by Ony Bond
She had a knack to sneak upon him unawares.
He braced himself. “Haven’t you said enough today?”
“Not yet. How about explaining where you were each night the girls disappeared. The net’s closing.”
“So you really believe next to everything else you’ve called me I’m a killer as well? How about you stating your whereabouts those nights yourself? Can you remember?”
“Me? I was home. What would be my motive to kidnap them?”
“Same here. I like staying home. The police are free to come to my house, question me and search. You’re welcome to join them, like I said before. Why not leave them to do their work and catch an abductor? You want my address?”
“My hair colour should tell you why I’m scared. I could be in danger.”
“Hundreds of girls have blonde hair. Why would the kidnapper choose you from the lot?”
“You’re neither a girl nor blonde, so you wouldn’t know how it feels.”
“You could dye your hair, become a pretty brunette like me. Didn’t they ever tell you black is beautiful?”
“Do you think it’s all a joke? I’ve never had a wish to be a brunette and like my hair this way. If we were alone I’d gouge out your eyes from your sockets. Dyeing my hair indeed! Your suggestion is all girls dye their hair?”
“I know how much we dislike each other. You and me aren’t friends, and won’t ever be. But that doesn’t mean I want to hurt you, or other blondes for that matter. I sincerely hope whoever took those girls hasn’t killed them, and they’ll be found soon. The last thing I want is learn they were murdered. As much as I don’t like you, killing has never entered my mind. Only thing I’d like though is whip you until you whimper.”
She coloured. “You could help police by telling them where you’re holding them captive.”
“They aren’t in my house. So where am I keeping them? In the garden shed, perhaps? Or maybe I have a secret dungeon under my house.”
“You would know. I don’t.”
“Do you know what I’d do if we were alone?”
“You’ve already told me. It’ll never happen.”
“Two things. The first is to put you on my knee and whack you so hard you wouldn’t walk for a month. You get that, Blondie?”
“What’s the second?”
“Tie you up, drive you to the sea and chuck you over a cliff into the waters with a stone tied around your neck.”
“That’s what you did to the girls?”
“Haven’t even met them. Hey, why didn’t I think of this one before? There’s an alternative. I could make a fast buck by selling you.”
She searched for something to strike him. “You’re uncouth and disgusting. I’ll never be a prostitute if that’s what you mean! That’s what you’re doing to those girls. Selling them against their will. I’m alerting the police on you.”
“Go ahead if that makes you feel better. They will imprison me and afterwards depot me if I’m the person they want. What’re you waiting for? Stay away from me next time, or I might seriously consider kidnapping and selling you. Got bidders waiting who asked me to find a healthy green-eyed blonde like you. Look, Rose, allegations of kidnap are serious. You might not believe me, but I’m just as concerned for those missing girls like anyone else. If it can be any help, I’ll give you my address so you can come inspect every room in my house. Best to bring someone who knows forensics for a thorough check. Can give you that address now.”
She marched off with a stiff back.
CHAPTER 3
Thoughts of what had happened swirled in his head. Maybe her dad and her had come out with possible suspects and he topped the list. Or it was just to make him snap, strike her and then get fired. It would be best if they left the work of finding a kidnapper to the police. James’ attitude concerning the abductor was puzzling too.
When Rose saw him standing alone at the vending machine she marched over, stopped, and got herself a drink. He ignored her.
“Are they still alive?” she said.
“Not you again? Who?”
“You know.”
He watched her with an uninterested look. “Have you considered kidnapping needs careful planning? A person has to ponder logistics. Transport and housing them. My car boot isn’t large enough for three girls to fit.”
“You have good connections. Why not capture brunettes? What’s it with light- coloured hair? The men you supply only want blondes?”
“You’re clutching at straws, detective. I don’t have a motive to kidnap girls. I’m not so low-life and broke I’d sell girls into prostitution for a few lousy bucks. The idea of tying up a screaming female, and drugging her is abhorrent. She’ll yell, spit, swear and scratch my face. Given the opportunity I’d rather come to your place and spank you.”
“You know my home?”
“Yes, watched it last night from the trees. You went to bed around ten, switched your light off at 10:30. Problem was rain started. I had to leave then.”
“I went to bed around eleven, and stayed awake until midnight. And it didn’t rain last night. You watched someone else’s house.”
“Did I? There was a car similar to yours parked on the driveway beside a red and new Nissan Micra. I thought that was your home.”
“Foolish isn’t the word to describe you. You couldn’t even choose the right home. Dumb is more appropriate.”
He smiled. “For once we agree. Next time I’ll make sure I get the address first. May I have it? Do I need a ladder to reach your room? If you’ve forgotten I can ask your dad or ma?”
She shook her head. “You want help to find me and break into my room?”
“I’d sure appreciate it, madam.”
For the first time in her life she smiled at him. Her cheeks dimpled. “Dumb and crazy. Can’t imagine how I could even think you kidnapped those girls. Still want my address?”
“Please.”
