The Caretakers (2011)

by Adrian Chamberlin

  “What sort of job?”

  “There’ll be no violence involved, I promise you. I want you to find an individual for me.” He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a 6 x 4 colour photo. “The address is on the back. Perhaps a break there will do you some good. Where is it Jennifer’s mother lives exactly?”

  “St Neots,” Andy replied, taking the photo.

  “Ah yes, St Neots. Cambridgeshire, I believe.” Pearce smiled.

  Andy frowned. He saw the reason for Pearce’s smile when he finally read the name and address on the back of the photo.

  “You’re joking.”

  “You see now why I thought of you for this, Andy. You know the city very well.”

  “That was a long time ago, Pearce.” He flipped the photo over and scrutinised the face. “What do you want this guy for, anyway? Has he fucked you over in some way?”

  “Not at all. He went missing a year ago. Completely out of character, by all accounts. His parents are not happy with the police investigations, and have approached me to find him. With Christmas in a few days’ time, it would be a lovely present for them to know their beloved son is safe and well.”

  “A year’s a long time. How do you know he’s still there - or even still alive?”

  “Let’s just say I’m acting on information received from a reliable source.”

  Pearce’s voice wavered slightly. Andy pondered this.

  “Don’t suppose you can tell me who this ‘source’ is? And how much are you charging the parents?”

  “That is not your concern, Andy.” There was a flash of anger in Pearce’s eyes, and Andy knew he’d hit a nerve. Perhaps this source was something that even Pearce was scared of. He mentally filed it away, just in case the situation turned nasty.

  “I’m doing his parents a favour,” Pearce continued. “I’m doing you a favour also. Cambridge is not far from St Neots. Perhaps you could pop over there during your investigations, talk to Jennifer…”

  Andy sighed. Just like before, when they were both nearing the end of their sentences, Pearce was pushing the right buttons. Money, to solve his financial problems. Fresh location, an area where his reputation would be if not unknown, at least forgotten. And, of course, Jen.

  He’d immediately considered going to St Neots, knowing that Jen wouldn’t be receptive to phone calls or emails. Only a face-to-face meeting would give him answers and the hope of winning her back. Now the decision had been made for him.

  “When was the last time you went to Cambridge, Andy?” Pearce watched him shrewdly, noted his discomfort at the mention of the city. The memories it had stirred.

  The city Andy thought he’d settle down in, the degree he thought he’d finish…and of course, the night it had all ended. His sudden, forced departure from Cambridge.

  “You know the answer to that, Pearce.” Fifteen years ago. Never been back.

  “It’s still a lovely city. There’s a particularly fine hotel I can recommend, a wonderful view of the Backs - ‘

  “No,” Andy said. “No hotels. I know someone who can put me up for a while. Old college friend.”

  “Well, that’s up to you, of course,” Pearce shrugged. “But please - be discreet.”

  Andy nodded slowly, miles away. Pearce looked at his watch.

  “Goodness me, is that the time?” He pulled out a business card and handed it over. Andy pocketed it without even looking at it, not concerned with the name and identity of whatever front Pearce was now using for his activities.

  “Please keep me updated on your progress. There are two very worried parents I have to consider. It may be an idea to leave this morning. The sooner you get started the better. And of course, you can’t leave Jennifer for too long…”

  No, I guess I can’t.

  “One other thing. Look under the tree, Andy. I think she’s left you a present.”

  As the door closed behind Pearce, Andy looked around the front room of the house. Didcot burglars wouldn’t be interested in his books, the TV and DVD were too cheap to be bothered with…and Jen would’ve taken all the stuff that mattered to her. She’d left all her DVDs, but the laptop - her laptop - had gone.

  He sighed as he crouched under the Christmas tree. Only one gift there - he’d been so busy working extra shifts to make ends meet he hadn’t had time to get Jen a present.

  He frowned as he retrieved the parcel. It wasn’t Jen’s usual taste in wrapping; the tissue paper was green rather than the expensive foil wrap she normally wrapped his birthday and Christmas gifts in. He smiled faintly as he read the message on the tag.

  Merry XXXmas, darling. Enjoy! Jennie.

