by Jake Barton
"You’re strong," she said, appraising Donna’s biceps and forearms. Donna grinned self-consciously.
"What about Dexter?"
"What about him? Let him wait." She spoke with a disregard that once again struck Donna as strange when applied to Dexter. Everyone else thought him the bee’s knees and deferred to him at all times. Kate saw her expression and laughed out loud. "You’re a fan, then?"
Donna shrugged.
Dexter’s manner may have irritated her at times, but Donna had nothing but respect for him as a colleague and as a man.
"Me too," confessed Kate. "But I try not to let it show. Let him wait a while longer. It won’t do him any harm. Dexter is a favoured client because he always brings me something interesting. I’m always ready to listen, even when there’s no money involved. I don’t mind doing Pro Bono work occasionally, but don’t want to make a habit of it. Do you have a client who will pay the going rate?"
Donna nodded.
"Good. As regards Dexter, I quite like to unsettle him now and again. He’s less of a problem that way."
"In what way?"
"He’s a problem because he’s a copper. Or used to be. He thinks in straight lines. That can be a good thing, in its way. The one type of person Roy couldn’t stand was a fence sitter. Those feeble specimens with their wishy-washy ways, He called them either-ors and detested all they stood for. I’m a bit like that, myself. I’d rather listen to an opinion I violently disagree with than to no opinion at all. That’s where Dexter is such a treasure. Oh, he talks a lot of crap sometimes, but he always speaks his mind. I suppose we’d better go and see him." They rose together and walked in single file down the narrow corridor.
Dexter rose from his chair as Kate entered the room. Donna stopped in the doorway, looking around in amazement. Four typists’ chairs – the really fancy ones with hydraulics and comfortable seats – were the only furniture. Everything else in the large room was plugged into the mains: computers, fax machines, printers, and photocopiers. It was like a branch of P.C. World, only with a lot more stock.
Kate had been right. Dexter didn’t complain at being kept waiting. He went straight into his sales pitch, giving a clear overview of everything that had happened since Celine was reported missing. Nothing was missed out, but he kept very much to the bare facts, avoiding any conjecture or personal opinion.
Kate sat on one of the chairs and swivelled to face a computer screen, tapping away at the keyboard. "Who’s in charge, did you say? Abbott? He’s a DS, isn’t he?"
"Made up to acting DI. Staff shortages."
"That’s something then, he’s good. No bullshit. Still thinks everything comes out either black or white, but he’s not the only one. Most of you tossers are the same."
"You should hear what he says about you," Donna said, with one of her leaden attempts at humour.
Kate shot an indignant glance in Dexter's direction. "What have you been telling her?"
Dexter shrugged. "Only what she needs to know."
Kate's eyebrows rose questioningly. "And that would be...?"
"Oh, the usual. A brief history of Kate Davies. Everything relevant that Donna needs to know. Don’t worry, I didn’t mention you being a lap-dancer or anything about the time when you lived with three whippets in a caravan at Bognor Regis and called yourself Rodney."
Kate dissolved into peals of laughter, her previous irritation forgotten, and punched him lightly on the arm. Donna was bloody gob-smacked. The previously dull and one-dimensional Dexter was revealing himself in a new light. She’d looked away for five minutes and he’d turned into a stand-up comedian.
Dexter laughed, turning to Donna. "Kate reminds me of an old man I knew many years ago, a keen fisherman who despised modern fishing methods, and was particularly scornful of the practise of scattering bait to attract fish to the area in which the angler was fishing. ‘Indiscriminate and wasteful’ he used to say it was. Instead the old man would study his quarry, know its preferences and habits, and plan every detail of its capture. When he discovered the most likely hiding places, he provided the fish with a specific lure he knew would prove irresistible."
Oh no, not again, thought Donna stealing a sideways glance, he’s going to reminisce about old times. But the glazed look left his eye and turned back to regard Donna.
