Where Wolves Fear to Prey (Manor Park Thrillers Book 1)

by G H Mockford

  ‘Maybe they just didn’t know what to say,’ I said.

  ‘We moved house. It was hard on Charlie, but I just couldn’t live there anymore surrounded by all the memories. The crushed hopes and dreams.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  He jumped to his feet and roared. ‘I don’t want your pity, you bastard.’

  He began pacing, but when he started to talk again he seemed to calm down a little as if talking about it soothed his tortured soul. ‘Charlie looks like her mum. She was beautiful too. She’s named after her. My Charlotte and my Charlie. One was taken from me, and now you’ve taken the other.’

  Charlie? I racked my brain, but as hard as I tried I couldn’t think of a girl I’d taught with that name. It was always possible that at school she was called Charlotte like her mother. There was a Char in the drama club, and she was the only one I could think of.

  ‘I’ve always looked after her, always. I even left the army, the only thing I was ever any good at, so I could look after her properly.’

  Oh shit, I thought, that’s all I need. He’s probably ex-SAS or something, used to torturing terrorists and insurgents.

  ‘But I didn’t protect her from you,’ he continued, ‘an evil sicko that uses his position to lure and then rape young girls.’

  ‘I didn’t do it!’ I said, almost losing control. I wanted to shout it, scream it, but I didn’t want to upset him. He looked like he was hanging on the edge as it was.

  He sat back down. ‘You did do it; it says so in here.’ He waved the padlocked book in my direction. ‘Can you imagine what it’s like for me? For us? Charlie’s beautiful and far too grown up. She doesn’t have many friends, but some are boys. I’m constantly worried. I’d move to a nicer area, but I’ve been looking for a decent job for six years. I can do security work or be a doorman. Nothing that’ll give me the money I need to escape this shit-hole.’

  I sat and listened, but I couldn’t help wondering why he was telling me all this stuff. At least he wasn’t hurting me anymore.

  ‘Imagine, one day you’re emptying the bins,’ he continued. ‘You never go in your daughter’s room. Never empty her bin because you respect her privacy. She does it, emptying it into the kitchen bin when it’s full. But, when I take that bin bag out it splits, and a pregnancy test spills out onto the floor. A positive pregnancy test.’ He got up again and went behind me. My fear shot up, higher than ever before.

  ‘What was I to do? I couldn’t ask her, could I? I’ve had to be a mum for the last six years, but this needs a real mum.’ I thought I heard a crack in his voice. He paused for a moment maybe to get himself back together again. ‘So, I waited ‘til she was out at her friend’s, and I went into her room. It didn’t take long. She hid it under the mattress.’

  He came back around to face me and waved the book in my face. A diary, I realized. He stepped back and put it on the floor in front of me and walked upstairs. Where the hell was he going and why leave the diary behind?

  My questions were answered a minute or two later when he came back with an eight-inch carving knife.

  Five

  He stood before me and turned the knife around, so the blade was pointing down. I closed my eyes, but as soon as I did, he said in that whispery voice of his, ‘Open your eyes, coward.’

  If I was, it was only because I was innocent, and I didn’t want to get killed for something I hadn’t done. I slowly opened my eyes again.

  The kitchen knife gleamed for a moment in the light from the ceiling.

  It came rushing down.

  I flinched, closed my eyes, and gritted my teeth ready for the pain I expected to lance through my thigh, or wherever he was aiming. I heard a thunk. I opened my eyes and saw the knife was sticking up between my legs, the sharp edge pointing towards me.

  ‘Try anything, and you’re just a quick flick away from never having a woman again.’ He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out some plastic electrical ties. He put them on my right wrist, over the top of the gardening twine, and pulled them tight. Removing the knife from the chair seat, he slid it under the twine on my left arm and cut it free with one swift stroke.

  ‘What?’ I asked. Confused, I tried to lift my arm but it had gone to sleep, so I began to wiggle my fingers to get the circulation back.

