by Michael Kerr
Inspired, Bobby tucked the pistol under his belt and withdrew a reel of duct tape from his pocket. He bit off two six-inch lengths and pressed them to the glass, overlapped in a cross. A radio was on inside, and the music playing drowned out any slight sound that he may have made.
Not familiar with handguns, and unaware that the heavy pistol was a SIG-Sauer P226, he held the weapon two-handed, hoping that no safety mechanism was on to lock the action. He took a deep intake of breath, held it, aimed, slowly exhaled, and smoothly squeezed the trigger, to fire through the tape at the two seated men.
The shots made no more noise than polite coughs as the silencer’s unused baffles absorbed eighty percent of the reports. The tape stopped the whole window from shattering.
Bright crimson rosettes formed on the back of the nearest cop’s white T-shirt, and he jerked forward to involuntarily head butt the tabletop. His partner came up off the bench like a Jack-in-the-box, reaching for his gun, only to be driven backwards and stopped by the wall behind him. He collapsed sideways, slowly, like a felled tree. The bullet had drilled through his forehead, instantly robbing him of life. It penetrated his skull, cut through his frontal lobe and cerebellum, and exited to imbed in the wall amid a spatter of bloody brain tissue. The cop was clinically dead before he hit the floor.
Without pause, Bobby tried the door. It was locked. He removed his parka, bunched it up and held it to one of the small windows, then hit it with the gun’s butt, hoping that the fourth cop – out in the street at the front of the house in a van – would not hear the muffled tinkle of breaking glass.
Reaching inside, he turned the key in the lock and entered, closing the door behind him. A quick but unnecessary check confirmed that neither of the cops presented any further threat. Out in the hall there were three doors; two on the right and one to the left. He opened the nearest and smiled broadly at the sight of Caroline, who was awake, cowering on the bed, unmoving and facing him. The semi-darkness had stolen the flaming red from her hair, which hung in thick tresses about her shoulders. She was a vision of loveliness in black and white; no less beautiful for being denied the light that would illuminate her skin tones, sparkle in her emerald eyes, and embrace and enhance her crowning glory. He looked on her as being almost perfection, because he knew that nothing and no one was wholly perfect. His pent-up anger and resentment dissolved as he feasted his eyes on the only woman he had ever truly loved.
At last, she is mine, utterly and completely, to cherish or destroy; to possess in every way; to venerate or despoil as I see fit, he thought, walking across the room to sit next to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Do I have your full and undivided attention, Caroline?” Bobby said as he settled by her side.
Caroline somehow found the strength of will to nod in affirmation. Her voice had deserted her, and her limbs had seized up, in the manner of a car engine bereft of oil and rusted-up in a breaker’s yard. She had not known what brought her awake so suddenly. Sitting up, she had listened to the faint music emanating from the radio in the kitchen, and on some instinctive level became aware that she was in imminent danger. She had almost called out to her protectors, whom she knew to be out there, but bit back the shout of alarm as an overpowering state of panic held her still and silent.
As the door opened, she had prayed that it would be one of the policemen who appeared, but was not surprised when the stocky, familiar shape of Cain filled the doorway, to then approach and sit down next to her. She felt like a mouse in the shadow of a cat that was waiting for movement to galvanise it into action and initiate a sudden and deadly attack.
He reached out and stroked her cheek, letting his fingertips meander down the side of her face to her jaw line, and lower, to caress her slender, milk-white neck. A surge of power manifested within him, filling him. Not just power, but an emotion that he had never known before. He had been driven to find her, to make her repent for the torment that she had caused him to suffer, before raping, mutilating and killing her. But that would be of fleeting pleasure, to leave him an empty vessel, soured by regret. Keeping her alive offered the far greater challenge, and the promise of lasting reward. With time and training she would learn to love and need him above all else. All of this he came to realise in the space of a second.
“Listen to me, Caroline,” he said, his voice catching with excitement. “I’m prepared to give you a chance to redeem yourself. Do you want to live?”
“Y... Yes,” she managed to whisper.
“Good. We need somewhere to go. Where will we be safe? Think quickly, your life really does depend on it.”
She frowned. Her mind was a mass of milling pixels. Fear forced out rational thought. And then the whirling particles slowly coalesced into a three-dimensional form. “The houseboat,” she said. “A friend of mine owns a houseboat. It’s moored on the Thames at Laleham.”
“Friend?” Bobby said, his fingers and thumb now biting into her neck, to feel the beat of blood throbbing through pinched arteries. “Be more fucking specific, you whore.”
“S... Simon. Simon Payne.”
“Ah, yes. The Romeo of Russell Square. Doesn’t he use it?”
“No, not in winter,” she rasped, feeling the pressure building in her face as her senses began to reel.
“Is it private?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go,” he said, relaxing his grip and running his thumb tip lightly across her bottom lip. “Get dressed, quickly. And remember, Caroline, if you try to escape or shout for help, I will kill you.”
She pulled off her nightie and tossed it aside, to then dress and await his instructions. He reached out, gripped her wrist tightly and led her through the bungalow, past the two dead cops in the kitchen, where he paused to frisk them, taking their handcuffs and a spare magazine of bullets for the handgun.