  Odd. Wasn’t that the same message she wrote on the tag last year? And she normally signed off with Pixie Jennie…

  The parcel was circular and felt heavy. The tell-tale noise of popping bubble wrap filled his ears as his fingers tightened on the present. Tears welled in his eyes.

  He couldn’t bear to open it. They always opened their gifts together, and he was determined this year would be no exception. He placed it on the sofa and went upstairs.

  He remembered how her impish face would light up with glee at the opening of his gifts to her. Remembered previous Christmases when she would run downstairs in her nightie, her bobbed hair a complete red shock of uncombed chestnut. Giggling like an over-excited schoolgirl as she opened the final window on the advent calendar and popped the chocolate into Andy’s mouth. Then her tongue; then rolling on the floor in passionate abandon, the Christmas presents forgotten.

  He shuddered as he passed the open hatch that led to the loft. How could I have been so bloody stupid?

  He stripped off and headed for the shower. And to lose control again! Christ, the things she’s had to put up with…

  As the hot jets warmed and soothed his strained muscles he thought back to the incident in The Porterhouse.

  Barging through the door. The taps on one of the basins were on full, gushing water that overflowed and pooled onto the tiled floor. Handbags were scattered, their contents emptied on the floor. There was a line of three cubicles at the opposite end. Two were open, the swing doors swaying. The middle one was closed, the red engaged sign on. It was from this one that the screams were emanating.

  Andy ran forwards, kicked upwards, saw the thin chipboard around the catch crack and fall away as the door swung inwards. The girl twisted her head around and saw Andy. Her eyes were filled with agony, terror and humiliation.

  Andy snarled as he lathered body wash over his bruised shoulders. Two memories there. The one opened the locked doorway to the other…

  She was in her early twenties. Andy recognised her from earlier on in the evening, a stunning brunette who had politely rebuffed all offers from the drunken blokes on the dance floor. Out of their league, and they knew it, but that had obviously not stopped one of them refusing to take no for an answer.

  She was pressed against the end wall of the cubicle, her skirt hitched above her thighs, her torn underwear pushed below her knees. The man holding her had his left hand to her throat, beginning to throttle her. His right hand held the knife tightly, point pressed below her ear. His trousers were around his ankles but not even the sound of splintering wood or the thud of the cubicle door crashing into his naked backside distracted him from his victim.

  KELLY! A voice within Andy screamed, fifteen years ago….

  Andy stood motionless under the shower water. His body tensed again, and this time the hot jets of the shower did nothing to relax him.

  Andy grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head back sharply while simultaneously reaching for the knife hand. His fingers clenched around the tendons in the man’s wrist. He applied pressure, digging deeply. A loud screech followed, the knife dropped and Andy was pulling the rapist from his victim and out of the cubicle.

  Andy’s unnaturally green eyes narrowed, stared into the would-be rapist’s eyes with a new sense of revulsion. He took his hand away from the man’s scalp, grabbed him by t
he shirt collar and pulled him up to his own height. The man’s feet dangled a full four inches above the tiled floor. The collar of the shirt began to tear.

  Andy drew his head back and snapped forwards with devastating accuracy and force. The rapist’s nose exploded and Andy felt hot gushing blood coursing down his no-longer white shirt. He didn’t even wince in pain as teeth pierced the skin of his forehead. But he smiled at the sound of those teeth cracking and splintering.

  The rapist fell to the tiled floor in a crumpled heap but there was no sign of pain or fear in his eyes. There was instead a challenge, aggression. Andy had noted the wide-open stare, the dilated pupils and had drawn his own conclusions. Cocaine and blades, smuggled into the club…someone on the door had been more than fucking sloppy - they’d been paid. Questions would be asked, and someone would have to answer.

  But that could wait.

  He shaved quickly, ignoring the burning, rage-filled green eyes that glared back at him accusingly.

  The rapist got to his feet, a broken-toothed snarl on his blood-drenched face. He tried to step backwards into the cubicle, to get to the knife, but he forgot that his trousers were still around his ankles. He fell backwards and Andy stood motionless. Mentally judged the distance between the man’s chest and his foot.