  He bent down and picked up the diary. The key for the padlock was tied to the end of a tiny ribbon that acted as a bookmark. He unlocked the diary before throwing it at me, not hard, but it hit me under the right eye and landed in my lap.

  ‘Read it,’ he said, before going back to sit on the stairs, stabbing the knife point into the wood of the bottom step.

  I thought my eye was watering from where the book had struck me, but when I wiped it with my free hand, it came back smeared with blood.

  ‘A black eye at worst,’ he said, ‘at least it’ll go away. Charlie will never be able to get back what you took.’

  I nodded and then realized that he might take it as an admission of guilt. Luckily he was busy staring at the knife as he scraped it along the step, and so didn’t notice.

  ‘Read it then!’ he shouted. The suddenness of his outburst made me jump, and the diary slid off my lap. I bent down to pick it up, and that’s when I felt something dig into my left ribs.

  It was my mobile phone. If I could get rid of him, I could use it to call for help. I glanced across, paranoid and afraid he may have noticed too.

  ‘You ruined her life, so you damn well read about it,’ he said.

  I put the diary down on my leg and turned the first powder pink page and read:

  Dad, if you’re reading this I’m very disappointed.

  But, it’s OK.

  I know you never will.

  I can trust you with anything and everything.

  You are the most special man. I’ll always love you.

  I swallowed and glanced at him at the same moment he looked across at me. He quickly turned away, but I could swear there was a tear in his eye.

  ‘She’s had that book for a few years now, writing in it on and off. I’ve put the ribbon where you need to start,’ he said. He got up and began to walk up the stairs. Stopping half way, he looked at me, his face haunted and hollow. Then he finished his weary climb.

  I wanted to use my phone to call for help, but this time he’d left the door open and it was too risky to try.

  The pink cover of the diary drew my attention back to it. I re-read the beautiful words Charlie had written about her father - my captor. I had fumbled with the pages before I realized I could take the ribbon and use it to open the book on the correct page. There were doodles in the corners, just shapes and patterns. Maybe she had done it chatting on the phone like my older sister did when she was that age. I read:

  14th April

  They’re holding open auditions at drama club and guess what? They’re doing Romeo and Juliet! I’m going to audition, of course! Maybe I’ll meet my own Romeo or Leonardo. Dad always jokes that he’s amazed I’ve not worn out that DVD.

  I looked up from the page, remembering last year’s production. A group of teachers had got together to do it. I still couldn’t remember a Charlie, but we had teachers and children involved in art, ICT, technology, and music, as well as drama. I was helping out Miss Young from the Drama Department as she felt she needed someone from the English Department who had studied Shakespeare academically. At the time it all seemed a little odd, especially as Richard Rollins used to be in the English Department before moving to the drama team, but then he is a lecherous idiot, so maybe she just wanted some protection from him. That’s what I chose to believe anyway.

  I turned my attention back to the diary.

  I found it in a box of her stuff, and Dad told me it was her favourite. I nagged for months but he said it was a 12 film, and I had to wait til I was 12 before I could watch it. I remember the first time, it was on my birthday. I thought how romantic it was and imagined Mum and Dad falling in love so deeply just like that when they we
re younger. They were like that even though theyd been married for ten years. Dad would always be chasing her around the kitchen and spinning her round and kissing her. In a loving way, not a get a room way. Then they both died and I cried for hours not because of them but because of Mum. See Mum, I think about you every day. From now on every time I write in here I’ll write something about you so you’ll know I still think about you and love you. Anyway, Dad wouldn’t let me watch it for ages. Then I took it one day without him knowing and watched it with Cassie. It didn’t upset me that time and so I started to watch it to be close to Mum. I imagined she was watching it with me, that we were snuggled up on the sofa. Then Dad caught me, and just like I’d imagined Mum did, he sat with me. Reckon we’ve seen it over 100 times now..pwarrh Leonardo. Shame he’s an old man now lol He might be old, but he’s a good man just like my Dad.

  That marked the end of that day’s entry. I re-read the last part again. A good man. I hoped so – it meant I might have a chance of convincing him it wasn’t me.

