by Trevor Negus
He was carrying a bottle of water and a pack of sandwiches.
He held them out and snarled two words: ‘Hungry? Thirsty?’
She nodded.
‘If you want to eat and drink …’ He paused before continuing, ‘You know what I want.’
The girl summoned all her courage and said, ‘I’m so nervous. If I give you what you want, can you take it slowly? The last thing I want is to keep pushing you away. I know how much it upsets you. How about you just touch me tonight? In exchange for the food and drink.’
There was a long silence.
Finally, the monster said, ‘Okay. I say when to stop, though.’
The girl nodded and said, ‘Alright, but not too long the first time. I’m not used to doing anything like this. I don’t want you to hurt me.’
Saying nothing, he put the food and drink down next to the mattress and knelt beside the terrified girl.
Once again, he placed a fat, sweaty hand on her bare thigh. This time, she didn’t fight him off like a wildcat. As he slowly moved his hand along her thigh, she gritted her teeth and didn’t move.
His hand remained at the top of her thigh, feeling her, exploring her. His hand was inside her panties for less than a minute before she noticed his breathing change. He let out a small gasp, then quickly withdrew his hand.
No words were spoken. The silence between them terrified the girl even more.
She couldn’t bear to look at him and had screwed her eyes tightly shut. All she could hear was his rasping breath as he had become aroused.
As he withdrew his hand, she felt him lean forward as he tried to kiss her. She turned her head, allowing his fat lips to brush her cheek. Once again, she could smell stale, fried onions on his rancid breath. Then, without saying a word, he stood up and walked out of the room.
A massive wave of relief washed over her as she heard the door close. The bolt screeched across, and the padlock clicked as it was closed.
She tried to put the horror of what had just happened to the back of her mind. Even with her eyes screwed tightly shut, she could still feel his fat fingers inside her. She bent double, dry-retched and began to sob.
Eventually, she stopped sobbing and felt the hunger pangs again. Now that her prison cell had been plunged back into darkness, she fumbled around the floor, trying to locate the food and drink.
As soon as she found it, she undid the water bottle and gulped down two mouthfuls of cool water. She replaced the screwcap, intending to save some water for later.
She unwrapped the packet of sandwiches and took a bite of the first one.
Cheese and pickle on white bread had never tasted so good.
The food in her stomach energised her. She knew she would need to keep her strength up if she was to successfully fight him off.
Sitting in the darkness, she vowed to herself that the monster would not touch her again.
Thoughts now raced through her mind: Is anyone looking for me? Surely my parents would have called the police when I didn’t arrive home from school? Did anyone see me being snatched off the street?
One thought soared above all the others: She was now prepared to do whatever it took to stop her captor abusing her again.
21
9.30pm, 5 October 1986
Honeysuckle Cottage, Papplewick, Nottinghamshire
Angela Temple remained sitting in her Volvo long after she had parked the car on the driveway of Honeysuckle Cottage. The stone cottage looked stunning during the daytime and was just as beautiful at night. Soon after buying the cottage, the Temples had invested heavily in subtle mood lighting that accentuated the beauty of the stone structure.
She loved the cottage, but wasn’t sure she could say the same about her husband anymore.
The only sound disturbing her brief moment of tranquillity was the heavy rain falling incessantly onto the metal roof of her car. She had remained in the vehicle, trying to work out exactly what she was going to say to Brandon.
She had stared at the leaded light windows illuminated from within. She had an image of her husband half asleep on the sofa in the living room. She had left him a message on the answerphone earlier in the day, letting him know that she would be working late.
He was obviously still up and was waiting for her to arrive home.
The problem she now faced was that ever since they had been married, she had never spent a night away from home. To compound the issue, this trial would necessitate her being away for an entire week.
She had already spent hours carefully considering the best way to break the news; she knew Brandon wasn’t going to like it.
The thought of him being so disapproving of the situation suddenly renewed her own self confidence. Who was he to dictate to her what she could and couldn’t do? She was her own woman. A powerful woman, with a brilliant career ahead of her. She would not allow it to become the subject of a debate. She would be away for a week, in Leicester, working a high-profile trial. It was just what her career needed.
He would just have to accept it.
It was his problem, not hers.
She grabbed her briefcase off the front passenger seat, opened the car door and ran the few yards to the front door.
The heavy wooden door was unlocked. She quickly ducked into the hallway, keen to get out of the inclement weather.
As she hung her raincoat on the coat rack, she shouted, ‘I’m home, sweetheart. I’ve got some really exciting news.’
Brandon shouted from the living room, ‘I’m in here, sweetheart. Do you want a drink fixing?’
‘A large G and T would be perfect, thanks.’
She walked into the living room and placed her briefcase at the side of one of the leather armchairs. Brandon was standing next to the ornately carved welsh dresser. He was busily pouring tonic water into a tumbler already half full of gin.
He turned and asked, ‘Ice and a slice?’
‘No, don’t bother going to the kitchen. I just need a drink. It’s been a very busy day.’
