The Golden Anklet

by Beverly Hansford

  She walked slowly, surrounded by her captors. It was like a nightmare. She kept thinking that at any moment she would wake up and forget everything. But the rough ground under her bare feet and the cool breeze blowing in from the sea reminded her of the reality of her ordeal.

  They reached the other car.

  ‘Kneel down,’ growled one of the men.

  Jane sank down onto the sharp stones that a few seconds earlier had been tormenting her feet.

  She was completely unprepared for the next thing that happened. Her arms were suddenly pulled behind her, almost causing her to lose balance. She noticed the cord in the man’s hand and realised his intention.

  ‘No, no! Please don’t!’ she cried out.

  It was to no avail. Within seconds her hands were tightly bound. Her ankles received the same treatment.

  Even worse was to follow. Her head was yanked back and a cloth was forced into her mouth. No, it couldn’t be happening. They were gagging her! She shook her head violently and protested with muffled sounds. She received no sympathy from her captors. She found herself lying on the ground, her hands and her voice out of action.

  ‘At least that’s shut her up for a while,’ remarked Babs. ‘I’m sick of listening to her questions.’ The next instant, Jane heard the boot of the car being opened. Surely they were not going to put her in there? Abruptly she was lifted up by the two men and deposited on the hard metal floor of the boot. She protested as best she could through the gag.

  Mel peered into the boot. ‘If you don’t keep quiet, I’ll have to put you out.’ She held up the hypodermic box again.

  Her threat had the desired effect. Jane ceased her protest. The last thing she wanted was to be injected with heaven knows what. It was best to be quiet for now. The nightmare had to end at some point. Her new strategy was tested when the lid of the boot slammed shut. Panic overtook her. It was dark and cold in her cramped prison. Her heart was thumping. What would happen to her in there? Would there be enough air to breathe?

  She was vaguely conscious of people getting into the car and it moving off. She felt every bump as the car jogged over the stones. She tried to ease herself into a more comfortable position, but it was difficult. There was the smell of petrol, and her feet were pressed against metal that was unusually cold. It must be the fuel tank, she thought. By raising her knees slightly, she managed to lift her feet off it. That at least solved that problem.

  The jolts from the rough ground ceased as the car began to run over the smoother surface of the road. Jane tried to force her thinking into action. Who were these people who seemed to have planned everything down to the last detail? Where were they taking her? What had happened to Bob? She had been so concerned with her own predicament that she had had hardly any time to think of him. Where was he? Was he looking for her? There were many questions racing through her brain, but no answers came.

  She did her best to cope with her strange environment. At least her earlier fear that she might run out of air appeared to be unfounded. If anything, the boot was draughty.

  Suddenly a new fear struck her. She started to feel slightly sick. Panic almost overtook her. What if she was actually physically sick? She had heard somewhere of people experiencing being gagged and actually choking on their own vomit. There was no chance of removing the gag with her hands tied securely behind her back. She tried to thump the sides of the boot with her body to attract attention. Any sound she could make was minimal and only hurt her. That was no good. She had to try and relax. That was the thing to do. The sick feeling would pass. It could be the smell of the petrol. Breathe deeply. That was the thing to do. She tried to lie back and concentrate on her breathing, slowly and methodically. The strategy seemed to work. The sick feeling started to abate.

  She lay there in her cramped position. The car she was travelling in as a prisoner was taking her to a destination and future that were unknown to her.

  Chapter 40

  It was the cool wind fanning his body that woke Bob. For a few seconds he lay there disorientated. The bed was hard and unyielding, and he had a pounding headache. He tried to force his brain into action, but it did not seem to work. He started to raise himself up to a sitting position, and he realised that he was naked apart from his underpants, and that his watch was gone. Where on earth were his clothes? Had he removed them? If so, where?

  He looked around and tried to work out where he was. He was on a bench on the edge of what appeared to be a playing field. It felt like early morning, and it was starting to rain. He shivered. Where the hell where his clothes? He looked around desperately, but there was no sign of them. The field was small and was mostly surrounded by trees and the backs of houses. Perhaps it was a cricket ground. There was a small pavilion not far away. Maybe his clothes were there. He got to his feet and then realised that he felt pretty groggy. On top of the headache he was beginning to feel sick. Sheer desperation forced him to start walking across the grass to the pavilion. As he did so he heard a clock striking somewhere. He counted the chimes – six. He had been correct. It was early morning.

  It was a futile exercise. The pavilion was locked and there was no sign of his clothes. Somewhere at the other end of the playing field there must be a village. The church clock had sounded from there and he could actually see the steeple. He had to get help somehow. Perhaps he could find a sympathetic man who would take pity on him and assist. It was all he could think of.

  He staggered back across the grass in the direction of the church. He felt as if he was going to be sick at any moment and he just wanted to lie down somewhere, but the chill in the air and his predicament drove him on. He tried to nudge his brain into thinking and that produced an alarming question: where was Jane? His last memory was of being in the car with her and feeling sleepy.

  He reached the edge of the playing field and discovered a hard track that clearly must lead to the village. It was at this point that his inside finally erupted. He knelt on the grass verge and was violently sick again and again.

