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

by G H Mockford

  ‘I need to find him,’ Paul said. ‘Where is he?’

  Jackie looked at her watch. ‘He’ll be at work.’

  ‘What's happened? He definitely took her home. Do you think something has happened to them? He's a good lad, he'd have looked out for her,’ Mrs Goodhand said. ‘He works at Byron Comp.’

  ‘Are you saying he’s a teacher?’

  Jackie’s mum nodded her head.

  Paul’s heart began to race. ‘Tell me your boyfriend’s not Richard Rollins,’ Paul said, his voice dripping with dread.

  ‘Yuck, no way,’ Jackie said as she corrected Paul’s mistake and told him her boyfriend’s name. Paul had never heard of him, but he knew a man who would.

  Sixty-One

  As soon as Stokes and Rees left, I questioned what the hell I was doing. I was going to end up in trouble with the law. I’d only known Paul a week, and somehow I’d gotten embroiled in a criminal investigation. Despite the roughness of my “introduction” to Paul, I liked him. I rang his mobile to warn him that the police were on their way to school and may want to speak to him at some point. However, there was no answer. I didn’t leave a message as it was too long to explain, so I sent him a text telling him to call me urgently.

  It was now just before lunchtime, and the interview had used the last of my energy and I was shattered. It was a good job I hadn't stayed at work. I took the three empty mugs through to the kitchen and went upstairs and lay on my bed. My phone was in my hand so it would wake me if Paul rang.

  The phone jarred me from my sleep and I screamed as my body thrashed about. I was ripped straight out of a terrible dream and for a few moments I was a little confused and disorientated.

  Sarah had been dangling from my hand over the edge of a cliff. I could feel her slipping and there was nothing I could do. Her eyes were full of terror and for a second her beautiful face flashed and was replaced by that of a wolf. The shock was so terrible that it caused me to drop her. The last echoes of the scream died away as I answered the phone.

  ‘Yes?’ I said groggily.

  ‘Alex, are you at school?’ Paul said, not bothering to say hello or any other kind of pleasantry.

  ‘No, I came home. The police came over to visit me. I’ll come over to yours.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m driving to you right now. You won’t believe what I’ve got to tell you.’ I was about to guess, thinking he was playing some kind of a game, when he said, ‘Give me your address, and I'll be there in a minute. I know who the bastard is.’

  Sixty-Two

  I was just finishing a fresh mug of coffee when I heard a car honk its horn outside. Paul was waving at me through the window, beckoning me to join him. Grabbing my phone, wallet and keys I left the house.

  ‘What time do you teachers leave school?’ Paul asked me, as he turned in the road so he could head back through Lambley and back to Manor Park.

  ‘Five-ish. Depends. Not at three thirty when the kids go home, that’s for sure,’ I answered.

  ‘Good, it’s quarter to four, the bastard will still be there,’ Paul answered as we roared up the hill. ‘It’s not Rollins, Alex.’

  ‘Charlie said it wasn’t him. You told me that.’

  ‘I know, but there was still a part of me that wasn’t sure. What if she was telling the truth, in a way. She only denied Rollins, not the pregnancy. It could be… Oh, I don’t know, I’m not sure about anything anymore, only that Charlie got into his car last night and didn’t come home.’

  ‘Paul, Paul just slow down. I don’t understand. Who is it? Whose car did Charlie get into?’

  ‘Jackie’s boyfriend’s.’

  ‘And who the bloody hell is that?’ I said as calmly as I could, even though Paul was beginning to really frustrate me. He told me the man’s name and it came as a shock even though it all made sense when I thought about it. Paul swung the car down Lambley Lane without even indicating, and received an angry blast from the car behind us.

  ‘Hang on. Jackie? Is Charlie mates with Jackie Goodhand?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Holy shit!’ I said as it all began to fall into place. ‘If only I’d known who you had meant by Jackie, I might have worked this all out much sooner. Last year he almost lost his job. He was going out with Jackie then; she was one of our sixth formers.’