"Kate is like that. She has that rare ability to view a problem in abstract, strip away all the superfluous extraneous matter and get to the single detail that would provide a solution. You reminded me of her with your comment about your granddad. Kate’s a craftsman – ruthlessly specific in her planning, eliminating all other irrelevant aspects, and totally single-minded, heedless of the bruised egos and opinions of anyone else, including me." Dexter laughed again. Recalling another memory, no doubt.
"Well go on then," said Donna, "You’ve started now, tell me."
"I was just thinking about what Kate Davies thinks of me. She has made no secret of her opinion that I am, at best, a determined plodder with nothing to offer apart from the ready access to information provided by my occupation."
"I suppose," said Donna slowly, a hint of a smile curling the corner of her lip. "Looking at it from her viewpoint, she was probably right."
Dexter sniffed.
"Yeah, all right, laugh away but wait until you meet her, you won’t laugh quite so much then. Working with Kate meant I was continually made aware of my many deficiencies, and with her I was always obliged to accept her superior mental powers and single-minded dedication to the task in hand. That’s where my analogy with the old fisherman breaks down."
"How so?" asked Donna.
"Their personalities. I still remember the old man’s kindness, his respect for the feelings of others, and the sheer overwhelming warmth of his personality. Despite their shared ability to focus attention on a single quest, Kate is the complete antithesis of the old man in each and every respect."
"Sounds charming," Donna quipped.
"Right then," Kate mumbled, turning away as the screen in front of her changed. "Abbott has the case, with that useless prat Hawkes overseeing the show. All that means is he’ll be around for the result and not before. Barnes and Marriott from your old mob and three more I don’t know."
Dexter leaned forward. "One of them is new to me too and the other pair recently made-up to CID. Not a lot of experience below DS level, but Barnes is good and even Marriott has his moments."
"Is that what I think it is?" Donna’s voice was shrill as she nodded her head towards the screen that bore the title, Dobson, Celine. Abduction. A chain of command and duty roster were presently commanding Kate’s attention.
"Don’t ask," Dexter said, shaking his head. "There aren’t many secrets where Kate is concerned."
Donna pulled up a chair, trying to come to terms with the fact that Kate had hacked into the police computer system and found the duty roster, seemingly within a few seconds of sitting down. Even more amazingly, Dexter seemed utterly unconcerned.
"Thank God she’s on our side."
"Hawkes as the Head Honcho means a one dimensional investigation. Right? "Kate enquired.
Dexter nodded. "Good old traditional Police procedures. Everything by the book."
"What are they? Traditional procedures, I mean?" Donna enquired.
"The old stand-by of knocking on doors, taking multiple statements, collecting information. On index cards naturally. Nothing wrong with it. It served me well enough for twenty-odd years," Dexter replied, with the hint of a defensive tone.
"But, it’s not going to catch the man we’re after," Kate said firmly.
"No," Dexter agreed. "Not unless someone gets lucky. With Hawkes in charge that’s not likely. He’s a dinosaur. Suspicious of anything that could be classed as labour saving. Patrol cars are no substitute for Bobbies walking the beat, and computers are tools of the Devil. It will be all house-to-house enquiries, collecting information and rousting out past offenders – that especially. Most crimes are carried out by a relati
vely small group of repeat offenders, so the system has its successes and Hawkes has had his share of results. But I know him only too well. All he’ll want is legwork. A good copper like Abbott won’t get a look in. Too tainted by association with a Flash Harry like me." He turned to Donna. "If Hawkes knew Abbott was reporting back to me he’d have his guts. If he knew about Kate, he’d bloody self-destruct."
An hour later they’d been over all that had happened in some depth and Kate was asking about specific points. Dexter gave details of everything she asked about, covering just about every aspect of the case, until she sat back, seemingly satisfied.
Donna had been quiet for an hour. Not like her at all, but she felt out of her depth amongst all this expertise. It was a surprise, therefore, when Kate turned round and asked her for her gut feelings.
"I don’t want the same old shit that Dexter gives me," she said firmly. "All evidence and balance of probability. Tell me what you think, not what you know for a fact."