  ‘Goodness.’ The comment was close by and was one of surprise and disgust.

  He looked up.

  A middle-aged woman out walking her dog was viewing him suspiciously. He had not heard her approach.

  He wanted to say something to her, but with one more brief look of revulsion she turned and hurried away.

  ‘I say, can I talk to you?’ he called after her, but she did not reply or look back.

  Humiliated, and with temporary relief from his inner turmoil, he continued walking in the same direction. The woman had already disappeared.

  It was only a short distance to what was apparently the main street of the village. He crossed the road to a bus shelter and sank thankfully onto one of the benches. He still felt pretty awful and his stomach felt as if it wanted to erupt again. He sat there, almost bent double, waiting for his inside to settle down and at the same time trying to force his thinking into gear. The two main questions were how he got where he was in his present condition, and where Jane was.

  How long he sat there he had no idea. He heard the clock strike again, but he wasn’t sure if it was striking half past or a quarter to the hour. The sound of footsteps alerted him from his stupor. He looked up. A young woman was approaching the bus shelter. He prepared to speak to her, but the instant she saw him she screamed and fled in the direction she had come from. He sank back onto the bench. Was every inhabitant of the village female?

  Ten minutes later the sound of a car drawing up and footsteps approaching made him look up. A burly police officer was entering the bus shelter. A police car was parked outside.

  The police officer smiled at Bob. ‘A good night out was it, sir?’

  At first Bob struggled to reply. When he did it was a brief ‘No’.

  ‘Been drinking have we, sir?’ asked the police officer as he sat down on the bench beside Bob.

  ‘Only over dinner last night,’ replied Bob, wishing that his stomach would stop complaining.

&n
bsp; ‘And where was that, sir?’

  Bob couldn’t remember. ‘We were guests of Miles Ashington and his family,’ he tried to explain.

  A second police officer now appeared in the shelter.

  ‘We?’ asked the first.

  ‘My fiancée and I.’

  The second police officer joined the conversation. ‘And where is your fiancée?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bob replied miserably. ‘I haven’t seen her since last night.’

  ‘What’s your name, sir?’ the first police officer was pulling out a notebook.

  ‘Bob Harker.’

  ‘And the name of your fiancée?’

  ‘Miss Jane Carroll.’ As he replied, Bob wondered if he should explain that Jane was now an Ashington, but the police officer was already onto the next question.

  ‘And you say you were staying with the Ashington family?’

  ‘No. We’re staying in a cottage that belongs to them. My fiancée is related to the Ashington family.’ At least I explained that, he thought.

  The police officer looked up from writing in his notebook. ‘I see, sir. We’ll get that checked out. Now, can you tell us what happened last night?’

  Bob went into a few details, but when it came to his last memory of the previous night, all he could remember was falling asleep in the car.

  The two police officers looked at each other. The second one nodded to the first. He addressed Bob. ‘I think you’d better come along with us, sir, and we’ll get things sorted out.’

  Sheer willpower made Bob get up from the bench. He was still feeling groggy, but at least someone was helping him.

  ‘Where are your clothes?’ asked the first police officer.

  ‘I don’t know. I woke up like this,’ Bob replied miserably.

  ‘Just a minute,’ grunted the second police officer.

  He disappeared for a minute and reappeared with a blanket, which Bob accepted gratefully.

  The two officers led him to their car and deposited him on the back seat. Bob remembered to click home his seat belt.

  The second police officer handed Bob a bag as he slipped into the driving seat. ‘If you’re going to be sick, use this.’

  Bob hoped he would not have to use it, though he felt that his stomach was still unpredictable.

  He did not remember much about the car journey other than that it did not appear to take very long. They entered a small town, the road sign indicating Stonechurch. They turned off the main road and then into an alleyway, which appeared to lead to the back entrance of a police station.

  Bob was ushered into the building. He was feeling self-conscious in the blanket. He avoided the stares of several members of the staff, some of them women. One of the police officers who had brought him to the station led him down some steps and threw open a door.

  ‘We’ll put you in here for a while and talk to you shortly,’ he explained. He ushered Bob into the room, closed and locked the door, and was gone.

  Bob took in his surroundings at a glance. He was in a police cell. It was empty except for a bed against one wall and a toilet without a seat. The sight of the toilet reminded him that he had a desperate need to avail himself of its convenience. Relieved, he sat down on the bed. He tried to think things out. How had he come to wake up almost naked in a strange village? Where had Jane disappeared to? He struggled to remember the details of the previous evening. He could remember saying goodbye to the Ashingtons, getting into the car with Jane, and the first bits of conversation, but that was all.

  He suddenly had an overwhelming desire to lie down, just for a few minutes.

  It was the sound of the door being unlocked that woke him. Gosh. He must have dozed off. The door opened and the first police officer he had encountered entered the cell, a mug in his hand.

  ‘Here we are, sir. A cup of tea.’

  Bob took the mug. ‘Thank you,’ he responded.

  ‘Feeling a bit better, are we?’

  ‘A bit better, thank you.’ It was true. After the short doze, his stomach did seem to have settled down a bit.