She frowned, tapped her temple. “Oh dear. I’ve forgotten.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get that address somehow. Your dad will give it to me.”
“How do you aim to ask him?”
“I haven’t thought about it. What do I say to get it? What about this? Sir, could I have your address, as I’m planning to pay your daughter a visit after everyone has gone to sleep? Would you also lend me a ladder? Think I can word it better? I need help here. English isn’t my first language.”
“Thick and dumb, that’s you. I’m surprised you even got this job.”
“It’s no secret. The interviewers were curious, hardly listened to the answers. Hey, I never realized it before. Can you do it again?”
“What?”
“Smile. When you do your dimples come out. I never realized before how deep they were. You even look a bit pretty then.”
She blushed, disappeared between the machines and rushed back to her office. Several things had happened today. Outside being accused of kidnapping girls she had smiled. Then that blush and running off.
An hour later he needed a valve from the machine shed nicknamed the machine graveyard, where old machines were stored. He was at the back in a corner unscrewing the part when steps sounded. Rose headed in his direction, stopped a yard away and placed her hands in the pockets of her dust-coat.
His voice was casual. “What’re you doing here alone? Thought I warned you it was dangerous.”
“Looking for a part. What about you?”
“This solenoid valve.” He carried on unscrewing it off the machine, then glanced up. “You still here? So you aren’t scared being alone with me?”
“Should I be?”
“I thought you said I was a kidnapper.”
“Why did you really come to this country? There are other places you could have gone to.”
“Aren’t you being xenophobic?”
“Too many refugees are bleeding our benefits system. We’re just a small island. We can’t take everyone. You people never stop coming.”
“
We pay a lot of tax into the system and work hard. Our sisters and mothers do a lot of work in care and residential homes. You will appreciate that when you’re old, sick and suffering from dementia. Your problem is reading the wrong papers whose only agenda is inciting racial hatred. Remember your grandfathers came to my country first, colonized it and grabbed what they wanted. You’d better get used to having me around, because I’m not leaving. It’s not too late to say sorry.”
“You’re mad for even dreaming I’ll ever apologize to you.”
“I should have known you wouldn’t. All refugees to you are liars and cheats.”
“Do you like it in this country then?”
“Everything’s different from the weather, food and all. But I’ve met good decent people. And like everywhere else you go, there are those that won’t like you. But that’s what it is. Some people won’t change. If your life was in danger, wouldn’t you run very far?”
“I suppose so.”
“But then you’ve never had to be a refugee, have led a sheltered life. Why is it so hard for you then to accept me here? To you every refugee here is lying and cheating his and her way across the border, despite the coldness in this country, and the loneliness of being so far from home. None is genuine. Aren’t you reading the wrong papers? Those that keep shouting refugees should be sent back?”
“My older sister was sexually abused by a refugee like you. He was from your country too. You expect me to like refugees after the ordeal she went through?”
“No. I’m sorry about what happened to her. But that doesn’t mean we are all like that. Nasty characters come in all races, sizes and colours. I would never force a girl. Can’t imagine the trauma she would go through. There are two types of refugees; economic and political. Those escaping unemployment, seeking a better life, and the others targeted by despotic political regimes. I belong to the political one, but wouldn’t even bother to explain. It’s like throwing water on a duck’s back. You won’t believe me anyway.”
She was quiet, appeared deep in thought, watched him, then turned and walked out.
He heard Frank’s voice.
“There you are, Rose. I’ve been looking for you for a coffee. Someone said you came this way.”
“I’ve been looking for a part out here, Dad.”
“You found it? Want help?”
Godfrey hid behind a machine.
“It’s nothing urgent, Dad. I’ll look for it another time. Let’s go have that drink now.”
“With girls missing I don’t want you on your own, especially in this gloomy graveyard.”
“You’re scaring me. You don’t think that blonde abductor works at this factory.”
The two laughed at something Godfree didn’t catch. Then their voices faded.
CHAPTER 4
A traffic congestion spread for miles with all four motorway lanes closed. Several police cars and ambulances with blaring sirens had sped past hours ago. The car radio reported a serious head-on collision involving several vehicles that proved fatal. Five people had died. More people in critical condition were airlifted to hospital. The congestion was likely to spill over into the early hours of Saturday.
It had been a long day. This was now 11:30. Saturday was creeping close. Godfree should be home, had anticipated waking up late tomorrow. But the night electrician had his say – he had called and asked him to wait. That caused Godfree to leave late. The electrician had only arrived at the company two hours later.
Just before midnight the congestion ended. He reached the scene of the accident twenty minutes later. Three burnt out shells remained of what were once cars. He left the motorway at his junction. Miles later he passed a bridge and reached the town. Two girls in short mini-skirts and high stilettoes gestured for a lift. When he did not stop they swore and stuck their middle fingers in the air. Fifty yards on his right a large flashing purple neon sign above a door advertised a popular nightclub. A long queue of young men and girls waited to get inside. He drove uphill before turning into his road. A late-night takeaway was open.
