Never Forgotten (Manor Park Thrillers Book 2)

by G H Mockford

  ‘We did start looking for him,’ Rees interjected, ‘but we didn’t know his whereabouts.’

  ‘I did come and ask the teenagers who hang out here, but they didn’t know anything,’ Chambers said.

  Yes, they did, Stephen thought. They just didn’t want to, or couldn’t, tell you.

  ‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell us, Mr Bridges?’ Rees asked in his surprisingly deep voice.

  ‘Not that I can think of.’

  ‘Take a few moments to think again.’

  Stephen wasn’t sure if it was friendly advice or a threat. ‘No. Edward’s at the QMC. Georgia could be in danger. I’m to have nothing to do with anything to do with this case.’

  ‘But you’d be happy to come in and answer any questions DI Hamilton or his team may have. Right?’ Chambers said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m sure DC Chambers will stay in touch. She’s remaining on the investigation as the liaison officer between the old and new teams. Quite a step up working for the Special Operations Unit, Bryonny. Don’t blow it.’

  Stephen smiled at finding out what the SOU in EMSOU meant. Was East Midlands the first part?

  ‘No, Sarge,’ she replied.

  ‘Now, if you don’t mind, we must go and help the SOCO team pack up so we can go home, shower and go out for a curry. Good day, Mr Bridges.’ Rees shook Stephen’s hand and marched off toward the half-disassembled tent.

  ‘If you’ll follow me, Mr Bridges,’ Chambers said, holding out her arm to indicate he should head back over to Sandra. Another PCSO had joined her and they were lifting the tape so that a couple of men could carry a box of equipment back to their vehicle.

  Stephen stopped while he was still out of earshot of the PSCOs. ‘You can call me Stephen, you know.’

  ‘Maybe, but not right now. Try and stay out of trouble.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, constable.’

  Thirty-Two

  Stephen arrived at The Manor to find a white van parked outside. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and neither was the man unloading boxes and taking them inside the public house.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Stephen asked Annie, who was stood out the front having her usual four PM cigarette and waiting to see what time he arrived.

  ‘All part of Cliff’s big idea. You’ll have to ask him.’ Annie took a long drag on the cigarette and then blew the smoke out. ‘I’ve told him it’s not a good idea but he’s convinced it’s anything but. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.’

  Stephen hurried past the landlady and stood to one side as a younger man came out the front door with empty cardboard boxes folded up and tucked under his arm.

  ‘There you are,’ Cliff bellowed across the lounge as Stephen walked in. He was with the man Stephen had seen unloading the van and who was now unpacking the box he’d carried in. ‘I’ve been keeping this a secret but I know you’ll be more excited about this than old misery guts outside.

  ‘I heard that,’ Annie shouted.

  ‘You were meant to,’ Cliff called back and then added, ‘Love you!’

  ‘Up yours,’ came the curt reply.

  The delivery man looked up at Cliff.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s just our way,’ the publican explained. ‘Now Stephen, you’re just in time. Tim here is about to set up the last of the equipment. You know what I’m like with technology, so pay attention.’

  ‘What’s going on? What’s happened to the corner booth?’ Stephen asked, pointing to where a curved bench seat and round table used to be. Now there was something else there. ‘Is that…a stage?’

  ‘Yeah. Chippy came this morning and did it. Basically, it’s like decking. Do you like it?’

  ‘What do you want a stage for?’

  ‘Nottingham’s going for some city of culture award or something. Thought we should get in on the action. Listen,’ Cliff held up his hand and counted off his ideas on his fingers, ‘live music, comedy, storytelling, hey, even bloody poetry.’

  ‘But Cliff, we don’t have an entertainment licence. Won’t we get into trouble with the council? Not to mention who’s paying for all this?’

  ‘You let me worry about that. We’ve got our first band booked for tonight.’

  ‘I’m already up to my neck in it with police; I can’t afford any more trouble. Hang on,’ Stephen stopped, ‘did you say tonight?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve advertised and everything.’

