Stench

by AB Morgan

  Annette was too intuitive for Rory’s liking.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Rather than discuss the feisty Gemma Waterford he preferred to bury the issue. He made his excuses and left, claiming that he was determined to be a dutiful son and spend time with his mother instead of wasting the rest of the day watching the antics of the fairground.

  ‘My arse …’ was Annette’s reply. Walking away, Rory had heard Barney’s comforting words: ‘Never mind, wifey. He’ll work it out for himself. Maybe your matchmaking days are not quite over yet.’

  Felicity was at The Valiant Soldier with Rob and was found by Rory in the barn pretending to take an interest in a motorbike. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Nice? Is that all you have to say, woman? - Ah! About time. What do you think of Matilda, Rory?’ Rob puffed out his chest as he waited for the evaluation. Rory’s eyes widened.

  ‘Now this is something else. A Matchless. What year?’

  The rest of his Monday disappeared in conversations about motorbikes, and helping out by collecting glasses from outside the pub, watching as men and machines left the rally in a long procession of old vehicles and transportation of ancient engines on lorries. He saw nothing more of Gemma Waterford or Anna Chamberlain, but he did see Leo Fewtrell and his side-kick Dylan drive back and forth several times in an expensive Mercedes G class.

  ‘If you need a change of career I see a great future for you as my senior pot boy.’

  Rory laughed as he finished polishing the pint glass in his hand with a tea towel and placed it on the shelf behind the bar. ‘Thanks Rob, I’ll bear that in mind. Given that The Valiant is central to village life, can I pick your brains for a minute?’

  The steady stream of customers had slowed, allowing Rob, Gail, Felicity, and Rory to catch up and relieve the tables of empty glasses and general rubbish.

  ‘How much to do you know about Leonard Fewtrell?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Like, where does he get his money from?’

  Rob placed a finger to his lips. ‘You’ve noticed the flashy cars, the clothes and the trips to Marbella then?’

  ‘Only recently. It’s a bit incongruous somehow, given the filthy state of the scrapyard and the charmless wife. I’m intrigued.’

  26

  Escape

  The bolt slid back and Carmel Fewtrell entered the log store where Anna was in plain view, collapsed upon the red quarry tiles; trousers and knickers round her knees. She lay in the damp puddle of strong urine she had made the night before.

  ‘There’s another one in here,’ Carmel screeched. ‘Dylan, bring the wheelbarrow, we’ll have to scrub her up before we send this one packing. What the fuck did they do to the stupid bitch?’ She had her hands on her hips, cigarette between the fingers of her right hand. ‘Bring some rubber gloves, I’m not touching this with my bare ’ands. Was this Jethro’s doing? Jesus, he’s a sick fucker …’

  Anna could hear the words being spoken but she didn’t have the energy to raise her head or speak.

  ‘Fight. If you’re taken prisoner they’ll torture you. Fight!’

  Anna heard Damien’s orders but she had no strength left. Without protest she was hauled up, leg and a wing, and swung unceremoniously into a metal barrow. The wheel squeaked as it turned, an accompanying soundtrack to her journey into the factory unit where the hose was turned on her.

  Relief at being able to access a drink balanced the painful shock of the cold water. Her tongue sought the tiny streams running down her face as the hose was aimed at her head to help sober her up, and her body to wash away the filth. ‘She must still be proper pissed up. Strip her off. Get white spirit and an old rag to deal with that oil. I’ll get shampoo and something to dress her in. We can’t take her back like that.’

  ‘They’re going to take you somewhere. Move soldier. Move now, before it’s too late. Do as I say.’

  Rough hands were tearing at her as she was rolled out of the barrow and onto plastic sheeting. She couldn’t open her eyes properly. They were glued shut by oil and mud, the lashes stuck together in clumps. Wracked by shivers of fear, the chill of the water began to take effect making her shudder more. Yet she had no strength to fight or to protect herself from the clawing, the scrubbing or from the stinging of the shampoo as it finally dislodged the dusty crusts from her eyes.