  His leg shot out, steel toecaps meeting soft flesh and bone. Andy heard a sharp, satisfying crack and saw that the fractured ribs had pierced a lung because his victim was now spewing blood onto the floor. Now he was in pain, and the coke was no longer an anaesthetic. He writhed on the floor, clutching his chest and howling.

  Andy stepped forwards. He was not even exerting himself. Sweat had yet to break out on his body, he was not even breathing heavily. That would come. He hadn’t started yet.

  The genie broke free. History was repeated and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Like the stampeding horses of his dreams, crushing and pummelling defenceless flesh beneath their hooves, he was an unstoppable force of nature.

  More cracking. More thudding of soft, battered flesh. He saw nothing else, focussed on nothing but the human kick bag in front of him and the work left to do. He wasn’t aware of the girl screaming at him, begging him to stop. Wasn’t aware of the sounds of approaching footsteps until the policeman’s hand was on his shoulder…

  He dried off and changed into a pair of jeans and black sweatshirt, comfortable enough travelling wear. Then he began to pack.

  After the clothes and toiletries, he remembered the item in the attic that had freaked Jen out. Might be an idea to pack that as well. Pearce had said the job would not involve violence, but Andy was doubtful. Nothing Pearce said was to be trusted. If things got complicated, he might be glad he’d brought it along.

  After packing the holdall with Pearce’s “favour” and Jen’s present to him he made a phone call to National Rail Enquiries to check times for trains to Cambridge. Surprisingly, the heavy snowfall hadn’t affected the lines.

  He checked his watch. Half past four in the morning. It was too early to call Rob Benson. Hell, half eleven in the morning would be too early to call him. That old boy did like his sleep, had done since his college days.

  He’d call later, when he was in Cambridge. No sense disturbing him now.

  He thought about getting a taxi, then decided against it. Didcot Parkway wasn’t far from here. A walk in the night air would do him good: keep him cold, alert and awake. Would keep the nightmares away.

  With his holdall slung over his shoulder, he closed the door and locked it. Through the heavy canvas, the cold steel of Pearce’s possession pressed hard into his shoulder as he walked. He ignored the pain and shouldered his burden.

  He never looked back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rob Benson knew he was going to have a very bad day. The text message from Andy Hughes proved that.

  The Nokia’s alarm rang at seven am, as it did every morning. And every morning, this one included, he picked it up and threw it on the floor That would be Jasper’s signal to jump from the foot of the bed, run over and pick the mobile phone up. Run back, jump onto the bed and drop it on his new and somewhat reluctant master’s pillow, dripping with doggy saliva. The combination of flob and tail thumping violently on his legs was usually better than any snooze button. Last night, however, on top of the booze Rob Benson had overindulged on some seriously potent dope and had every intention of remaining dead to the world.

  Nasty shit, he thought to himself as he rolled over and buried his head in the pillow. Don’t want dreams like that again…

  He shuddered as he turned over. It had to be the skunk. Where Dan and Emma had got it God only knew. All he knew was that he wouldn’t be touching that shit again. Dreams like last night’s he could do without.

  The Nokia was next to his right ear. Jasper prodded it with his nose, pushing it further inwards. The Nokia vibrated with the incoming text. On its lowest setting, it still felt like a pneumatic drill digging into his head.

  “Jesus,” he croaked as he dragged himself up from the pillow. Jasper sat on his chest expectantly, tongue lolling.

  Jasper wasn’t a true Border Collie. He was half the size and in Rob’s opinion had half the intelligence. There were traces of Alsatian in him, in the strangely thickened forepaws and legs, and the matted, speckled black and white fur of a Springer spaniel. His ears were slightly too large, looking very similar to Gizmo the Mogwai’s ears in Gremlins, except that the left ear was permanently drooped, always at half-mast. 57.

  But one with bags of character. Even Rob, who’d never owned a pet before in his life, had to admit that when Geoff had brought Jasper to the house.

  And now Geoff was gone and ownership had passed to Rob. He scratched the top of the dog’s head. A bond had formed over the last twelve months. Both looked to each other to fill the hole Geoff Michaels had left.