  And then I made another realization, one I should have made earlier too. ‘It was Jackie who came home with Charlie on Saturday morning, wasn’t it? I knew she looked familiar, but she’s changed her look over the last nine months, not to mention being called Jak!’

  ‘Well the bastard obviously has a taste for the young ones,’ Paul spat. ‘Christ, Charlie’s fifteen. He’s sick!’ Paul was forced to come to a stop at the next junction, but he took a risk and pulled out despite the oncoming traffic. His wheels skidded for a moment, and I thought we weren’t going to get out in time. My hand gripped the handle above the window, my knuckles white as I prayed his confidence in his driving was warranted.

  ‘It makes sense, but I don’t believe it. It doesn’t add up,’ I said to Paul. ‘Are you sure? We need to think this through.’ Paul didn’t answer, he just carried on driving, getting more and more erratic as he went. ‘Paul, what do you intend to do?’ I asked him, as we swung around a roundabout and started down the main road through Carlton.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered. I thought he was being honest.

  ‘Remember what happened last week. Remember your mistake with me.’ He turned and glared at me. It was a face I remembered seeing last Friday night, or should I say Saturday morning. ‘Paul, let’s stop this. Let’s go to Carlton police station. It’s coming up in a few seconds. Turn right here by Tesco,’ I said pointing through the window, but we sailed past the turning. There was going to be no stopping Paul this time.

  ‘Paul?’ He didn’t answer me. ‘Paul?!’ I said more urgently.

  ‘Alex,’ he finally answered me, as we went over the crossroads at the bottom of Porchester Road and Paul swung the car around another vehicle that was waiting to turn right. ‘I’ve brought you not just because you can identify him, but so you can stop me doing something stupid.’

  ‘Then stop and go back to the police station, or pull over and call them. Let them deal with this.’

  ‘No, Alex. We do this my way.’

  Sixty-Three

  Wolf-Man was worried. It looked like it was all going to go horribly wrong. He should never have strayed from his True Mission. He’d not been home long; he had one small detail to take care of, and then he could return to his True Mission and try out his painting idea. He had looked up Pollock on the internet. Load of Bollock more like. Still, he and his knife would have a lot of fun recreating them, even if the originals were a load of old crap.

  He had just one thing to do before he left to tidy up the last loose end. He’d been planning his True Mission for a while and as such he was confident that he had thought of all possibilities. Even though he’d had to adapt his plans and have different prisoners from the ones he felt his True Mission demanded. The biggest shame was that he would have to change his plans for the weekend too. Maybe if he phoned, he could get his deposit back or select a new date.

  He went to visit his guests. Flipping on the light switch, he looked at the two figures that were chained to metal bed frames, their heads covered in black hoods. Despite directly looking up at the ceiling they didn’t turn away from the light. There was no way he was letting them see his face, and the sacks were made from a thick, closely woven material. He was careful not to talk in front of them too. He’d had to whisper a couple of times when he’d had no choice but to talk to them.

  His nose wrinkled. The man had pissed himself again. That was the one thing he hadn’t thought about.

  A mumbled voice came from the room’s newest acquisition. Both his guests were gagged. Wolf-Man ignored them. They were below him. They didn’t deserve to be spoken to. He would punish them for indulging in their basest desires.
r />   And that was when it all fell into place. He had always known that his mission was to punish women. But now he fully understood why. The mission was not his idea, but His idea. God had given him this True Mission to fulfil. It was obvious now that he thought about it. Women were the root of all evil. They had unleashed cruelty, disease and poverty upon the world, and it was his job to show them the error of their ways. He was God’s instrument, His angel, who would purify all the polluted women. They would repent, or die, and God would make the final decision. He felt so honoured to have been chosen.

  What was funny was that he’d been going to church all his life but never really believed. Now God was talking to him; He had revealed himself at last. All those years of doubting, but now, at last, He was telling him what to do. Right now, God needed him to take care of a minor inconvenience. An inconvenience that could put a stop to his True Mission, but he knew that with his new found zeal, God would give him the power to prevail.