He handed her the tumbler and lay down on the comfortable leather settee. He picked up his own half-full whiskey glass from the floor. Took a huge gulp and said, ‘So, what’s your exciting news?’
Angela flopped into the armchair and took a long drink of her gin and tonic. As she felt the warmth from the alcohol coursing through her body, she said, ‘I’ve landed the position of second chair in a very important rape trial.’
In a voice that betrayed his lack of enthusiasm, he said, ‘That’s great. When does the trial start?’
‘We’re travelling down to Leicester Crown Court tomorrow morning.’
‘That’s going to be an awful lot of commuting, sweetheart.’
‘No, it’s too far. We’re stopping in Leicester for the duration of the trial. It would be totally impractical to commute there and back every day. We’ll need to work every night, prepping for the trial.’
She watched his face closely. She was looking for a reaction as he began to come to terms with what he was being told. She could almost hear the cogs of his brain turning as he took another sip from his cut-glass tumbler.
Finally, in clipped tones, he said, ‘That’s wonderful, darling. How long, and who with?’
She smiled confidently and said, ‘The trial should only last a couple of weeks, maybe less. It’s a fantastic opportunity for me and will definitely push me up the pecking order at Mulberry.’
‘You still haven’t told me who’s going to lead?’
‘I’ve been fortunate enough to be selected by Dominic Whitchurch.’
Brandon said mockingly, ‘Selected by Dominic Whitchurch? The main man himself. Fortunate indeed.’
She chose not to acknowledge the blatant sarcasm.
She gushed, ‘I know. Dominic always likes a female barrister to second chair a rape trial. He says if there’s a woman helping to defend the alleged rapist, it makes it easier to convince a jury the defendant’s not guilty.’
Brandon didn’t give a
toss about the tactics of a trial. He said quietly, ‘And where will you be staying while you’re working on this trial?’
‘Rooms have been booked for us at the Belmont Hotel on Winterburn Street in Leicester. Everyone at work says it’s a beautiful hotel and very expensive. Mulberry Chambers have agreed to foot the bill, on expenses.’
‘Chambers have?’
‘Yes. One of the secretaries booked the rooms earlier today.’
With the same heavy sarcasm in his voice, he said, ‘That’s wonderful, sweetheart. I hope the trial goes really well, and you get the scumbag rapist off.’
She ignored his sarcasm, laughed and exclaimed, ‘Brandon! How many times do I have to tell you? They’re not scumbags, they’re innocent people. How many of those have you had tonight?’
He took another drink from his glass, laughed and said, ‘Whatever. I’ve had a few, why?’
She turned serious and said, ‘So, are you okay with me going?’
‘Don’t be silly, darling. Of course I am. It’s your career. I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.’
Brandon smiled, but inside he was seething.
He felt sick to his stomach.
He knew exactly why Dominic Whitchurch had selected his wife to accompany him, and it had fuck all to do with trial tactics.
He finished his drink and said, ‘If you’re going to be away for a whole week, I think we should have an early night, don’t you?’
She said, ‘That does sound a lovely idea, but I’ve still got quite a bit of work to do before I turn in.’
He put his empty tumbler down on the coffee table a little harder than he had intended, and said, ‘Okay, sweetheart, no problem. Don’t stay up all night.’
As he walked up the stairs of the small cottage alone, Brandon Temple tried to work something out: Exactly when had he lost his wife?
22
9.00am, 6 October 1986
Elm Bank, Sherwood Rise, Nottingham
Alina Moraru stretched lazily before snuggling in closer to her boyfriend. Feeling his girlfriend’s movement beside him, Florin stirred sleepily. He looked at the clock on the bedside table and said, ‘Come on, Alina, you need to get up now. You’re going to be late for work again.’
She put her hand on his flat muscular stomach and said, ‘I won’t be late today. I won’t be late ever.’
He sat up, half awake, reached for his cigarette packet and said, ‘What are you talking about? Come on, get up!’
Lazily, she also sat up in the warm bed. ‘There’s no work for me today. I got fired yesterday.’
‘What?’
‘The crazy bitch fired me. Her bloody daughter goes missing because she’s a little cow, and somehow, it’s all my fault.’
‘Why is it your bloody fault?’
‘She spoke to the mother of one of her daughter’s friends yesterday and found out that I used to wait for her daughter a couple of streets away from the school. I was supposed to pick her up right outside the school gates. She wouldn’t listen when I told her that I only waited for her there because her brat of a daughter insisted on it.’
He lit a cigarette, took a long drag and said, ‘I still don’t understand, baby. If the daughter made you park there, why is it your fault that this stupid, bloody girl has run off?’
‘That’s just it, none of this is my fault. The bitch is blaming me because she doesn’t want to admit that they’re both shit parents.’
Florin stroked his chin thoughtfully. He took another long pull on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke in rings, up towards the ceiling.
Finally, he stubbed out the cigarette and said, ‘How long has the girl been missing?’
‘This will be the fourth day unless she’s come home by now.’
‘Have they called the police?’
‘Yes. I told you the other day, the policewoman questioned me.’
‘Okay, okay.’
