by M A Comley
Charlie tutted again. “I’m sorry to go against you but I’m not feeling it. Perhaps that’s my inexperience coming through. I’ll reserve judgement for now. What’s next?”
“Maybe. Trust me, there’s something going on with her. We’ll go back to the station, see what the others have come up with, if anything, and then call it a day.”
“Really? You’re throwing in the towel early, aren’t you?”
Katy heaved out a sigh. “Not necessarily. If the guys back at base have news for us then it could likely be a long night. If they have nothing, then it’s pointless all of us sitting around, keeping our office chairs warm when we could be at home catching up on our sleep.”
“I get that. Ignore me then.”
Katy faced Charlie and smiled. “I intend to.”
“Charming. Hey, mind if I ask you a personal question while we’re alone?”
“Go on. If it’s too personal I can always refuse to answer. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing to do with the case. I was wondering how things went with your parents the other week. You’ve never mentioned it in passing.”
“Ugh…AJ and me telling them about being married, you mean?”
“Yes, tell me to keep my nose out if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. There were a few tears from Mum. Dad was all for us doing it on the cheap, but he’s got a tight arse anyway. But yeah, Mum took it badly at first until I reminded her that it was our decision to make and we’d been effectively living as man and wife for over five years. She accepted we’d done the right thing after an hour or so. I think Georgie being there definitely helped to calm the choppy waters. Mum doesn’t tend to argue in front of her treasured granddaughter. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just you mentioned how distraught AJ’s parents were initially but hadn’t said anything about how your parents had reacted. I’m glad things worked out for you. It’s such a strain on a person’s well-being when family members fall out. I should know.”
Katy rubbed Charlie’s knee in support. “I know, love. You went through the mill with your mum and dad. How is your old man?”
“I haven’t spoken to him all week. Last time he rang he was pissed and I hung up on him. He always gets so maudlin when he has alcohol running through his system instead of blood.”
“That’s such a shame. You guys used to be so close, didn’t you?”
“We were, once upon a time. I still love him, nothing would ever change that; however, sometimes I find myself detesting him. That’s not natural, is it?”
“Of course it is. Don’t be so damn hard on yourself. My advice for you would be to do your best in this life, both professionally and personally, so Tom ends up feeling proud of his little princess.”
“Groan, I hate that name. I was never really one for playing with dolls as a child. Being called princess evokes images of a young girl happily playing with her Sindy or Barbie dolls. Cringe, that was never me growing up.”
“No, from what I remember your mother telling me, your teens involved causing trouble with the gang you hung around with.”
“Fuck, don’t remind me. Honestly, we were never that bad. We just used to sit around on the odd street corner drinking alcohol we’d badgered someone to buy for us from the offie.”
“You’re lucky it didn’t go against you during your assessment to join the force.”
“I would’ve been mortified if it had. Don’t tell me you breezed through your childhood without getting into trouble?”
Katy twisted her lips. “Sorry, that’s exactly what I’m going to say. I was a good girl, I still am, apart from having a child out of wedlock, that is.”
They both laughed.
“Do you think you were crying out for attention from your folks by falling pregnant?”
“No, I don’t think that was the case at all. They were pretty easy-going with me when I was younger, they still are to be fair. They could have ripped me and AJ to shreds after we shared the news with them about the wedding but they didn’t resort to that. I don’t mind telling you, had they done something as special as that behind my back, I’m not sure I would’ve reacted with the same forgiveness. Therefore, I take my hat off to them and I’m thankful they’re so chilled about life in general.”
“Good to hear. It always makes a difference to have parents who are willing to support you, no matter what you get up to.”
“You have that in Lorne. I can’t say the same about your father because I’ve only met him once, maybe twice over the years. Your mum was married to Tony when I became her partner, or maybe it was just after. Yes, I think that was it, but they were together all the same. They have to be the strongest couple I’ve ever met.”
“I hate to say this, but I’ve often wished that Tony was my real dad. Is that an awful thing to say?”
“Any reason why?”
“He’s wonderful. A great support to Mum. I can never remember them ever having a cross word with each other. He worships her, always has done. Hey, a bit like AJ and you. You guys are solid, aren’t you?”
“I like to think so. Wait, I don’t think I told you, AJ and I have been discussing starting up a new business. Correction, not me per se, he’ll be doing it when Georgie is at school full-time.”
“That’s amazing. What would the business entail?”
“Organising entertainment for children’s parties.”
“Sounds interesting. Will you run it together?”
“No way, I have enough on my plate as it is. No, it was his idea. Saying that, I’ll support him every step of the way. I’ll probably get roped in somewhere along the line, no doubt.”
“How cool. How did he come up with the idea?”
“Haven’t got the foggiest. He just announced it one day and did the research needed. We still have to source a way of funding it. Grr… he hinted earlier that he had some news. I wonder what that’s all about. Never mind, I’ll find out soon enough, when we eventually get home. Let’s hope that’s sooner rather than later, because I’m shattered already. What about you?”
