“Yes, and we can see now, the police officers are standing down from that location. There they go, back into
their vans and cars. This is gripping stuff, Paul.”
“Yes, absolutely right Sue. Fingers crossed that they have found out where the missing policeman is, and are now on their way to rescue him.”
“Fingers, and toes Paul. Thank you, get back to us when you have more.”
Chapter Twenty-One
After what seemed like several minutes of being dragged along the floor by the stockily built man, Sergeant Knight’s hands once again crashed down against the floor behind his head. It hadn’t been minutes, it had been a few seconds. But, time was moving extremely slowly for Sergeant Knight.
As soon as the dragging stopped, and his body was still, the overwhelming pain from his leg seemed to get even more intense, it felt as though it was getting worse, then worse, and even worse. There was no plateau, no natural peak to the pain. It just got more intense, more overbearing. This was the worst possible thing that Sergeant Knight could imagine. He was praying that this sadistic bastard would start dragging him again, just to ease the pain that little bit.
“You look funny with your arms stretched out like that. You look like a pencil!” The man started laughing, humourlessly. Sergeant Knight had tears streaming out of his eyes, almost as though he was facing into a force eight gale.
“You got any kids?” asked the man. He ripped some foil from the top of a cigarette packet and threw it on the floor. He pulled a cigarette out of the fresh packet, tapped the tobacco end against the box and put it into his mouth, flicking the wheel of his lighter as the cigarette touched his lips. The lighter illuminated the man’s face. It was a round, chubby, stubbly face and his eyes looked friendly. Trustworthy. The kind of guy you’d buy a used car from. What a joke. Sergeant Knight didn’t recognise him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him before. But he didn’t know, he couldn’t be one-hundred per-cent sure. He’d locked up thousands of people throughout the past two decades. He couldn’t remember every single one of them.
“I said have you got kids?”
“Yes, two.”
Sergeant Knight was replying through clenched teeth. His eyes were beginning to roll to the back of his head as the pain, the utterly incomprehensible pain just got more intense, it just wasn’t relenting. Streams upon streams of tears continued rolling from his eyes. The man who’d done this to Sergeant Knight took a greedy draw on his cigarette and looked as though he was really enjoying the taste of the ciggie, and was becoming wrapped up in the satisfaction of the moment. After a few seconds, he exhaled the smoke slowly, through his nostrils and out of his mouth.
“I know you have. I’ve seen them. They’re called Abbie and Jacob. Cute kids, aren’t they, your two?”
Whatever terror this guy was trying to instill into Sergeant Knight, it wasn’t working. He was out of it, in a state of pain induced delirium. In short, the Sergeant was in too much pain to really think about anything else. Anybody else. He couldn’t even wonder why, or try to figure out how the man knew his kids names, or why he would have any interest in his children. Sergeant Knight was very quickly going into shock. This amount of pain was intolerable, it was causing his body to take the necessary action. His body was beginning to shut down.
“Fucking hell, don’t start nodding off on me.” The voice was booming, echoing around the large, old, smelly building. There was laughter. Sergeant Knight didn’t know if he was imagining it. Was he? Who was laughing? Why would someone laugh? The injured policeman was delirious, he didn’t know what was happening now. It felt as though he was being dragged again. His leg didn’t feel as sore. It wasn’t even hurting. He was laughing himself now. Laughing. Smiling. Happy. Thank fuck for that. I’m dead. He felt great. He felt amazing. Thank fuck for that. Sergeant Knight had an unmistakable grin on his face. His eyes closed slowly, and it felt wonderful, slipping away. Oh, it was lovely. So peaceful. Everything was okay now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rebecca Knight was struggling to keep it together.
When she’d called the police the previous evening, she’d finally admitted to herself that there was a serious problem. Jason wasn’t the kind of man that would not come home. It definitely wasn’t normal, and she had known deep down in her guts that something bad had happened.