  Wolf-Man checked the chains and leather straps that pinned his guests to their beds, causing them to stir and try to speak. The bindings were very secure, as he knew they would be, after all, he’d thought of everything. He took a deep breath and spoke, ‘I’m just nipping out. I won’t be long. When I’m back, we’ll finish what we’ve started.’

  Sixty-Four

  We pulled into Byron Comp and I knew there was nothing I could do now but stop Paul from doing anything stupid.

  ‘Follow me,’ I said. I knew that I was probably about to do something that would end my career, but I still led Paul around the back of the school to the English block.

  ‘Where’s his classroom?’

  I didn’t answer straight away. Then I tried to reason with Paul again, but it didn’t work. ‘Second door on the left,’ I told him.

  Paul moved forward, not quickly like I had expected, but slowly, fluidly like the trained killer he was.

  Once was.

  His hand reached out for the classroom door. To my surprise, it was shaking. He opened it and stepped inside. ‘Shit!’ I heard Paul say. I followed him in, not sure what I would find.

  The room was empty.

  ‘He’s not here,’ I said rather obviously.

  At first Paul nodded his head, but then he said, ‘He could be in another classroom or the staffroom.’

  ‘He could,’ I agreed, ‘but then we might bump into people and then they’re going to ask questions. I shouldn’t be here, remember. Let’s go.’

  ‘No. We can’t. We have to find him. He’s got Charlie.’

  ‘No,’ I said, grabbing Paul’s arm, and summoning all the persuasive power I could pour into my voice, ‘we should call the police.’

  ‘We’ve been over this, Alex,’ Paul said as he shook me off. He froze, and I could tell he was thinking. ‘No, this is perfect. If we confront him in front of the people he works with we’ll have witnesses.’

  Paul turned and walked back out of the room and headed for the stairs. He quickly glanced through the glass in the staffroom door before taking the steps two at a time. We got to the double doors at the top and we walked through them.

  The whole English Faculty was gathered in the open area, lounging in the bucket chairs obviously glad that we had the next week off. I looked more closely. Not everyone was there. Two people were missing. Sarah and the man we wanted.

  ‘Alex? What are you doing here?’ Mrs Forrest asked me.

  ‘We’re looking for James.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s gone home for the day, Mr Freeman.’ I noticed that suddenly Mrs Forrest had stopped using my first name and I panicked that she recognised Paul as Charlie’s father. Paul’s right, she does look like her mother, but she does have his eyes.

  ‘Damn,’ Paul muttered under his breath.

  ‘Was it something important?’ Mrs Forrest asked.

  ‘It can’t wait over half-term, that’s for sure,’ Paul said. I wished he’d kept quiet and not drawn any more attention to himself.

  ‘He left at two-ish. The lucky git had a free period so he thought he’d start the holiday early,’ Phil Ashby, another teacher in the department, said as he took a swig of coffee.

  ‘Thanks, Phil,’ I said.

  I turned and left and, to my relief, Paul followed me.

  ‘Now what?’ Paul asked as we went downstairs.

  ‘I’ve an idea,’ I said. Even though I didn’t know where he lived, I had an idea how we could find out.

  We quickly left the English Block. I was becoming increasingly anxious about being spotted by Arnold as there would be all kinds of awkward questions to answer. Why wasn’t I at home? Why was I here with Mr Blackmore?

  ‘So, what are we going to do, Alex?’ Paul asked me.

  ‘You're going to drive, and I’m going to find out where James Harrington lives. The real question is, what are you going to do when we get there?’

  ‘I’ve already answered that, or don’t you believe me?’ He raced back to the car, my long legs allowing me to keep up even though it was making me a little breathless.

  ‘I want to, Paul, I really do.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Paul asked as we got in his car and after a few attempts, started the engine. It was old and in need of some attention, but I assumed Paul couldn’t afford it.

  ‘He lives in Stapleford, I know that much. Get going, and I’ll find out exactly where.’

