by Conrad Jones
“I called them to say that I had to use the keys to gain entry.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Company policy,” Francis insisted. “If we can’t make contact with the tenant and use the keys, we have to inform the office to cover us.”
“You know one of the things that I like about this house,” he grinned again, the bulbous eyes unblinking. “I have never been able to get a signal here. It’s a black spot, absolute peace and quiet. Shall we look at your phone and see who you have called?”
“I used my work phone.”
“Not this one?” He held up the mobile phone.
“No,” Francis shook as he lied. “I leave the work phone in the car.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Shame.”
“It’s true.”
“Liar.”
“Why don’t you escape while you can,” Francis tried hard not to cry. “Leave me here and get away.”
“I think I’ll stay.”
“Then let me go, please,” Francis said hoarsely. “I’ll go straight to the airport and get on a plane. I’ve got some money. I won’t come back for weeks. You’ll have plenty of time to hide your tracks.”
“You would do all that?”
“Yes,” Francis said with quivering lips. His eyes filled with tears. “I want to live. I’ll do anything you want.”
“I’m afraid we have a quandary there,” he whispered. “You see, I need you to be quiet, which means that you have to die.”
“I will say nothing,” Francis sobbed. “I promise.”
“I believe that you mean that right now but once you’re safe, you’ll call the police.”
“I won’t. I don’t know that woman and I don’t care what happens to her.”
“Maybe you don’t but it will nag at you,” he gloated. “The screams of a woman stay in your mind and they eat away at you. Some feel sympathy, some feel guilt and some feel something completely different. You will feel guilty and eventually you will talk.”
“I won’t.”
“I can’t take that chance.”
“Please.”
“You may want to live at this moment but I think that you will want to die soon. In fact, you’ll beg for death to take you; they always do. I’ve heard so many of them.” He was going to say something else but a piercing scream interrupted him. It was the woman in the cellar. There were no words, just a long high pitched wail. Francis did what seemed the natural thing to do under the circumstances. He screamed too.
Chapter 19
Richard Tibbs pretended to be unconscious. His head drooped, his chin rested on his chest and a string of saliva dribbled onto his jacket. A crowd of people had gathered around the crash, trying their best to help. Tibbs kept his doors locked so that nobody could get inside. Despite being surrounded by the crowd he had generated, he wasn’t safe. He could hear do-gooders knocking on the window, asking if he was okay. Playing dead was the best thing to do for now. The sound of sirens came quickly and he welcomed the arrival of the first police car. He heard assertive voices giving instructions to move back. The police officers were taking control of the situation. A sharp rapping on the window prompted him to pretend to regain his faculties.
“Can you hear me, Sir?” a gruff voice accompanied the knocking.
“Yes,” Tibbs said pretending to be groggy. He needed to assess the scene quickly. The men from the Cherokee were talking to one police officer, while a second was next to his driver’s door. One of the men had a nose bleed and they both looked shocked and very angry. More shocked than angry, but then that was the point. “My neck hurts,” Tibbs moaned. He tried hard not to smile. Several people were filming on their mobile phones. A little boy held a balloon in one hand while he pulled at the trousers of the police officer with his other. The officer patiently ignored him as he made notes of the number plates and asked the enforcers questions. They looked at each other nervously as they answered. The last thing they wanted was attention from the police. Tibbs smiled inwardly and looked through the driver’s window.
“Open the door please,” the traffic officer asked. Tibbs saw an ambulance pulling onto the car park. It was followed closely by a second patrol vehicle. “Try not to move your neck, Sir, just in case you’ve done some damage.” Tibbs clicked the lock and the officer opened the door from the outside. “Can you tell me your name, please?”
“Richard Tibbs.”
“What happened here, Richard?”
“Those men were trying to kill me,” Tibbs said calmly. “I am in the witness protection program. I can’t say anything else. I can only speak to DI Annie Jones.”
The colour drained from the officer’s face. He spoke into his radio, “three four two.”
“Go ahead, three four two,” the comms crackled.
“I need back up at Hunts Cross McDonald’s”
“Roger that.”
“And we need to get an urgent message to DI Annie Jones. I’m taking a priority casualty to the Royal. I’ll stay with him until she arrives.”
“Roger that.”
“Steven,” he called to the driver of the second patrol vehicle.
“What’s up?”
“Arrest those two and take them to Canning Place.”
“What’s the charge?”
“Fuck knows,” he thought aloud. “Using threatening behaviour will do for now.”
“Mr Tibbs,” he leaned back into the Volvo where a paramedic was applying a neck brace. “I’ll come with you in the ambulance. I’ve sent a message to the DI, hopefully she’ll get back to me before we get to the hospital.”
“Thank you, Officer,” Tibbs nodded.
“Oh and Mr Tibbs,” he added.
“Yes, Officer?”
“I hope you’re not fucking me around.”
“No, Officer,” Tibbs frowned. “Of course not, Officer.”