But if Rebecca could have had any idea of the stress, and trauma, and tension, and fear and the physical distress that the following hours would bring, then she would have probably kept her concerns quiet for a little while longer, at the very least. She was going through hell. Her life had become like a scene from a weird television drama, she’d practically been kept prisoner in her own home all day, while being asked all manner of ridiculous questions that had been flamboyantly dressed up to sound less upsetting. The police officers were nice enough, they meant well, but they were grating on her. It wasn’t their fault, but the smarmy, patronising manner in which they were talking and behaving was making her angry. They’d ask her questions that were really serious, but were asked in a stupid, pampering, pompous voice, as though they were just asking her which soap powder she preferred, rather than whether Jason knows any drug-dealers socially.
“Has your husband ever mentioned any previous problems with criminals, or talked about any gangsters that might be upset with him?”
Rebecca wasn’t thick. She was a senior clerk at Bolton Hospital. She knew that the question really meant; “We think that gangsters might have your husband. Any idea which ones?”
The strange questions, in the condescending, overly sympathetic voices went on and on.
“We know that this is a very sensitive question, but we have to ask it okay? Has your husband ever strayed from your marriage, as far as you are aware?”
Meaning;
“We think he might have left you. Do you know who he’s shagging?”
There were dozens of questions, probably hundreds, and although it was torturing Rebecca, and despite the unavoidable fact that she looked physically and mentally drained, and was clearly in need of some form of medical sedation, she continued answering and trying her level best to help the officers with their questions. She just wanted to help them to find her husband, regardless of how much she disliked them talking to her as if she was eleven years old.
The questions were difficult, and painful, but Rebecca understood that they needed to be asked. She completely understood that any single one of her answers could suddenly unlock the mystery, and hurry up the process of finding Jason. Rebecca just wanted to be reunited with her husband. It was all she longed for.
But one question that had come up a number of times now was really distressing her. As though she didn’t have enough on her plate, enough to worry about, the police family liason officers were being pretty ruthless about Jason’s “other” phone. Rebecca had told them, she knew only of his normal mobile phone number. The one he’d had for nearly ten years, since he got his first I-phone, back in 2007.
“But we have very good reason to believe that he uses another phone, as well.”
That question, that sinister, dark, belly-flipping question kept coming back around, and it was cruel. It wounded Rebecca Knight every time that she was asked it. Instead of prompting a response that would be of some use to the enquiry, it just made Rebecca doubt her own mind, it made her question her own understanding of her husband. It made her query the strength of their marriage. The question made her wonder why he would need to have a separate mobile phone, and how she had never noticed it, or why he’d never mentioned it, or where he kept it, and why he’d need one in the first place. It obviously wasn’t for police business, or else the police would know the phone number. Wouldn’t they? What was going on here? Rebecca’s mind was in a fragile enough state already. This second phone question certainly wasn’t helping matters, and Rebecca was starting to despair.
“You people are starting to really, really upset me now,” said Rebecca. Her skin looked
elastic, stretched out thinly across her face. There was no colour to her complexion, where normally she had a beautiful olive tone. Her face was showing damage from the tears, and several angry spots had appeared. Rebecca hadn’t been able to eat anything for almost twenty four hours, and hardly any liquids had managed to stay inside her. Her tummy was making endless, loud rumbling sounds, appealing for some form of food or drink to get working on.
“We know, we know. We don’t want to upset you Rebecca, that’s the last thing we want.” Said PC Gary Robson, in as comforting a voice as he could muster, but once more, it was a default voice, and he just sounded disingenuous and condescending.
“But you have to ask?”
“Of course. There might be a reason that he has the phone, something very innocent.”
“Like what?”
“I beg your pardon?” The PC sat back a little, surprised by the sourness in Rebecca’s tone.
“What innocent reason would he have a secret mobile phone for?” Her sad, frightened eyes were wild, she looked extremely close to the edge, and PC Robson was acutely aware that he and his colleague PC Leanne Walker were the ones that had pushed her there. They needed to get her back now, away from the edge.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Tell me about what a good dad Jason is.”
