came back a few moments later with a framed photo which she handed to Dan.

  “Thank you. When did you last see Gloria?”

  “Last night, afore I went out, about eight.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Well, she ’ad already put ’er pjs and dressing gown on. She loved that dressing gown. I gave it to ’er fer Christmas, yer know?”

  “Yes, you told me that already,” Dan said, gently. “So, she was already in her night things. What do you think she’d have done after you went out?”

  “Well, she’d watch a bit o’ telly if there was something on she likes. Then she goes ter bed at about nine or ten an’ reads for a bit. She loves readin’, not like me. I don’t read much. She were a good girl. I didn’t mean to ’ave ’er, she was an accident, like, but I love ’er, she’s all I’ve got. Please find ’er, Mr. Cooke.”

  She cried then. In all the years Dan had known Wiggy, he’d never seen her cry. He handed her his clean white handkerchief and she held it to her eyes. He held her hand and she gripped it. “I know I don’t deserve ’er, Mr Cooke, but I love ’er. She’s a good girl. Someone awful has taken ’er, I know it.”

  “I’ll do my very best, Ruby. You know me well enough to know that.”

  “Oh, I do, Mr Cooke. I trust you! I know you can find ’er. I just ’ope they don’ ’urt ’er.”

  ‘So do I,’ thought Dan, grimly. “Someone will come and sit with you for a while, Ruby. I’m sorry I can’t stay but you know I need to get onto this.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know that.” She blew her nose and held the handkerchief out to him.

  “You keep it,” Dan said, hoping his inward shudder didn’t show. The doorbell rang and he heard Grant opening the door.

  “Ah, here’s WPC Angela Griffin. She’ll look after you now.”

  “The team is here too, Sir,” said Grant.

  “Good. Let’s leave them to it. Can you take this photo and get some copies made. Find DC Coombs and PC Johnson and bring them back to help with a door to door. I’m going to stay here so I can look around the garden after the team have finished. Take my car.”

  “Righto.”

  Dan watched Grant drive off in his car and thought about Gloria. She was only fourteen, a very quiet and nice girl, in spite of her upbringing. Now, they had two missing girls of similar age. He sighed heavily. He had a bad feeling about it, and felt this might just be the beginning.

  Chapter 23

  “Right. Anything from the house to house?”

  The team were back in the incident room. Enlarged photographs of the two missing girls were on a board with their names, Anita Brown and Gloria Wiggington.

  “Well Sir, the lady who lives next door, a Mrs White, said she heard some strange noises and a car at about two forty five last night. She looked out of her bedroom window but only saw its back lights disappearing.” Detective Constable Collins said, reading from her notes.

  “Not much there then, only helps to pin-point the time of the kidnap.” DI Cooke frowned. “They must have been watching and knew Ruby’s habits. The other girl, Anita, was snatched as she was walking her dog. She’d been seen at The Oval by a woman who knew her, a Mrs Hutchins, who spoke to her. After that, she disappeared off the face of the earth but the dog found its way home, trailing its lead. Mrs Hutchins seems to have been the last person to have seen her. As for Gloria, the back door was broken open – it wasn’t in a very good state so it wouldn’t have been hard and there were scuffed footprints leading to and from it in the garden. The girl was brought around the side of the house, probably carried and possibly drugged, into a waiting car. After that, there are apparently no witnesses, apart from the neighbour, Mrs White.”

  A knock on the door interrupted Dan’s narration. “Yes?”

  A WPC came in and handed Dan a piece of paper. �
��Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Leominster police have just called in to say a young boy has gone missing this morning. They thought you’d want to know, Sir.”

  “Oh no! A boy, you say? How old and how did it happen?”

  “They say he’s a young-looking fourteen year old, name of Adam Monk. His mother says he left for school and didn’t arrive.”

  “Boys truant.”

  “Not this one, sir. By all accounts, he’s a good boy, studious, and has never missed school.”

  “We’ll have to liaise with Leominster on this one. I’ll inform the Chief then we’ll go over, Grant, Coombs, be ready.”

  Detective Chief Inspector Richard Griffin groaned when he heard Dan’s report.

  “We have to get to the bottom of this, we can’t have kids going missing wholesale. The press will have a field day.”

  “We’re working on it, sir, we have a few ideas. But now we need to get over to Leominster.”

  “Off you go then, let me know how you get on.”

  They went in Grant’s car. Dan only vaguely noted the beauty of Dinmoor Hill and Queen’s Wood as he sat, deep in thought, in the passenger seat. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at Leominster station. They were greeted by Inspector Ralf Turner, who ushered them into his office.

  “They are combing Leominster right now. The boy in question left his house at the usual time, about quarter to eight. He attends the Westfields school and has quite a distance to walk, so he sets out early.”

  “On his own? Doesn’t he have any friends to walk with?”“Usually he does, but his friend, who lives in the same road, um…Steven Appleby, is off school with flu, has been off school for over a week.”

  “He had to walk all that way and no-one saw him? I find that hard to believe.” Dan started pacing.

  “As I said, a big hunt has started for him. All our officers are out, talking to people and many citizens have answered the call to form search parties. We’re doing all we can.”