Donna took a deep breath, and then blurted out all her own mad ideas about Marcus Green and his vendetta against this particular family. She told Kate about the trial, about his release and subsequent disappearance, about the arson attack on Gary’s house and the mysterious man Celine spoke about to her friend, Lisa. Donna paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Then there’s the last time that Alex Melia was seen, in the park. I think that’s significant."
"Go on," said Kate."
"What age was Marcus Green when he went down? Thirteen? Fourteen? He lived here. He knew Ashton Park. There’s not a kid that age living around here that doesn’t know every inch of it." Donna felt Dexter’s eyes on her. "I should know," she defended. "I was one of them. I used to live in Dunraven Road when I was a kid. It has its own entrance to the park."
"The side gate," Dexter said. At least he was paying attention.
"Yeah."
"You didn’t move far then?" Kate’s question took her by surprise. Donna had sold the house after her dad’s death. Too many memories. But, she’d not seen the need to cut all links with the area, and the house she’d bought had been less than half a mile away. Donna was surprised because she’d assumed Kate was unfamiliar with the area.
"I did some homework when Dexter told me he was bringing you along," Kate explained. "Sorry to interrupt. Please carry on."
"For any kid, a park is a magical place. Ashton Park was my back garden when I was growing up. Bowling greens, tennis courts, swings and roundabouts for the little kids, and a bloody great lake with fish and ducks. Weird old men who turned up every weekend to sail model boats. It had the lot. I loved that park. I still do."
Donna stopped talking, but neither Kate or Dexter said anything.
"Then there’s Alex Melia’s friend, Jimmy. When they were attacked in the park, whoever chased Jimmy knew the park like the back of his hand. Someone like Marcus Green."
Donna talked for another ten minutes, almost without stopping, and when she sat back she saw a broad smile cross Kate’s face as leaned forward and patted Donna’s hand. "Well done," she said. "Dexter, you’ve brought me a gem."
"Told you she was something a bit different from the usual dross." He turned to Donna. "I thought you’d want to ride your own particular hobby-horse without me queering your pitch in advance."
Donna smiled ruefully. He’d set her up by paying Marcus Green such scant regard in his summary, knowing that it would inspire her to speak her mind.
"It’s only a theory," she protested. "Just a few wild ideas."
"Theories and wild ideas are my stock in trade," Kate said. "What I give is a guess. An educated guess, maybe, but it's still not evidence. That’s why I don’t work much with policemen. Including this old sod here, they’ve no imagination. I work mainly for universities and the like. People with open minds. Strong physical evidence is the crux of any police investigation. Perhaps that's as it should be. Anything else is incidental. Dexter only comes to me when I’m the only thing on offer. I’m not much interested in evidence as such. It’s too open to misinterpretation and too easy to manipulate. What policemen call evidence, I tend to think of as not much more than a hint in a certain direction. Most physical evidence is just too unreliable to be treated as gospel. "
"What about DNA?" Dexter burst out. "That’s good evidence." He’d obviously had this conversation before.
"Oh sure, DNA is the new drug of choice. At least with the study of Deoxyribonucleic Acid we’re moving up into twenty-first century science. But, it’s not the answer to everything, not at this stage. Tissue samples can be taken from blood, semen, even a hair root. Only a tiny sample is needed. Their characteristics are specific to a single person with absolute certainty, only identical twins possess the same DNA characteristics. Drawbacks are the expense of the technology and the lack of immediacy as the process is relatively complicated needing to be interpreted by experts over a long period, a matter of weeks to be absolutely certain. The Yanks are throwing a shit-load of resources at the technology. The Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in the States is developing a rapid response process that they hope will produce a DNA match in a matter of minutes. That’s what it needs to be truly viable."
Dexter shrugged, but let the subject drop.
"I’ll want to see details of anything else that turns up," Kate said. "I’ll get on with a few things that have occurred to me so far. Get back here tomorrow and I’ll have something for you. Leave me your notebook, if you can spare it." Donna watched in amazement as Dexter rose to his feet and tamely surrendered his precious notebook.