  ‘I haven’t seen any posters,’ Stephen said, quickly sweeping the bar area with his eyes.

  ‘Posters? It’s the twenty-first century, son. It’s all on our website, Facebook and Twitter.’

  ‘Website? Twitter? I didn’t know we had any of those, and you just admitted you’re useless with technology?’

  ‘I’m paying a twelve-year-old to do it. She’s brilliant. I– Hang on, did you just say police? You said you’d left it alone,’ Cliff said, his voice a mixture of concern and disappointment. ‘What the hell’s happened now?’

  Stephen looked down at Tim the technician and convinced he was focused on his work, filled Cliff in on what had been happening down by the river.

  ‘It’s been on the news and everything,’ Tim said as he tinkered with various wires and ports.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s right on my doorstep and I’ve missed it. Murdered you say? Bloody hell, son. That could have been you!’

  ‘Whatcha mean?’ the sound engineer asked.

  ‘Just finish that off will you, Tim. We’ll be back in a minute,’ Cliff said and jerked his head toward the bar. Slipping through the bar gate, Cliff went to the optics and made two double vodkas. ‘Get that down you,’ he said, sliding a glass across the bar. ‘It’s a wonder your nerves aren’t shot.’

  ‘You know what?’ Stephen said as he sat on a bar stool and spun his glass with his fingertips, watching the liquid swirl around. ‘I never even thought about that.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with you,’ Cliff began before downing the rest of his alcohol. ‘You either think too much or not enough. You worry about the wrong things, too. I hope this realization will finally convince you to let this all go.’

  ‘It’s in the hands of the police now,’ Stephen said and pushed his untouched glass back to the old Jamaican. ‘Now, let’s check out this sound desk and keep our fingers crossed for a good night.’

  *

  The Manor was busy. The band, a duo of women, arrived at seven for an eight o’clock start. Cliff couldn’t have been more emphatic with his greeting. They had brought their own PA equipment but were more than happy to use the brand new stuff provided for them.

  ‘It could do with a Christening,’ Cliff said.

  ‘I could do without dragging all our equipment around,’ the keyboardist, Sally, said. ‘I swear I’ve got bigger biceps than my husband.’

  ‘I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my technical assistant, Stephen. Can I get you ladies a drink?’

  ‘Oh, thanks. I’ll have a half a cider,’ Sally answered. ‘Sarah usually likes a Bud.’

  Cliff nodded, rubbed his hands like an excited schoolboy and returned to the bar.

  ‘Can I help you with anything?’ Stephen asked.

  ‘This is quite similar to our gear. I’m sure we can work it out. We’ll give you a shout if we need you.’

  Stephen left the performers to it and joined Cliff at the bar. ‘Folk music? On a Saturday night? Are you sure about this?’ Stephen asked, his voice a whisper despite the amount of noise in the teeming pub.

  ‘Don’t worry, It’s not all bells, hankies and a ha hanny he har,’ Cliff said. ‘These lovely ladies sing the a ha hanny he har songs, but with the original lyrics.’

  ‘What do you mean?

  ‘Don’t they teach you anything in school anymore?’

  ‘No offense, Cliff, but I’m surprised you know so much.’

  ‘Dad felt we should know as much as possible about English culture when we moved here. The folk scene was massive when I was a teenager,
don’t forget.’

  ‘How the hell would I know, I’m an eighties child not a flower child.’

  Someone needed serving at the far end of the bar, so Stephen went and did his job, then, realizing that Cliff hadn’t made the ladies their drinks, he poured the cider, grabbed a bottle and took them over. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Just need to tune up and check it all works, but, yeah, thanks,’ Sally said.

  A few minutes later Stephen was forced on to the microphone to introduce the band. Sarah began to sing, with the odd bit of violin thrown in, while Sally played on the keyboard.