  I heard a phone ring upstairs. He answered it and closed and locked the cellar door. Now was my chance. Putting the diary down on my lap, I opened my jacket and, by hooking my wrist, I reached in and got my Blackberry out. I quickly glanced up at the top of the stairs to make sure the coast was clear. I’d programmed my phone to turn off over night, so I pressed the power button. The familiar O2 bubbles appeared, but it seemed to take a lifetime for the phone to turn on.

  I flicked my eyes to the top of the stairs again.

  It was still clear.

  The red LED was flashing, but luckily the phone didn’t make any tones. I slipped the screen up and saw a clock for the first time in…nine hours! It was just past six in the morning. Shivering again, I tapped the screen, and a list of four messages came up. They were all from Sarah.

  I looked up at the door. If he caught me, there was no telling what he might do. I quickly read them. The first one was a simple: ‘1 cider redy and w8ng. It better b wrth it. I jst gt molested gtng it’ It said 9.52 in the corner. The next: ‘Where r u?’ at 10:04. ‘R u ok?’ at 10.24 and lastly, ‘Thx for nothing. U better hav a gd excuse wen I C U Monday or u’ll end up in the ICU!’ 11:37.

  I had just enough time to work out what ICU meant, when I heard the key slide into the lock. I typed in four letters on the qwerty keypad, my fingers suddenly slick with sweat. The door opened, and the boots appeared as I pressed the enter key and sent the message.

  Six

  The room was almost completely dark, but that was exactly the way Sarah liked it. As a child, her friends all seemed to be afraid of the thing she loved, but she couldn't sleep if any light leaked its way into the room. The windows were covered in thick, purple velvet curtains that were fully lined. Behind them was a roller blind, which she had made herself so that it filled the window.

  Something had woken her, but she wasn’t sure what. She wasn’t afraid. Sarah knew she was completely safe in her apartment. She had made sure of that before she had moved in. It was important to her. Maybe nothing woke me, she thought, maybe it was just the worry of all the things I have to do, but never seem to have the time to finish, not properly, anyway. She had always slept well, despite her extreme requirement, but since she had become a fully fledged teacher, almost two months ago, that had all stopped. Sarah rolled over in her large, empty bed feeling the clean, smooth Egyptian cotton sheets.

  She'd heard everyone. She knew what they all thought of her. Being called Smart Alec didn’t offend her; in fact she was quite proud of that particular nickname. It was nice that people noticed she was clever as well as good looking. What did hurt was that people thought she had a rich boyfriend or even a sugar daddy. She was stunned that in the twenty-first century there were still people who couldn’t accept a thirty-three-year-old woman could have her own money and independence. If they only knew where it came from, she thought.

  She slipped onto her back before she reached out her hand and pressed it down on top of her alarm clock. The display lit up, the bright green numbers lighting up the room.

  6:17.

  She blew some stray hair out of her eyes and waited to be plunged back into the darkness. It was a shame Freeman didn’t come last night, she thought as she wrapped the quilt tighter around herself. The feelings of disappointment morphed into anger as she remembered how he hadn’t even bothered to answer her texts.

  He must have got a better offer, she thought. Sarah was surprised at the sudden sense of sadness that she felt.

  Her fingers danced across the bedside table until she found her iPhone. When she swiped the screen lock off, the brightness almost blinded her. Maybe he had answered, but his messages had got clogged up in the system. Perhaps his battery ran out. That didn't explain it though. He could have still come over though. Had he got a puncture?

  Sarah smiled. There was a message. She read the singular word that Alex had sent a 6:07 - helo.

  She put the phone back down on the bedside table in disgust. ‘Tosser,’ she said into the darkness. She couldn’t believe she’d been wasting her time worrying about him. Rolling over, she closed her eyes and hoped to get another hour’s sleep.

  Seven

  I kept my eyes fixed on his legs as they came downstairs. I quickly shoved the phone under my right thigh – it was the quickest, easiest place to stash it.

  ‘How far have you got?’ he asked as he stopped before me.