Outside, walking beside him, Caroline tried to summon up enough courage to do something. It would be easy enough to bob her head down and bite the hand that held her wrist, to then run away screaming for help. The only problem being, that her legs felt weak and leaden, and she believed that her teeth sinking into his flesh would not cause him to release his grip, and that he may even enjoy the pain. A debilitating fear crushed her spirit and prevented her from taking any action against him. She felt a lost soul, beyond salvation, being led through the darkness, not to Simon’s houseboat, but to a sleek and glossy-black gondola which would be manned by the skeletal, cloaked and hooded figure of Charon, waiting to ferry her to a place worse than hell.
At the car, Bobby opened the rear door, pushed her down into the foot well, then cuffed first her wrists and then her ankles together, and covered her with a throw from the back seat.
“I want you to be as quiet as a church mouse,” he said. “Don’t move or talk unless you are asked to.”
He drove at just above the posted limit, at a speed that was neither too fast nor slow to draw suspicion, and he sniggered at his good fortune and accomplishment as he headed west. He stopped at a small newsagent-come-grocery store in Ashford. Told Caroline that he was parked outside a shop, and that if she should sit up, scream, or try to leave the car, then he would shoot the store’s owner, and then her.
He purchased milk, bread, eggs, bacon, coffee, an assortment of canned goods, and cigarettes, then drove to nearby Laleham, describing the surroundings and asking Caroline for directions. On reaching the road that fronted the river, he stopped again and transferred her to the front passenger seat, for her to guide him in to the houseboat, which was situated off a private lane away from the road, moored in a short inlet at least fifty yards from its nearest neighbour.
After parking and freeing her ankles, he slipped out of the car, went around to her side, helped her out and pushed her ahead of him.
Boarding the floating home, Bobby used the blade of his knife to quickly disengage the simple lock on the sliding door that led into the main saloon. Once inside, he shackled Caroline to a
pillar that was bolted to the floor and was the central support of a large, round teak table. He then taped her mouth and went back to the car for the groceries and his holdall.
Perfect, he thought, studying the immediate surroundings. The houseboat’s port side was screened from the lane by tall evergreens, and its starboard side faced the river. Back on board, he shut the door and closed the ceiling to floor blinds. The interior of the vessel comprised a large kitchen/living area, two bedrooms, and spacious bathroom with a shower, toilet and washbasin. Simon Payne must be worth a few quid, judging by the expensive furniture and fittings throughout the glorified riverside sex den. Even the side windows were solid brass portholes, curtained for privacy.
“Together at last, sweet Caroline,” he said, kneeling on the thick, lush carpeting and removing the tape from her mouth with a sudden jerk that made her cry out in pain.
“Sorry. But it’s like Elastoplasts. My mother, God rest her soul, always said it hurt more if you peeled them off slowly.” He then repositioned the strip across her eyes, smoothing it to her temples.
“I want you to know that this is the most satisfying moment of my life,” he said, sitting back cross-legged to feast his eyes on his newly acquired possession. “I don’t want you to spoil how I’m feeling, so please keep in mind what I did to those other women. They died for you, Caroline. I vented the anger I felt for you on them. I know that you’re very scared, and that underneath that fear is a rage fuelled by hatred waiting to surface. You must suppress, then rid yourself of all counterproductive thoughts. You will come to accept that through sparing your life, I now own it. You have to understand that we will live or die together. Do you realise that any future you might have will be with me?”
“Y... Yes,” she said.
The blow to her stomach folded her in half. She cried out in agony as a breathtaking pain brought tears to her covered eyes, bathing and stinging them, but trapped, with no exit to escape on to her cheeks and run away.
“That was a lie, Caroline. It may seem inconceivable to you at this moment in time, but you will learn to love me. Take deep breaths and listen to my voice. Absorb and remember what I say.”
Caroline gasped, mouth open like a fish out of water, and after a while the fiery pain in her stomach died down to a dull ache.
“Sit up,” he said, and she obeyed. “There are two very important points that you have to get your pretty head around. The first is, that you must not attempt to escape or signal for help in any way. Secondly, do not at any time be foolish enough to interpret my feelings for you as a weakness that can be used against me. If you abuse my trust and belief in what we may become together, then you will only have yourself to blame for my actions. Have you a problem with any of that? Do you need any clarification?”
“No, I understand,” Caroline murmured. “I’ll do anything you want me to. Just please don’t hurt me any more.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, my love,” he said, unlocking the cuffs and releasing her from the table. “Stand up.”
He led her to the bedroom, undressed her, and gently pushed her down on to the bed. She heard the rustle of clothes, the clink of a metal belt buckle, and a zip being pulled down, before the mattress gave as he climbed on to the bed and lay alongside her, his skin against hers, sending ripples of revulsion through her.
A hand squeezed her right breast, kneading it like bread dough. She wanted to scream, to kick, to fight him, but was too afraid to retaliate. She was in survival mode, enduring what she had no way of preventing.