  Stephen worked furiously behind the bar, trying to tune into the lyrics while pulling pints. His favourite of the evening were:

  Well I laid the girl down with her face to the sky,

  And I took out my ramrod and my bullets likewise,

  I says ‘Lock your legs around me and dig in with your heels,

  For the closer we get, oh, the better it feels.

  Thirty-Three

  SUNDAY, Time Unknown

  Georgia found it interesting that he always said ‘see you in the morning’, but she never did.

  That morning she discovered something different, but he still wasn’t there. The light outside was quite meagre and she figured it must be around seven in the morning. Thankfully there was more than enough light for her to make out the dingy interior of the room. Something had woken her, and she was certain it wasn’t him touching her.

  A glance around the room soon revealed what must have woken her. As well as the usual food, there were some fresh clothes, a towel, an old tin bath, a bottle of Miss Matey and a garden hose. The green pipe disappeared under the door. It had a garden rose attachment on the end that you squeezed to get it to work.

  Georgia got out of her chair for a closer look. When she tried the hose, the water came out in what could only be described as a feeble trickle. On the plus side, the water wasn’t as cold as she’d expected.

  Should she use it? Her mind was saying ‘no’. But she felt disgusting. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been clean. It was too good an opportunity to pass by, even if there was risk involved.

  Georgia checked the door. It was locked. Unless the pervert had a camera, or he came bursting in, he wouldn’t see anything. As an extra precaution, Georgia dragged the bath to the far corner on the wall that held the door. It would be the last place he would see if he did come in and the open door would give her some additional time to cover herself. Then she rolled the chair next to the bath so she could hide behind it if she needed to.

  Then she waited. She’d created a lot of noise and if he were here, he would know she was up and about. And he’d said he wanted to watch. Unless he was just playing games with her, of course.

  When Georgia thought ten minutes had passed, she took the clean clothes and the towel and hung them on the back of the chair. There were skinny jeans, Ugg boots, a long sleeved t-shirt, jumper and a coat. There was also some fresh underwear and tights. They seemed the right size and style for her. How on earth did he know what she liked? She picked them up and looked more closely. They were her own clothes. She’d packed a backpack to go to Asia. He must have brought it as well as her to this hellhole.

  With one last glance at the door, Georgia undressed and threw her unwanted clothes in the far corner of the room under the broken shutters. She was surprised at how dirty they were. In places, they were quite literally encrusted with filth.

  Her friend, Duckface, who was named after her favourite selfie pose, would never have forgiven her. She was always in the newest Primarni clothes, or if they were flush, River Island. How things had changed. But it wasn’t her fault, Georgia told herself. She simply hadn’t had the opportunity

  Leaving her bra and knickers on just in case, she sat in the bath. The cold metal bit at her through the thin layer of cotton that covered her bottom.

  Georgia picked up the hose and pointed it at her legs. ‘I need to just go for it,’ she said to herself and raised the end above her. ‘One, two, three…’

  The water took her breath away as it landed on her head and slowly spread across her body. The effect was made worse by the fact that the tiny rivulets didn’t completely cover her.

  It might have been wishful thinking, but the water seemed to speed up as she directed it over herself. She rubbed it into her goose-pimpled flesh with her free hand. The bath began to fill around her, and finding a catch that would hold the nozzle open, Georgia left the hose to run in the bottom. A feeling of comfortable familiarity came over her as she unscrewed the bottle of Matey and used it as a shower gel. Finally she washed her hair, enjoying the massage and the sensation of having clean hair for the first time in two weeks.

  Despite the tepid water, Georgia sat in the bath for a while and she imagined she was on an island somewhere in a vast, empty sea. The island of Monte Cristo, perhaps, she mused. No one would know she was there, so long as she didn’t draw attention to herself. She was safe. If no one could find her, no one could hurt her.

  Equally, no one could rescue her.

  Georgia stood up, rinsed herself off as quickly as she could and then grabbed the towel from the back of the armchair. The clean, dry clothes fell to the wet floor as she tugged it free.