‘Why are you asking all these questions?’
‘I’m just angry that this bitch has fired you when you’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll make this big-shot lawyer pay for disrespecting you, sweetheart.’
‘What are you talking about?’
He ignored her question and said, ‘There’s one good thing about you being fired.’
She looked at him quizzically.
He laughed out loud and lunged across the bed, towards her. ‘We get to spend all day in bed together.’
He began kissing her throat, his hands caressing her breasts. His mind was elsewhere. He was already planning his next criminal enterprise.
Very soon, he would be a rich man.
23
10.00am, 8 October 1986
Nottinghamshire Police Headquarters
Danny Flint was feeling apprehensive. He was in the seating area outside the chief constable’s, waiting for his appointment time. He had been contacted the day before by Caroline Mee, the chief’s secretary, confirming that an appointment had been made for him to see Chief Constable Jack Renshaw. She had told him matter-of-factly that he would need to be outside his office at headquarters at ten o’clock sharp.
Danny had arrived with fifteen minutes to spare. He had exchanged pleasantries with Caroline Mee before sitting down to wait.
As he waited, all kinds of thoughts were racing through his mind.
Has Bill Wainwright handed in his resignation yet? Will Jack Renshaw envision a different role for the MCIU? What does the future hold for me personally?
The voice of Caroline Mee snapped him back from his troubling thoughts. ‘The chief will see you now, sir.’
Danny stood and said, ‘Thanks, Caroline.’
He walked down the corridor and knocked politely on the chief’s door.
His knock was answered by a shout from within: ‘Come in.’
Danny walked in and was met by Jack Renshaw. ‘Danny, it’s good to see you. Take a seat. Do you want a tea or coffee?’
Danny sat down and said, ‘No, thank you, sir.’
‘Bill Wainwright told me you were always straight down to business. I like that. I can’t stand all that small-talk bollocks.’
Renshaw sat down and said, ‘So, straight down to business, then. The reason I’ve asked to see you this morning is to let you know that Bill Wainwright has decided to call it a day. I think he’s got a few personal reasons for wanting to go now. I think the death of Miles Galton finally made his mind up for him. Obviously, I’m very sorry to see him go, but I’ve wished him well in his retirement.’
Here comes the bombshell, Danny thought.
Renshaw continued, ‘Anyway, his unexpected decision has left me needing a new head of CID to fill the void. It’s probably the one appointment that I couldn’t afford to take my time over. It’s a vital role and one that needed to be filled quickly. With that in mind, yesterday I approached Detective Chief Superintendent Adrian Potter, from my old force in Devon and Cornwall, and I’m pleased to say that he’s accepted the job.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but what has this appointment got to do with me, specifically?’
‘Danny, I’m fully aware that Miles Galton and Bill Wainwright had promised you a promotion to the rank of superintendent, to undertake an assistant role to the head of CID here at headquarters. Adrian Potter’s a much younger man than Bill Wainwright, and he’s of the opinion that he doesn’t need an assistant. I’ve got to say, I’m inclined to agree with him. I don’t want to bad-mouth a decision by my predecessor, but I don’t see the value of an assistant to the head of CID. Your promotion to superintendent, in this role, isn’t going to happen. I’m sorry.’
Danny felt like a ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The promotion would have been great for him financially, as well as working less antisocial hours. It had never been what Danny really wanted. He was happiest being a hands-on detective. Being in command of the MCIU, that was his passion.
Surprised by the lack of a reaction from Danny, Jack Renshaw repeated, ‘I’m sorry, Danny.’
Renshaw said, ‘What I do want is for you to continue the brilliant job you’re currently doing, heading the Major Crime Investigation Unit. I see the MCIU as an extremely valuable resource. This force’s ability to clear up serious crime has never been better. I know that an awful lot of that is down to your leadership. Is that okay with you?’
Danny allowed the faintest smile to cross his features. ‘That’s fine by me, sir. I firmly believe that the MCIU has a pivotal role in modern policing. A dedicated team of detectives being used to their maximum abilities, to detect the most serious crimes that impact on the community the greatest. That’s got to be a great asset.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. I’m sure that Adrian will think the same. He’ll no doubt want to schedule a meeting with you as soon as he’s settled in. He takes up his new post tomorrow, so you can expect a phone call from him. He’ll obviously need you to bring him up to speed on the Unit’s current commitments and capabilities.’
‘I’ll make sure I’ve got everything ready for him, sir.’
‘That’s it, then, Danny. I hope you’re not too disappointed about the promotion. I’m sure you’ll achieve that crown sometime in the very near future.’
‘Nothing was ever set in stone, sir. Thank you.’
Danny stood up and left the office.
He was smiling broadly when he walked past the chief’s secretary. She looked at Danny’s grin and said, ‘Well, that obviously went well, Chief Inspector.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, it couldn’t have gone any better.’
As he walked back to his car, Danny felt relieved. He had always known running the MCIU was where he truly belonged. He couldn’t wait to get home and share the good news with Sue.
24
11.00am, 6 October 1986