“Good morning.”
“Hello, mate,” the shop-owner said. “Coming from work?”
“Yes.”
“You worked late.”
“Yes, got caught up in a traffic congestion which stretched for hours.”
“The one on the M25?”
“Horrible. Saw it on the news.” They all looked at the TV screen on the wall. “It’s still the main news. Strange thing about life. Think of those people that died. Never knew it was their day. You leave home, kiss the wife and kids. Don’t know you’ll never be back.”
“True. May I have the usual?”
“Sure.”
Godfree paid. The man heated chips, grabbed several pieces of chicken, barbecued ribs and wrapped them in a package.
“I added extra and another large drink as you’re a good customer.”
“Thank you.”
He stepped out as a shorter and broader black man met him at the door.
Godfree froze as his heart missed beats.
Comrade Moto!
Time seemed to stand still as they stared at the other for several seconds.
“Morning.”
Godfree did not answer. The man moved past him and entered the shop. Godfree walked to his car and got inside, a pensive look on his face and watched him. When the man drove off he followed. After several turns and streets the man parked, stepped outside the car and locked it. Walked past a gate to a house and entered. Godfree drove past the house to the end of the road, turned into a left road and parked. Waited for a time.
Had he made a mistake? That man’s accent was African. But how could Comrade Moto the notorious ruling party activist who had tortured him and killed Aaron be in England? Did he stay in that house? It could be someone else.
He drove home past the house. This time a light was on upstairs. Godfree’s home was two miles away, the last house at the end of the street.
After a long day he entered the lounge, clicked on the light. A familiar scent of sofas, carpet and books hit his nostrils. Several letters lay scattered on the carpet. Just the usual water, electricity and phone bills, and a letter from a bank he did not know inviting him to apply for credit. In the kitchen he washed and dried his hands, plonked himself on the sofa and dug into the food. After eating he took a bath. His bedroom was upstairs. He had left it neat, the bed made up as usual. After changing into his pyjamas he got into bed and stared at the darkness.
Could he be mistaken about the man he had just met?
He had never forgotten that opposition party rally years ago. Moto had arrived with trucks packed with armed ruling party supporters who wielded sticks, truncheons, whips, rocks and preceded to beat people. Opposition party members fought back. Several of Moto’s men surrounded Godfree. Despite bringing several down he was outnumbered. They would scatter but more joined. Something hard hit him on the head. Kicks and punches rained on him. He passed out. When he awoke he was naked, with a splitting headache, tasted blood, and tied to a table. Aaron was on the next one.
Torture awaited both.
Aaron never left that room of torture alive.
Moto had instructed people to leave the beaten opposition party victims in the stadium. They should not be taken to hospital. Six people were killed. The government newspaper reported unruly opposition members had disrupted a peaceful ruling party rally, beat, killed people and went on a wild rampage burning and looting.
Was Moto living in Stones now?
Suppose that was him? How many times had he imagined meeting him again and taking his revenge?
Tossing from one side to the other he fell asleep, only to wake up screaming and shivering, wet with perspiration.
The nightmare was back.
He was back in that place. Moto had cut and burnt his back, raised the hammer high and shouted.
“Comrade, your time has come.”
Sleep evaded him. Godfree caught a bath. Early in the m
orning before heading for work he drove to the street and parked houses away. A downstairs light was on. He was just in time to see a door open. The man he thought was Moto walked out followed by a pregnant woman. The work-suit he wore had the words Ross Furniture printed on the back. He hugged the woman before leaving in his car. Godfree followed. After twenty minutes the man parked outside a large warehouse that had Ross Furniture painted on the front and disappeared inside. The man emerged once, glanced at Godfree’s car before going back.
Godfree was convinced then it was Moto.
He drove away his face pensive. The questions came. Was that torturer a wanted man in hiding? Had it been wise to follow him? Had Moto had recognized him? Who was the pregnant woman? Likely a wife or girlfriend? Did Moto have children now? Godfree must not allow himself to see that man as human. That psychopath must pay for his crimes. It was time.
***
The day proved busy. His friend David called.
“Hey, Doc. I called before and left a message.”
David spoke. “Sorry, young brother. I’ve been too busy with work. You said it was urgent.”
“You need to take a holiday and learn to relax. It’s your turn to visit me. I have been to see you twice.”
“I’m sorry, mufana (young brother). How are you?”
“I met Moto here.”
“You’re joking?” David exclaimed. “You saw that murderer?”
“Yes. I’m sure he’s living and works in Stones now.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“It’s him alright.”
“Tell me how you met him.”
They talked for thirty minutes, planned what to do. David had a group of people he could send to beat Moto and leave him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
“That man killed my uncle, your friend Aaron, and others. He left you horribly hurt on the side of the road. I’ll send people to the house. They will follow him, find a time to abduct him and beat him senseless. Excuse me, got to take this call. It’s an emergency at hospital. I’ll call you when I get back.”