The question disarmed Rebecca, and a little flash of light sparked in her eyes. It was as though a tiny bit of the sepia tone returned to her pallid, unhealthy complexion.
“He’s a bloody great dad,” she said, allowing a faint smile to cross her lips. “Everything he does is with the kids in mind. We had a lot of problems with fertility, you know?”
PC Gary Robson nodded tenderly, trying his hardest to look warm and appreciative of Rebecca’s conversation.
“So when I became pregnant with Abbie, that was when I really knew that I had married a brilliant, caring, loving man. Jason was absolutely…” Rebecca began crying
and reached to the coffee table to get a tissue. After a moment of wiping her nose and dabbing at her tears, and clearing her throat, she continued. “That was when I knew that I had married a really amazing man. He was with me every step of the way. God, I didn’t even realise how much I loved him until I was pregnant. It was like I fell for him all over again. He couldn’t do enough for me.”
“He sounds like a hell of a man,” said PC Robson, warmly, quietly.
“Oh, he is. And I feel sorry for whoever it is that has him… because they won’t win.”
“What’s the bike ride he’s planning?” PC Robson knew the answer to this, but he was trying to calm the missing man’s wife down.
“It’s called Le Jog.”
“It sounds French.”
“It’s Lands End to John O’ Groats, the entire length of Britain, from the edge of the Atlantic ocean in Cornwall to the top of the Scottish Highlands.”
“Bloody hell! How long is that going to take him?” The family liason officer was happy with how this was going, he was successfully taking Rebecca’s mind off her hopelessness.
“He’s doing it over the course of a week. Nine hundred miles. He’s doing it to raise funds for Infertility Network UK. They supported us through the hard times, and he wants to give something back.”
“He’s a braver man than me! How much is he hoping to raise?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. He’ll be happy if he made a few thousand. Two or three grand I suppose. I’ll be glad when he’s finished it to be honest, I’m sick of hearing about it!” Rebecca tried a laugh but the humour wasn’t there. “No, he’s really into it, he’s out training everyday.”
PC Robson was pleased to have averted a full-on tantrum from Rebecca, but he was conscious that time was going on. He now had to try and drive the conversation back
round to the questions that his bosses wanted responses to. The segue wasn’t entirely faultless.
“Jason sounds like a great man. Does he get on well with everybody?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I mean, all I have heard about him is that he is a really lovely bloke. But even the loveliest of people have made enemies somewhere, somehow. It’s just human nature.” PC Robson was trying to be tender. Rebecca seemed to have recovered from her earlier outburst, and seemed reasonably well adjusted again. She thought long and hard about the question.
“There was only one person that I know of who couldn’t stand Jason. My dad.”
“Oh, and why’s that?”
Rebecca could see the PC’s mind start whirring. It made her smile a little.
“Don’t worry, Gary. Dad’s dead. Has been for three years now. But he and Jason just couldn’t get along. They just couldn’t hit it off. Clash of personalities or whatever you want to call it.”
“Did your dad ever say anything? I mean, did he mention a reason?”
“No. He just said that I was too good for him. He thought Jason was very lucky to have me.”
“Well, I’m sure all dads say that about their daughters, don’t they?”
“Yes, I guess.” Rebecca began to get restless, and looked fidgety. “Look, can we stop now. I’ve told you everything. I’m not suddenly going to remember something. I need a bit of peace and quiet now please.”
“Of course. Of course.”
Gary stood and left the lounge. He walked silently through into the kitchen where his colleague, PC Leanne Walker was sat at the laptop, jotting down notes on her pad. Gary wrote down a message as he spoke to his colleague.
“I’m going to make a cuppa. I’ve said to Rebecca that we’ll leave her alone for a bit, she wants some peace and quiet.”