*****
The lake surface was choppy as the wind got up and Marcus was breathing hard from the exertion of rowing himself and the woman across to the island.
He dragged the boat into the bushes and walked briskly to the cabin, shouldering his burden without apparent strain. Celine was awake, her eyes huge in a pale white face when he entered the room. Marcus threw the unconscious figure onto the bed next to Celine.
"I’ve brought you some company," Marcus said, fastening another length of chain to the woman’s wrist. Celine’s cries filled the room as she hugged the unconscious figure of her mother.
~ Chapter 12 ~
The previous night’s storm had blown itself out and the dawn was spectacular. A rosy pink glow on the placid surface of the lake heralded clear skies and the prospect of a fine day. Inside the cabin, it would have taken more than the expectation of sunshine to raise the spirits.
Celine had wept with relief when her mother regained consciousness. Mother and daughter huddled together for warmth on the narrow single bed, conversing in whispers as they felt the menacing presence of Marcus in the next room. Paula remembered nothing of her abduction and had panicked on wakening. Despite the chains that bound them to the bed, Celine had initially struggled to restrain her mother, but when Paula recognised her, she’d hugged her back as if never intending to let her go.
When the first streaks of sunlight penetrated the room, Marcus appeared in the doorway, his naked body gleaming with exertion. He gave a wolfish smile when he saw Paula was awake. "Welcome to Paradise," he said.
Celine screamed when she saw the camcorder and tripod. Fear of the unknown somehow even more terrifying than the horror of her present situation. Paula soothed, whispering into her daughter’s ear until the panic lessened. Once he’d positioned the camcorder where he wanted it, Marcus walked towards the bed and unfastened the thick chain that bound them together.
"You can watch," he said to Celine, pushing her to the far edge of the bed and grasping Paula’s arm tightly. "I’ve had you already."
He tied Paula’s thumbs together with a length of nylon twine and pulled her hands above her head, fastening the end of the cord to the frame of the bed and pulling it tight.
Paula’s naked body writhed against her bonds, but escape was impossible. Marcus threw Celine off the bed onto the floor, her arms pulled tight against the limit of the chains. He carefully positioned the camera so t
hat both Celine and her mother were in focus.
Marcus left the room for a few moments, returning with a clear plastic bag in his right hand. Gently raising Paula’s upper body, he slipped the bag over her head and drew it tightly around her slender neck. She writhed, struggling vainly to release herself, only dimly aware of Celine’s screams. Marcus slid on top of her, his naked body gleaming with perspiration, massively erect. He probed her with his fingers for a few moments before entering her. He grinned wickedly as his movements elicited an unwilling response. Paula moaned, hating the treachery of her body’s compliance.
Her own sex life was a dim and distant memory – separate bedrooms, separate lives, and she’d fantasised often enough about taking a young virile man into her bed, but this was far removed from any fantasy. This was real, this was vile, and with the added shame of having her degradation witnessed by her daughter. Her breathing became more strained and she bucked furiously, eyes bulging, fighting for breath, fighting this unwanted invasion, taking her body to the very extremes of pain as her bindings held her captive.
Unconsciousness came as Marcus ejaculated massively into her, pumping furiously, his upper body defined in its muscular perfection. He raised himself, supported on his elbows, and released the bag from her head. Pressing his lips to hers Marcus breathed gently into her mouth, studying the gentle rise and fall of her breasts.
She gave a huge spluttering gasp, exhaled briefly, then took another deep breath, her eyes clamped shut as she felt the continued invasion of his penis in her body. He pinched her nipples fiercely and her eyes opened wide. She gave a single strangled cry, a mew of absolute terror, as he tightened the bag once more around her neck, watching her closely through the clear plastic "Ready to go again?" he whispered, smiling his special smile.
*****
Dexter had to park around the corner because the drive was full of cars. They walked in silence. Donna glanced across at her companion. Dexter’s face gave nothing away. His past working life was etched on his features.