Chapter 20
The house was detached from its neighbours and the expansive garden was overgrown. It was a poor advert for buy-to-let landlords, who buy property in the hope that the real estate value will rise. This particular investment was losing equity year on year. The grass was knee high and the Hawthorne hedgerow, which encircled the property, was above head height and growing wild in all directions. Thorny branches reached out threatening to scratch any that dared to enter. All the curtains were pulled closed; the glass so grimy that she could barely make out the colour of the material. The window frames were made from wood; the green gloss cracked and pealing and the pebbledash was losing the war against climbing ivy, which sprawled over the front of the house.
Annie watched six heavily armed members of the Forced Entry Unit move silently to the front door of the rundown house. Their body armour gave them a robotic look. They looked almost indestructible. Her detectives looked on, ready to follow the unit into the building. Their uniformed backup was at the rear where the suspect’s van was parked. All entrances and exits were covered. They were about to run through the final entry protocol when the screaming started.
“Can you hear that, Guv?” An anxious voice crackled on the comms. “We’ve got screaming coming from the house. It sounds like a male and a female.”
“Green light. Go, go, go!” Annie skipped the protocol. “Standby all units. We’re going in.”
“Use the big key,” the entry team leader hissed. The first FEU member struck the lock with a heavy metal ram. The door frame splintered and a second heavy blow sent the door crashing against the hallway wall. “We’re in.”
“Armed police!” Their entry calls echoed through the building. It was a big house and as the armed unit spilled into the front door, it seemed to swallow them up. She waved her team to move and they approached the front door as an organised fluid unit. Two long minutes ticked by as the sound of heavy boots resounded from the aging floorboards and cracked walls. She could hear a woman screaming for help and the sound of male voices; they were shocked, startled voices. “Armed
Police. Put down your weapon!”
“Drop it, now!”
“Upstairs clear!”
“Downstairs clear!”
“Detective,” the comms crackled. “You’re clear to enter.”
Annie walked up the hallway and turned into a long living room. The scene needed to be dissected in her brain, analysed and put into some type of context. The armed officers had a suspect face down on the floor. His nose was bleeding but he was cuffed and compliant. His eyes were bulbous and although he looked shocked, there was a sparkle in them; a hint of amusement. He seemed to be fascinated by what was happening as if he was an observer rather than a participant. He licked blood from his top lip.
“This guy was tied up in the chair,” an officer said. Annie saw a smartly dressed man in his twenties slumped in a grubby armchair. There was a dark wet patch which spread from his groin area down the upholstery and finally pooled around his feet. His face was streaked with tears, his skin pale and drawn. It was a face of terror. “He’s very shaken up. He says that his name is Francis Grant.”
“Where is the woman?” Annie asked in the confusion. The high pitched screams for help were nerve grinding.
“She’s in the cellar,” Francis muttered. “I couldn’t open the hatch. I tried but then that freak knocked me out. I tried my best but I couldn’t help her. Honestly, I tried my best!”
“Calm down,” Annie said putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you did all that you could.”
“There’s a padlock on the hatch.” An armed officer said from the far corner of the room. “He couldn’t have opened it without the key.”
“Search him for the keys.” Annie pointed to the suspect. “Mr Grant, what are you doing here?” The woman in the cellar began to scream again. It cut through the nerves like a dull blade.
“We’re coming to get you,” an officer called down to her. “Stay calm. What’s your name?”
“Tasha.” She sobbed. “Please get me out!”
“I’ve found a bunch of keys on him here.”
“Do any of them fit that lock?”
“I don’t have any keys to this house.” The suspect smiled and spat a globule of bloody phlegm onto the floorboards. “None of those keys will fit any locks here.”
“Shut up.” Annie snapped.
“I’ll be pressing charges for assault.” Annie saw a glint in his eyes. He was playing games already. There was intelligence in his eyes and something else too. Cunning. “You won’t find a padlock key on there. I hope that lady is okay.”
“Is he for real?”
“She sounds very frightened to me, poor thing.”
“Get him out of here,” Annie said angrily. She nodded to her detectives to react. “Charge him with kidnapping, for now.”
“Guv.”
“Mark Weston?” One of the detectives hauled him to his feet roughly. The suspect looked blankly at him. “Are you Mark Weston?”
“Never heard of him,” he grinned. “I think there’s been a mistake. I just found this man here like this. I was going to let him go when your storm troopers barged in.”
“He’s a fucking liar!” Francis shouted. “He said he was going to kill me.”
“Take him away,” Annie snapped. “We can find out who he is once we’re done here.” The detectives bundled Weston through the door and into the hallway. He protested his innocence loudly and his shouts mingled with the woman’s screaming. It was like standing in a lunatic asylum. Annie shook her head to clear her thoughts. “How are we getting on over there?”
“None of these keys fit the padlock.”
“Bag the keys and force it,” Annie ordered. She felt a twinge of concern stab at her detective’s brain. The suspect didn’t have the key to the lock. Not good. “Get her out of there for God’s sake. She’s grating on my nerves.”
“You’re all heart, Guv,” the entry team leader joked. “Snap the clasp off it. Do whatever it takes.”