“No, please, no.” she said as a hand found the inside of her thigh and eased her legs apart. Hate, shame and humiliation enveloped her. It was as though she were a laboratory animal being inspected and manipulated without consent or concern for her feelings. She now fully came to realise how it felt to be deprived of all rights. And as he touched her and slipped a finger into her vagina, she was overwhelmed by the imagined sight of his previous victims being penetrated by sharpened spears of wood. Tensing and gripping the bedclothes with her hands, she waited blindly for the pain.
“Tell me you love me,” he said.
“I... I love you,” she whimpered, unable to convey any feeling or emotion to the words.
“Bobby. Say, I love you, Bobby. And say it as if you mean it. Humour me.”
“I love you, Bobby,” she whispered, trying to believe herself an actress in one of the countless radio plays that she had produced. Christ, it seemed a lifetime ago that she had led a relatively normal life. It was as though she was now another person. She felt changed, no longer the successful woman that she had been. All that had gone before was now fading memories, dislocated from this new and harsh reality.
“No, you don’t, yet,” he said. “But you will, princess, believe me, you will.”
He was gentle, taking her as though she were a fragile and priceless work of art made of fine, rare crystal that would shatter if handled roughly. The coupling was, to him, a physical consummation of countless dreams that he had never thought would be realised in the flesh.
Impotent am I, Dr Mark? I dare say that Caroline would vouch for my virility, he mused, scant seconds before arching his muscular back, stretching his vein-corded neck up to face the ceiling and howling like a wolf as he came.
Finished, he stroked her body, face and hair, and then kissed her tenderly on the lips. “Don’t move,” he said, climbing off the bed.
Caroline kept still and could hear nothing. He may have been standing next to her, watching her, waiting for her to disobey his order, to give him an excuse to punish her. Although unfettered, she may as well have been chained to the bed. She did not dare to even close her legs to retain any shred of dignity.
He found nylon rope coiled in a locker near the saloon door, returned to the bedroom and spread-eagled her, tying her to the solid brass bed posts by her wrists and ankles. He then removed the tape from her eyes and smiled down at her as she squinted up at him, blinking rapidly as she attempted to focus.
“I’d rather not have to do this, my love,” he said. “But it’s for your own good. You’ll hate me for a while, and then you’ll come to rely on me and need me. And finally, you will love me, as I love you.”
She said nothing, and fought to keep the disgust for him locked in her mind; to not express it on her face.
He discarded the strip of damp tape and leaned forward with the reel, then paused and said, “How is the good ship Lollipop powered, Carrie?”
“It... It’s connected up to mains water and electric. There are also bottles of propane gas in a locker on deck, and batteries under a cover outside the main door,” she said.
“All mod cons, eh?” he said, lifting her head and winding the tape around it twice, to cover her mouth, before quickly severing it with his teeth. “Even if you can work this free, don’t,” he warned. “Just stay as sweet as you are.”
As he left the bedroom and slid the door to, Caroline’s bone-deep loathing for her captor gave her a small, diamond-hard feeling of inner strength. He could rule her body, for now, but he could not control her mind or know her thoughts. She had a certain integrity that he could not touch. Her spirit was strong, and she knew that she would never, ever be brainwashed into feeling anything but absolute revulsion, utter contempt and pure unbounded hatred for the deranged killer.
After what seemed a small eternity, Caroline forced away the hideous sensation of his hands on her skin, and the feeling that his engorged penis was still inside her. Her rage was amplified by the sense of violation. She had been terrorised, almost lost her identity, and had now been abducted, raped and left tied up, as though she were no more than a meal to be enjoyed when his hunger returned. He was intent on breaking her morale, draining her resistance and conditioning her. His plan was to alter her way of thinking; to programme her to be his ideal woman.
As she dozed, a cold and dispassionate plan for survival took shape in her mind. She would use his arrogance and self-belief as a weapon against him.
She would lull him into believing exactly what he wanted to believe; that she was putty in his hands, to be moulded as he saw fit. At some juncture she would gain his trust and wait for him to make a mistake. She would have to be ready. Only one single, split second chance might present itself. And when it did, she would escape, or die in the attempt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Something terrible has happened, Mark thought.
The clock showed 7:00 A.M., and the phone was ringing. It would be bad news. He knew it. Thank God that Amy was with him. Whatever had gone down, she was asleep, warm and safe by his side. He did not hurry to answer. Bad news didn’t go away, ever.
“Yeah,” he said, steeling himself.
“The no-good bastard has killed three officers and taken Caroline,” Barney said, his voice full of pure vehemence.
“He took out an armed protection unit?” Mark said, incredulity apparent in his voice.
“That’s right. I need help. I have no idea where he might have gone to ground.”
“Any sign of a struggle?”
“No. He knifed one external officer, who had been hidden in a garden shed, then took the officer’s gun and shot the two in the bungalow through a kitchen window, that he took the time to tape first, to stop it shattering. He’s got two pairs of handcuffs, a silenced handgun, and a spare mag. It looks as if he even took the time to let Caroline get dressed. There was no sign of a struggle.”
“He won’t kill her immediately, then,” Mark said. “He’ll take her somewhere that he considers to be safe. Somewhere very private.”
Barney sighed audibly down the phone. “He has no friends or relations, Mark. He’s a loner, who is apparently close to no one.”