  ‘Good. We’re going to get the police doctor to check you over, just to make sure it’s only a hangover.’

  The words alarmed Bob. ‘Is that really necessary?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t really have all that much to drink.’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ the police officer replied, ignoring Bob’s last statement. He left before Bob could say any more.

  Left alone again, Bob became even more alarmed about his predicament. Now it appeared that he was being treated as a drunk after a hard night. At least he now felt a bit better, though he still had a headache. He drank some of the tea, but it had been sweetened and as he did not take sugar in tea or coffee, its sickly taste did not appeal to him.

  Not long afterwards he was collected from the cell by the same police officer and taken to another room that was sparsely furnished with just a table and some chairs. A bespectacled man greeted him and announced that he was the police doctor and that he just wanted to check him over.

  For the next twenty minutes or so Bob submitted to the routine examination. He answered a lot of questions about his health, and careful notes were taken. He was asked to perform several tasks and then, satisfied that he had not suffered a heart attack or something equally serious, the doctor left the room.

  A few minutes later, the police officer returned and Bob was subjected to a barrage of questions. After the doctor’s verdict, it became clear to him that he was being treated as a person suffering from the effects of the night before.

  At the conclusion of the interview the police officer looked at Bob and made a comment that really worried him. ‘You realise, sir, that you could be charged with being drunk and disorderly?’

  The news struck Bob like a thunderbolt. Things were going from bad to worse. He struggled to find something suitable to reply. ‘I am aware of that. However, I have to say that I did not drink excessively last evening. I only had two glasses of wine.’ He thought of something else to add. ‘There were six of us dining out. You can check with any of the others.’

  His interviewer nodded. ‘We shall be doing that.’

  It was the mention of the previous evening that once again made Bob concerned. Where was Jane? The clock on the wall showed that it was nearly half past ten. He had been in the police station for four hours.

  ‘That’s it for now.’ The police officer gathered his papers together and rose from his chair. Clearly the interview was over.

  ‘Can I go now?’ asked Bob.

  The policeman grinned at him. ‘Like that?’ He indicated the blanket. He smiled sympathetically. ‘Better let us sort something out for you,’ he suggested.

  Bob did not reply. He was now too concerned to worry about his appearance, but he obediently allowed himself to be conducted back to the cell.

  He sat there alone, trying to make sense of everything. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, not even in his wilder days at university. The pieces of the jigsaw didn’t fit together. Jane was uppermost in his mind. Where was she? How did she become parted from him the previous evening?

  It was almost an hour later that the cell door was opened again. A woman police officer stood there. ‘Will you come this way, please, sir?’ she asked.

  Bob followed her back to the interview room. Another police officer he had not seen before was sitting at the table.

  ‘Please take a seat, Mr Harker,’ he said.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ asked the woman police officer.

  ‘Thank you. That would be welcome.’ Bob’s mouth was now dry, though thankfully the nausea had disappeared.

  The officer left the room after asking Bob if he took sugar and milk in his tea.

  The seated police officer glanced at the papers in front of him and then looked at Bob. He cleared his throat. ‘Mr Harker, we have found Miss Carroll’s car.’

  ‘Where?’ Bob was immediately alert.

  The policeman looke
d at him again. ‘It was discovered by a resident of the village of Eldingham out walking his dog. The car was parked in Dolby Cove. That’s not far from where you were picked up this morning.’

  ‘But what about Jane?’ asked Bob.

  The police officer studied him for a second. When he replied, his voice was slightly softer. ‘I’m sorry to have to say this, Mr Harker, but the incident has all the appearances of late-night bathing. Two sets of clothing, a man’s and a woman’s, were found in the car. The man’s jacket has your documents in the pocket.’

  Bob tried to make sense of what he had just been told. Why on earth should the car have been found miles from where they were going?

  ‘But what about Jane?’ he repeated.

  The officer glanced at his paperwork again. ‘A white dress, size 12, a pair of white shoes, size 5, and a lady’s gold watch were the items of clothing found. Officers are still carrying out a search of the car and the surrounding area.’

  He looked up at Bob. ‘Mr Harker, did you and Miss Carroll go swimming last evening at Dolby Cove?’

  Bob protested. He could see the direction the office’s thinking was going in. ‘That’s impossible. Why should we? We had just been out for the evening.’

  The officer gave a slight smile. ‘Oh, people sometimes get these ideas. A romantic meal out, a moonlit night…’

  The interview was interrupted by the woman police officer bearing a tray with two mugs of tea, which she placed on the table.

  Bob protested again at the previous suggestion.

  ‘I’m confident we did not go swimming yesterday evening,’ he stressed.

  ‘Can you account for the clothing in the car?’

  ‘No.’

  By now Bob was both confused and worried. What had happened after he had fallen asleep in the car? How had he come to wake up wearing just his underpants? Where had Jane gone in her underwear? Had they really gone swimming? The questions bombarded him.

  There were a few more questions from the police officer, which Bob answered almost automatically. It was concern for Jane that now occupied his thoughts.

  The officer had been writing throughout the interview, occasionally sipping his tea. Bob sat with his hands clasped round the other mug.