  ‘Shit!’ Georgia said, picking them back up and replacing them on the chair. She wrapped the towel around her. It was warm and soft. Once the shivers had gone, she pushed the armchair forward and cleared some space on the dry floor. After a thorough towelling off, she held it like she was on Mapplethorpe beach and got dressed.

  Georgia returned the chair to its original position and ate the sandwiches. Remembering Felicity’s plan, she smashed the plate, hid two shards down the side of the seat cushion and waited for sleep to come.

  Thirty-Four

  SUNDAY 9:12 A.M.

  Stephen lay in bed.

  When he’d got home at one o’clock, he’d turned his alarm off as he wasn’t at work the next day. The four of them, Sally, Sarah, Cliff, and himself, had stayed drinking at the bar long after The Manor had closed.

  After a few pints of Sheriff’s Tipple, Cliff regaled them with a spot of Morris dancing, pulling a calf muscle in the process. The two musicians went to pull him up and they all ended up on the floor in a fit of the giggles just as Annie appeared to see if he was coming to bed. The fun and laughter stopped, and Stephen was left to lock up.

  Stephen chuckled at the memory as he threw back his covers. Annie was a formidable woman, but she and Cliff were a great team behind the bar and despite outward appearances, they were both utterly devoted to each other.

  After a quick shower, Stephen dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. David was sat in front of the telly eating his sizable breakfast. He squirmed in his seat so he could look back over his shoulder and greet Stephen good morning.

  ‘Coffee?’ Stephen asked. David held up his cup to signal he already had one.

  Stephen knocked together a breakfast from what little he had left and returned to the living room. ‘Where are the others?’ Stephen asked as he plonked himself down into a threadbare armchair and put his feet up on a nest of tables.

  ‘They came in even later than you. Surprised they didn’t wake you up. Harry fell over your bike.’

  ‘Shit!’ Stephen started to get out of his seat.

  ‘It’s all right, I checked it.’

  ‘I keep meaning to fix it, but I guess I don’t need it anymore.’ Stephen saw the questioning look on David’s face, but he didn’t elaborate.

  ‘You got any plans today?’

  ‘Not really,’ Stephen said, realizing he really didn’t have anything to do. Perhaps he could visit his mum again or ring her.

  ‘Do you fancy bowling or something?’ David asked.

  They both sipped at their coffee.

  ‘I’m not sure I can afford it,’ Stephen answered, feeling like he was fobbing David off with a terribly transparent lie even though it was true.

 
; ‘I could shout you.’

  Stephen was about to thank him for his kind offer when his phone vibrated and beeped twice from inside his pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen.

  It was Georgia’s father.

  Sorry about the other day. Something came up, he read.

  Why didn’t the man tell him this the other day? Thanks for letting me know, Stephen replied.

  I would like to meet.

  Stephen paused and considered what to do. His curiosity got the better of him. I’m free all day, Stephen typed back.

  One hour by the lions. I promise.

  Stephen knitted his eyebrows together and stared at the odd ending to the message.

  ‘Everything all right?’ David said. ‘Not often I see you with a phone.’

  ‘I’ve got to meet someone,’ Stephen explained. David’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to go.’

  ‘No problem,’ David said. ‘Next time?’

  Stephen nodded, and feeling bad for David, went up to his room and got his coat.

  *

  Stephen walked into town. He cut through the Lace Market, over the tramlines and into Nottingham’s compact city centre. He was going to be early, but that suited him fine. Last time he’d waited by the lions for Emma’s father, but this time he had other ideas. He would wait in the wings by the Brian Clough statue. The bronze casting of the beloved football manager stood with his hands clasped together, raised in victory. Today someone had tied a Nottingham Forest scarf around his neck, the red and white bright against the dull, weathered metal.

  It was a good position to be in. The Council House was clearly visible ahead, and so was a familiar face. It went with the voice on the phone that Stephen had already thought was familiar even if he couldn’t place it. Stephen tried to deny it, but the more he looked the truth became more and more inescapable.