“Ditto. Wishing you and AJ well on your forthcoming project. If you don’t mind me saying, can’t he get his parents to back him?”
“Neither of us want to resort to that. He’s not had the best relationship with his parents since he signed up with the Met.”
“That’s such a shame. Have you run the idea past them? Maybe this would be a good time to mend a few broken bridges. What do you think?”
“Possibly. Let’s see what he has to say first, and if that sounds negative, I’ll urge him to have a word with his folks.”
The incident room was dead quiet when they walked in.
“Everything all right, guys? I expected more activity than this to be honest with you.”
Karen glanced up from her computer and smiled. Her eyes were half-closed and red raw. “We’ve dug and dug, boss, and come up with bugger all. We just don’t know where to turn next.”
“Okay, I suggest we all call it a day and start over tomorrow. I just told Charlie in the car I’m exhausted. We’re not going to do ourselves any favours sticking around here if the information is going to be increasingly hard to find. You all look dead on your feet anyway.”
“Cheers for that, boss. Are you sure? We could stumble across a clue at any minute,” Graham said.
“Yeah, and we could get hit by an out-of-season snowstorm. I think we should call it a day and gather our thoughts in the morning. I’ll leave you with this snippet before we go. We visited Nadia and told her Dale Peters had been murdered. She appeared to be shocked by the news. I’m putting this out there, I still have wavering doubts about her.”
“Did she give you an alibi as to her whereabouts this evening?” Patrick asked.
“She did. She left work at around six. I roughly calculated how long it would have taken for her to have driven out to the murder scene. I have to admit the timing was tight, but in my eyes, still doable.”
“Are
you telling us that we should be concentrating our efforts on her, boss?” Karen asked, tapping her pen against her face.
Katy hitched up a shoulder. “Unless anything else comes our way in the meantime. At present, we’ve got nothing to back up my claims except a gut feeling that refuses to take a hike. It’s annoying the frigging hell out of me, if you must know. I’ve never had such a strong sense about someone before, and I have no idea why or where it’s coming from. I hope to God I’m wrong, but until we find any evidence stating otherwise, then I’m stuck with it.”
“Gut instinct isn’t essentially a bad thing,” Graham replied, his brow wrinkled into a deep frown.
“I know. It’s just not the way I work. You know how much it used to get to me when Lorne used to spout about it. Come on, switch the equipment off and go home, again.”
She didn’t have to repeat herself. The team leapt out of the chairs, switched off their computers and rushed out of the door.
She laughed at Charlie. “Do you think it was something I said?”
“Possibly. All right if I follow them? I’ll cadge a lift from Graham to pick up my car.”
“Go for it, I’ll be right behind you. I just want to make a few notes on the board while they’re fresh in my mind.”
Charlie wagged a finger. “Don’t be too long. Maybe I should stay with you, make sure you go home at a reasonable hour.”
“Honestly, there’s no need for you to be concerned. You go. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight. Stick to your word, please.”
“I will. Drive safely.”
7
She hid, shielded by the door to the room in the cellar. She’d crept down during the night. The men intent on shouting in the ‘den’ as they called it, oblivious to her tiny footsteps. She peered through the gap in the door and placed a hand over her mouth. She’d been down here several times in the past few weeks, fascinated by what took place behind this door. Her eyes moistened, and fear prickled her spine. What she saw would remain with her for a lifetime, she knew that. How couldn’t it?
The woman screamed until the girl’s father bound her mouth with a gag. The woman stared up at him, as if pleading silently to be set free. One after the other, the men took their turn. She was strapped to a table. Each of them climbed on top and humped her, despite her obvious discomfort and fear. None of them attempted to bring a halt to the proceedings.
Her hand tightened over her thin lips as the woman’s muffled pleading went unheard, unregistered by the men.
In between, the female tried to buck, to free herself from the bonds tying her to the table, to no avail. She kicked out with her bare feet as each man approached. She caught one or two of them below the belt which earned her a vicious slap. If she’d just lain there and accepted her fate, she would have been home and dry by now. None of her assailants had any stamina; a couple of thrusts, and they groaned and fell off her, zipped up their trousers and stood back, ready to cheer on the next one.
Her father leered at the female, bending over now and again to whisper something derisory in the woman’s ear. Which set her off, her objections always muffled by the gag strapped across her mouth.
Night after night, the woman was subjected to this kind of torture, and every night, the little girl descended the stairs when she felt it was safe to do so, as if trying to give the female support just by being close.
And after the rapists had finished, the little girl crept back up to bed and hid under the bedclothes, fearing that if they ever found out she knew what went on in the ‘den’ she’d be next on the list.
Would the men be as heartless as to do to her the things they did to the woman? She was only four, for Christ’s sake.
There was no doubt in her mind that day may come in the future. Something she’d need to be wary of as she grew older. But how, how the hell would she be able to prevent these vile men from dipping their wicks? They seemed determined to inflict injury and humiliation on the woman.