  Paul didn’t bother to answer. He got the car moving.

  I opened my phone’s address book and memorised James’ home phone number. I opened the internet browser, went to Google and typed in BT phonebook. Selecting the first link, my phone slowly connected to the site. The screen was tiny, but I used the magnification tool to make it easier. The purple BT page appeared and I typed in the relevant details. I held my breath and hoped he wasn’t ex-directory.

  He wasn’t.

  I smiled and looked over at Paul.

  ‘You’ve found him, haven’t you?’ He was smiling too. It felt strange considering why we were trying to find him, but I suppose it was the feeling of success – that we were getting somewhere.

  ‘As long as it’s the correct J Harrington.’

  ‘What’s the address?’ I rattled it off to him. ‘I haven’t got a clue where that is, have you?’

  I didn’t, but I used the map app on my phone. I typed in the address for “J Harrington” and hit find.

  ‘Got him,’ I said feeling strangely triumphant, but apprehensive.

  Sixty-Five

  James Harrington was glad to be home again. He’d managed to get everything done that he needed, and now the holiday fun could begin. He’d been looking forward to it for ages. He put his bags down on the sofa and went to the kitchen. There was time for a brew before he began to prepare for his guests.

  He stopped.

  Something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. His hand went to the mobile phone in his pocket, but he decided against it. He was being paranoid. Everything was just how he had left it. He stepped into the back room and climbed the stairs.

  The fist hit him with a powerful uppercut. He was lifted off his feet for a second or two before he finally lost his balance. James fell down the stairs, sliding down on his back, colliding with the wall at the bottom before turning around and spilling down the last few steps that went around the corner. Landing on his hands and knees, he shook his head to try and clear it and figure out what the hell had just happened.

  He caught a glimpse of a black clad figure as he glanced back up the stairs. He felt a powerful kick connect with his rear end, which sent him sprawling onto the carpet and knocked over the candles he had neatly arranged on his fire hearth.

  James was about to call out when he felt something slip over his head. In panic, he breathed in hard and sucked it into his mouth. It took a moment or two for his brain to realize that he could still breathe through the fabric.

  One panic was replaced with another as he felt something tighten around his neck. Then his head was forced back and h
is body bent like an archer’s bow. He screamed in pain and terror.

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ someone whispered in his ear. ‘Get up, or I’ll drag you up.’

  James did as he was told, eager to make the pain go away. ‘What do you want? What have I done?’ James asked, his voice stammering.

  ‘Funny, they always ask the same questions,’ came the disembodied voice. ‘I was always unimportant to you. You always ignored me. Now you’ll pay for that mistake. Remember, God says the meek shall inherit the earth.’

  James didn’t have a chance to reply as his neck was pulled backwards by whatever his attacker had put over his head. He flew through the air and even though he couldn’t see, he knew he had crashed into his bookshelves. He fell to the floor and heard the picture frames that were arranged on the shelves spill to the floor with him, their glass shattering.

  ‘There’s enough room to swing a cat in here, let’s see if there’s enough to swing a teacher.’ His attacker laughed and pulled once again, sending James toppling over the back of an armchair.

  James’s head connected with the corner of a cupboard. He bounced off, fell to the floor, and lay still as he felt the darkness closing in around him.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ his attacker roared. ‘First the bitch, now this one. Why can’t things just go to plan?’

  James thought he heard the sound of hammering at the front door, and then he slipped into darkness.

  Sixty-Six

  As soon as we arrived outside James Harrington’s house, Paul leapt from the car and ran for the front door. He hammered on it for a few seconds before he tried the handle. It opened and he was inside before I'd even got out of the vehicle. I ran in after him.

  ‘Alex, he’s in the back garden,’ I heard Paul shout. ‘I’m going after him.’

  I moved deeper into the house and saw a figure lying on the floor. I crossed over to it and knelt down. Paul was climbing over the fence at the end of the garden and chasing ‘him’. I didn’t see who ‘he’ was, but I assumed it wasn't James.