As he’d said it, the policeman was writing a message on Leanne’s pad. “Her dad hated Sgt Knight. Dad’s dead, but tell CID. Might be significant.”
“Ooh, go on, I’ll have a brew if you’re making. Have you asked Rebecca if she wants one?” said PC Walker as she held up her thumb and ripped the page out of the pad. Both of the officers were startled to see Rebecca Knight standing in the doorway behind them. She’d seen the message that had been written. She did a fake laugh, but once again, it sounded nothing like a laugh. It sounded like a desperately sad, scared person trying to do a pretend laugh. It was a bit of a cringey, awkward moment for the two police liason officers. Rebecca Knight wasn’t cringing though – she was furious.
“Show me that please,” she snapped, holding out her trembling hand. PC Leanne Walker looked across at PC Gary Robson and it was clear from the look on her face that she wasn’t sure what to do. The more experienced officer, Gary nodded at Leanne. He looked embarrassed.
“So, let’s see,” said Rebecca as she unfolded the paper. “Her dad hated him. Tell CID. It might be significant,” She read it aloud, in a stone cold voice. She looked up at the two police officers, and her pale, washed-out complexion seemed to turn even more of a deathly shade.
“Rebecca,” said Gary as he stepped across the kitchen with an apologetic look on his face.
“Don’t say my name again, in your pathetic, pompous voice. My husband is out there somewhere and you fucking incompetent twats are advising CID to look into my dead father’s feelings? Just get out of my house! Seriously, please. Just go.” Rebecca Knight was wailing, her mouth was trembling and she looked like she had finally had enough, as she fell to her knees, screwing the note up into a ball and screeching at the top of her lungs. “I want my Jason back! Please, somebody. Get my Jason back home with me.”
“I’ll get the doctor in,” mouthed Gary to Leanne, as he stepped past the emotional woman who was kneeling on the floor, looking as though she had lost all hope. “You try and comfort her,” he said as he went past, looking more panicked and scared than Leanne had ever seen.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The stocky man started pouring some kind of liquid onto Sergeant Knight, splashing it haphazardly all over his face, in his nose, his eyes, his mouth. With a gasp, the Sergeant woke, panic-stricken, almost drowning on the fluid. He tried to wipe his fa
ce but quickly realised that his hands were strapped together behind his head. And then the pain started again. He’d somehow lost the feeling down below, down at his shattered, battered leg. But now, all of a sudden the pain was back, very much so.
“It’s Iron Brew. Do you like Iron Brew?” The man was laughing, mocking his injured prisoner. “Do you want some more?” Once again, the pouring started, the fizzing, burning liquid that was scalding Knight’s eyes as the sugar bubbled and fizzed. He couldn’t wipe it, the sugary, sticky liquid was setting hard, burning and stinging, it felt like lava, but it was providing a distraction to the pain in the leg, or, as it felt to Sergeant Knight, what was left of his leg. It felt as though most of it was gone, had fallen away from the shredded muscle and splintered bones.
“Don’t fall asleep on me mate, bad manners that.”
“I thought I was dead!” stuttered Sergeant Knight, through clenched teeth. His contorted, agonised face couldn’t disguise his complete disappointment at being alive.
“All in good time dickhead. All in good time.”
The man inhaled more smoke from the cigarette. It seemed like the same cigarette. Sergeant Knight was trying to get his bearings, and was shocked to realise that his sleep, his death, his wake-up, it was all in the past few seconds. It felt as though he’d been out of it for hours. Days. It had only been a matter of seconds, the man still had most of his cigarette left to smoke.
“I thought…”
“Shush. Listen up mate – can you hear that?” The man put his hand up to the side of his head, cupping the back of his ear. “Hear it?” His eyes gave away an excitement, and he looked thrilled, almost like a child.
“What?”
ROAD TO NOWHERE : DCI MILLER 3: Another Manchester Crime Thriller With A Killer Twist Page 13