“That did sound heartless didn’t it,” she chuckled dryly. Nervous energy made her twitchy and impatient when a big bust was in motion. There was no time to relax until the crime scene was cleared and the suspects were banged up. “There’s only one thing worse than a baby crying and that’s a woman screaming. I can’t stand either.”
“I take it you don’t have kids, Guv.” The officer cut the zip-ties from Francis’s wrists and ankles. The young man rubbed at painful looking welts on his skin.
“That’s one reason why I don’t have kids.” Annie shrugged. “One of about a thousand reasons not to have them. Okay, Francis.” Annie smiled and tried to put him at ease. “Firstly, are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” He touched the burn on his neck instinctively and then went back to rubbing his wrists. “He hit me with a Taser. It knocked me clean over. I can’t remember what happened afterwards.”
“Yes they tend to do that to you,” Annie smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“I work for Burnells estate agents,” Francis explained. His hands were shaking and his voice was croaky. Annie could see shock setting in and she needed as much information from him as she could glean before it took a hold. “The owners want to sell the property. We have written to Mr Weston four times with no response so they sent me to gain access. They were going to put it on the market regardless, so I had to measure up.”
“On your own?”
“We already have the original measurements that we used to advertise it before. All I had to do was check that he hadn’t knocked any walls down.” He paused, his lips twitched. “The tenant is listed as a sixty-five year old man.” Francis shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting a psycho with a Taser, and a woman locked in the cellar. This is like something off the television.”
“Unfortunately, you’ve stumbled into it through no fault of your own,” Annie said. “How are you feeling now?”
“Okay. I think,” he muttered. His eyes were glazed. “I thought he was going to kill me. I honestly thought this was it,” a tear broke free. “I wasn’t expecting to be rescued like this. Thank you so much. I thought I was dead. I wasn’t expecting to get out of here.”
“No, I don’t suppose you were,” Annie nodded. “We’ll get you checked over at the hospital and then we’ll need a full statement.”
“Okay,” Francis grimaced. “Actually, I don’t think that I feel too good.”
“That’s shock setting in.” Annie touched his arm. “Nothing to panic about. It’s perfectly normal after what you’ve been through.” She turned to a uniformed officer. “Let’s get him to the Royal.”
“Guv.”
There was a clattering from the corner of the room followed by the sound of wood splintering. The hatch was lifted and the woman’s sobbing became clearer. Annie walked over to where the armed officers were gathered.
“There are no stairs, Guv.”
“Get me out!” Tasha shouted.
“Are there any ladders down there, Tasha?”
“Do you think I would still be down here if there was?” Tasha shouted. Her fear had turned to anger. “Get me out!”
“He must have used ladders,” Annie said. “Check the rest of the house.”
“I’ll drop down, Guv.” One of the armed officers sat on the edge of the hatch, passed his weapon to his colleague and then dropped into the cellar. Annie heard the officer talking calmly to her. “Tasha, I need you to drop the weapons onto the floor.” There was a metallic clattering noise.
“We’re going to lift her out, Guv.”
“Good,” Annie said. She stepped back while they lifted and dragged the terrified woman from the hatch. Her eyes were wide with fear, mascara streaked her cheeks. She looked frightened and confused; her bottom lip quivered and she hugged herself protectively. “Get her a blanket,” Annie ordered. The tiny skirt and low cut top attracted the punters but did little to maintain body temperature. “Are you hurt, Tasha?” Annie neared her.
“Just my neck,” she croaked touching the burn.
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“We’re going to take you to the hospital first,” Annie smiled. “Once we know you’re okay, we need you to identify the man who brought you here. Okay?”
“Okay. He had big goggle eyes.” She murmured. “A proper fish face.”
“Get her into an ambulance and send an armed officer with her.”
“Guv.”
“Thank you,” Tasha said quietly, as she was lead away. Annie nodded and waited until she had left the building.
“What did she have in her hands?”
“A scalpel and a pair of scissors,” the officer who had lifted her out said. “There’s a trolley full of medical implements down there. Looks like something from a surgery.”
“Any signs of blood down there?” Annie asked.
“No, Guv,” he shook his head. “There’s a table and the trolley, that’s it. No signs of any blood.”
“That’s odd.”
“Any fishing twine?”
“I didn’t see any.”
“Do you think he’s the butcher, Guv?”
“It looks that way.” Annie shrugged but she was unsure. “I want some ladders so that I can get down there and look around.”
“We’ve got some on the way, Guv.”
“Good,” she turned to her detectives. “Take this place apart. Tell CSI to start in the cellar and work their way up the stairs.”
“Guv.”
“I’m going to look around here and then I need a long chat with Mark Weston.”
“Guv, there’s an urgent message for you from uniform.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Apparently Richard Tibbs has been involved in an RTA. He’s claiming that two men were trying to kill him and he won’t talk to anyone except you.”
“Jesus,” Annie sucked in her breath. “Tell them to take him to the station and wait with him. The way today is going, he could be waiting a while.”
Chapter 21