  “Morning, Toto. Got me back to Kansas, did you? Good boy.” He picked up the phone and looked at the display. He frowned. It wasn’t a number he recognised. He read the message.

  ROB. COMING UP TO C U 2DAY. SORRY 4 SHORT NOTICE. ANDY.

  “Andy? Andy who…oh, bollocks!” He fell back into the pillow, head over his arm.

  Never go on Facebook when you’re pissed. How often had he been told that? Bad enough leaving messages and comments for friends who suddenly weren’t your friends next morning. But to go hunting for people who should have been forgotten, inviting them to be friends…

  Andy Hughes. Fuck, what message did he leave for him? Something along the lines of don’t come anywhere near me or my mates in Cambridge you psychotic bastard? Or perhaps Andy, mate, ain’t see you in donkey’s years, how are you? Come up and see me, we’ll have a coupla drinks and a catch up.

  The latter would’ve been worse, Rob decided. It was like inviting a vampire to cross your threshold.

  Jasper barked once. Toilet time.

  “All right, boy.”

  * * * * *

  The cold hit him like a slap in the face. Jasper ran off, oblivious to the temperature, more concerned with going to the bushes and relieving himself. The snow turned yellow before melting.

  In the shelter of the kitchen doorway, in just his T-shirt and boxers, Rob lit a cigarette and thought back to Andy’s message. Cigarette smoke drifted lazily in the cold breeze, barely distinguishable from his breath misting. He hadn’t responded yet. He didn’t know what he was going to say.

  Andy Hughes had not set foot in Cambridge since 1994, just before he was kicked out of college and imprisoned. Rob shivered at the memory. And the cold.

  He shook his thumping head. There had been more snowfall last night, another inch adding to the nasty white shit that was already there. Despite the rising sun the temperature was dropping.

  Those roads are gonna be bloody treacherous, he thought as he sucked harder on the Mayfair. The combination of that and a severe hangover…it was not going to be a pleasant day. He thought about phoning in sick but decided against it.

  On
e of the disadvantages of being allowed to take the delivery van home with you was that the firm would still need the vehicle if the driver wasn’t coming in. So they’d send round two workers to pick it up, while checking on his physical condition at the same time. He’d been caught out that way on quite a few occasions, phoning in sick with a monumental hangover only to have a knock on the door half hour later and two stern faces - one of them usually being the junior sales rep and professional kiss-arse Terry Harrison-staring at him suspiciously. He’d handed over the keys while trying not to breathe too much alcohol their way, resisting the temptation to smack the smug face of Terry Harrison. Any more time off would be deducted from his wages, and that he couldn’t afford. With Geoff gone and no other income coming in he was struggling to meet the mortgage payments as best he could.

  Besides, he wanted to stay awake, no matter how painful it was. When he closed his eyes he could see the thing from his dream. Wickedly sharp tusks emerging from a gaping maw that dripped black blood. Glistening black pools of darkness for eyes that grew dull, opaque, as life slipped from its huge porcine body. Black bristles as sharp as sandpaper on his skin as he touched it, feeling for signs of life.

  He remembered feeling relieved that it wasn’t a human being he had run over. That the body which had bounced off the bonnet and spun into the snow-coated oak trees wasn’t a person.

  Running as the beast came alive. Hiding in the back of the van, closing the doors behind him and sitting in the darkness, huddled in terror as the wild boar crashed into the bodywork. Sharp, ear-splitting squeals as its tusks scraped the metal…a cry of terror from his throat as the beast’s tusk pulled the door open and allowed silver moonlight to illuminate its terrifying, dead face. Screaming as it jumped into the cargo hold…

  That encounter with the head chef at All Souls on his delivery yesterday had shaken him more than he realised. I’ve got boar on the brain, he thought with a faint smile.

  Jasper bounded back into the kitchen, shaking himself. Melted snow flew in all directions and Rob grimaced. Jasper sat down panting, his black and white speckled face split apart by a huge grin. Rob couldn’t remember a time when the dog hadn’t been smiling. Everything was an amusement to this animal, as if the world and all that passed through it had been created solely for Jasper’s amusement.