  ‘Not far. I’m tired,’ I lied, though as soon as the words were out of my mouth it dawned on me that in fact I was, very much so.

  ‘Did you hurt her?’ he said, looking me in the eye. There was no anger in his voice, almost hopefulness that I hadn’t.

  ‘I’ve told you; I didn’t do it,’ I said, holding his gaze.

  He shook his head. ‘You did. You must have done. It’s all in there,’ he said, pointing at the diary.

  ‘You must have misunderstood, or somehow come to the wrong conclusion, because it wasn’t me. Does it mention my name?’

  He paused. ‘No,’ he said to my surprise.

  ‘So how can you be sure it was me? Do you even know my name?’

  ‘No, I don’t, but read it. It’s obviously you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She talks about you all the time.’

  ‘But if it doesn’t name me, how can you be sure? I wasn’t the only male member of staff on the production.’

  ‘I went to the performance. At the end of all that bowing when it was over, the kids went and got all the teachers that had helped them. Charlie dragged you onto the stage. She was holding your hand. None of the other children were doing that to you or any other teacher.’

  I remembered I didn’t want to go on the stage. I don’t like the limelight, but I couldn’t recall who dragged me on, or if it had even happened. Maybe if I weren't so tired, I would be able to remember.

  ‘And then tonight I saw you again. I was waiting to see Charlie’s teacher, Miss Alec, when I saw you in your classroom. I decided that I’d wait and talk to you outside, but you were with her when you appeared. When you went back inside you left your car unlocked…’

  ‘And you took advantage of the situation?’

  He nodded, and I thought he looked ashamed for a moment, or at least remorseful. ‘Why don’t you go and get Charlie. Bring her down here. She can tell you,’ I said.

  ‘No fucking way mister. She’s never seeing you again. She tells the diary she’s in love with you. She’ll lie to protect you. Besides, she’s not here; she’s at a friend’s for the weekend.’ He started to walk to the stairs.

  Was that how I ended up here? All because he had the house to himself and a fluke series of events?

  ‘Please, come back. I don’t even know your name. If I knew Charlie’s last name, I might have a clue who she is and I could clear up this mess.’ I heard the door close at the top of the stairs, and silence returned to the cellar. But something wasn’t right. Something was different this time.

  He didn’t lock
the door.

  I grabbed the phone from under my leg and stuffed it back into my trouser pocket and went to work on the string that tied my right leg. I felt around for a knot but couldn’t find one. But I did find he’d made a critical error with the bindings. He’d tied me below the cross beam between the chair legs.

  I leaned back in the chair and lifted the front legs off the floor so I could stand on tip-toes. I leaned forward and grabbed the cross beam to try and move my centre of gravity forward so I would get better balance. The twine moved a little as I pushed my right leg down, but it dug into me. To get it to slide off the end of the leg, I needed to get more force.

  Looking at the stairs, I had another idea. I started to shuffle forwards and grabbed the banister as soon as I was close enough to it. It was easier to walk with one arm free. I moved a bit closer. Holding onto one of the spindles, I leaned back again on the rear legs. I could go back much further now and maybe, just maybe, it would give me the edge I needed. To my amazement, when I pushed down, the left leg slid straight off. The whole of the left side of my body was now completely free. I glanced up the stairs and at the closed door.

  Nothing.

  I stood up and grabbed the chair’s right arm. It was still stubborn, but I could feel my leg slipping down. I wanted to roar, to shout with frustration, but I knew it would only alert him. Then, all of a sudden, the twine came off, and I was free.

  I then realized I still had to get out of the house, and I didn’t have a clue to the layout. I own a Victorian terrace house, and I was confident this was one too, and while I didn’t have a cellar I knew the steps to it would pass under the staircase. It was a question of choosing left or right at the top. I guessed it was to the left as cellars tend to be under the front room.

  I stepped behind the chair, grabbed the arms and lifted it up in front of me, the four legs pointing forward like short, blunt lances. A feeling of hope began to surge through me, and I smiled to myself