On this occasion, her father led the onslaught to the cheers and backslapping of the other men present. The little girl crossed her legs as if trying to help the woman. It failed. The men continued the barrage on her body. She watched the woman’s pained expression, the tears continuously rolling down her flushed cheeks. The girl’s heart hurt, pained by what was happening, helplessness shrouding her with its unwelcome cloak.
She was tempted to barge in there, to shout at the men, call them all the horrible names her father had called her from time to time, but how would they react to being interrupted, carrying out their warped, mindless and brutal game?
The little girl lingered, her legs crossed now because she was desperate for the loo. Her hand clamped over her mouth, preventing her own screams to match those of the female. Strike after strike to the woman’s face and head. The men were angrier than normal this evening. This was no longer a game. They’d upped their ante, each and every one of them. The woman seemed to sense the difference in tonight’s game play.
“Who wants to do it?” her father asked.
She was confused. Do what? Each of the men had already had their way with her, what else could he be talking about?
“I don’t mind. I’ll have a go?” One of the smaller men stepped forward and placed his hands around the woman’s throat.
She screamed and bucked like a mule to get him off her. Her head twisted violently from left to right. He backed away, seemingly embarrassed by his actions, and her father encouraged the next man to approach the table. “Come on, she loves it, being on the brink like that.”
Brink of what?
The little girl squeezed her eyes shut. The female’s cries for help were deadened by the cloth, and then there was nothing. The girl’s eyes flew open. The men shouted at each other. The atmosphere had turned horrid. She had to get out of there. She flew up the stairs to the safety of her room. Checked her little sister was still sound asleep—she was.
She covered herself with the quilt, her tiny body trembling, wishing she could have locked the door behind her, knowing it was forbidden to do so. A noise outside alerted her; she strained an ear. Her mother had always called her a nosey beak. She slipped out of the bed and tiptoed across the floor to the window. The overhanging porch roof blocked out some of her view. Beyond that were five men gathered around a car. Four of them carried a rolled-up rug and bundled it into the back of the vehicle. She opened the curtain a little more to get a better look. One of the men turned her way. She dropped the curtain, and fear catapulted her back to her bed.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. She tucked the quilt up under her chin and closed her eyes as the bedroom door swung open. She sensed her father towering over her, his breath ragged from his exertions. Then he was gone, and the door closed quietly behind him. She waited for a few moments and then tiptoed back to the window in time to see the men parting and the car with the rug in the back driving off.
That day was the last time she saw her mother.
Nadia woke from the dream in a cold sweat. She hadn’t had it for years, why now? Why all of a sudden should it prick her conscience and resurface? Why, after all these years? What was the meaning to this?
8
Robin Hewitt left the venue and got in his vehicle. Not far from his home, the car behind flashed him several times. He peered at the driver and noticed a hand pointing to the side of the road. Thinking there must be something wrong with his car, he indicated and pulled over. The car stopped a few feet behind him. He got out of his vehicle and approached the driver to see what the problem was. The driver lowered the window.
He bent down to speak to the stranger. “Is there something wrong?”
The driver pointed at the rear of Robin’s car. He took a few steps towards his vehicle and removed his mobile from his pocket. Using the torch, he examined every last inch of the car but found nothing out of place.
The door opened behind him.
“I can’t see anything. Can you tell me what it was?
” he asked without turning around.
Soft footsteps came from behind, and then something hard cracked him on the back of the head. His hand instinctively reached up to investigate the wound. Sticky fluid covered his palm.
“What the fu—?”
Before he could finish his question, another blow struck him. This time it was harder, sending him to his knees.
“Good, that’s just where I want you. Start begging for your life.”
Dazed with confusion, his vision blurred, he held out a hand. “Please, don’t hurt me. Why are you doing this?”
“Out of necessity. You’re a worthless, no-good individual and deserve to die for what you did.”
“What? I think you’ve made a mistake. I haven’t done anything wrong. Never.”
“How easily dickheads like you forget.” The stranger raised the metal bar again, and it came down heavily on the top of his head.
Robin curled up into a ball. Something had cracked with the final blow; he hadn’t liked the sound of that. “Please, no more. Tell me what you want. Take my wallet, there’s not much in it, but take what I have.”
“Ha. I don’t want your money. I want to see you suffer. To plead with me to save you, and then I want to see the light in your eyes vanish as you take your final insipid breath.”
“Why? Why are you punishing me like this for something I haven’t done?”
“Oh, you did it all right. That night, you were just as responsible as the others. That poor woman. She didn’t deserve to die, not at the hands of you bastards, just out to get a cheap thrill.”
His head turned slowly to look at the dark figure, hiding behind the hoodie. “Who are you?”
“What’s the problem, don’t you recognise me?” the singsong voice replied, taunting him.
“I can’t see you. Reveal yourself to me. Let’s discuss this.”
“What’s to discuss? I’m here to avenge the heinous crime you committed. You and your so-called chums. Not once, not twice, but numerous times until things went too far.”