  ‘That’s a darn sight better,’ Carmel said as she rubbed at the silent girl’s shoulders with a towel. ‘Arms up.’ A strappy top was pulled over Anna’s head. A pair of denim shorts were hauled up her legs and tied with a thin leather belt. ‘Sit her up. Here, drink this. You’ll feel better for it.’

  The drink was cool and sweet to her lips, and as some energy made its way back into her limbs, Anna was able to hold the plastic beaker without assistance. She had been propped against a scaffolding walkway only feet from the large blue tank she had seen before. Having lost track of time, she didn’t know how long ago that was, but had not forgotten in whose company she found herself.

  ‘Don’t give them the satisfaction. Stay silent. Not a peep. Good girl.’

  Anna was reassured by Damien’s words. He was her good shepherd.

  ‘Give her time to get her strength back, she’ll need to stand on her own two feet before we get rid of her. I’ll be back in a minute with a banana. They seem to do the trick with these tarts who can’t hold their liquor.’

  ‘Did you hear that? They want to get rid of you. The banana will be poisoned. Don’t’ eat it. You must not eat the banana.’

  Dylan lowered himself down next to Anna and brushed the wet hair from her face. ‘You’re a pretty thing. That Jethro was a cunning old badger managing to hide you from the rest of us. Not surprised ’e wouldn’t share. Drink up now, we’ll be heading back to Swandale in a while. A last day of fun at the fair for you and me.’ He stared at her features. ‘You a local girl out for a good time with the rough boys?’ he asked, dragging the back of his fingers along Anna’s arm and up towards her shoulder; gentle, soft and menacing. ‘You’d have to be, ’cause none of the show people would ever behave like whores. They ’ave morals. Not like you lot. You local tarts are always the same. Slags, the lot of you. Get drunk and get what you deserve.’

  The smell of Dylan’s rancid breath reached Anna’s nostrils and she recoiled, turning her head away.

  ‘Don’t do that.’ He sneered, taking her chin in his right hand, straightening her head. Leaning closer, their lips touched and he kissed her. She didn’t react.

  ‘On second thoughts, I might keep you for myself. Save you as a treat for later. You’re clean and I’m willing to take a bet you’re the accommodating type. Just as I like ’em. Get you on your feet first though eh?’

  Carmel reappeared, holding a large ripe banana.

  ‘Peel it and feed it to her. Nothing else, Dylan, I know what you’re thinking. Dirty bastard. When she’s strong enough, throw her in the back of the pickup truck and don’t forget to lock the log store up again before you leave, if you can find another padlock. Jethro must have bust the last one off.’

  Anna was reminded of the events of the night before. She had kept hidden, tunnelling until a dreadful scraping sound made her stop and crawl to where she could see the entrance. Two men, drunk and swearing, had shoved the door open and staggering into the outhouse had taken armfuls of logs. They returned three times. Not daring to move, she had curled up into a ball in her hideout until the screams and raucous swearing in the yard had abated. Hours later, and desperate to relieve herself, she dragged her bone-weary body on all fours towards the darkest far recesses of the store. She couldn’t stand. Her muscles had cramped and her reserves were spent. She fumbled with the zip of her jeans, eventually managing to pull them down with her briefs using one hand. Not able to squat, she had wet herself and passed out.

  Awake and alive, sitting on the wet floor of the factory unit in Fewtrell’s Yard, she clung to her knees. Dylan had given her no choice other than to witness the eating of the banana
one inch at a time. She had flatly refused to accept it, even when it was forced into her face.

  ‘Go on, lick the end for me. Open that pretty mouth of yours and suck on it.’

  Anna could only imagine the taste and the relief it would have brought her, but she stuck fast to her resolution. The foul-smelling man with foetid breath licked his lips and slid his tongue up each of her cheeks, like a child would an ice cream, before mocking her by thrusting the banana past his open lips and into the side of his mouth. He withdrew it, making a suction sound, and bit off the end, chewing it noisily. When he had finished eating, her captor cruelly laughed.

  ‘That was delicious.’

  ‘Watch him die.’

  Her feeble efforts to stand resulted in Dylan pulling her to her feet and holding her close to his chest. The odour of old sweat and stale cigarette smoke repulsed her, as did the feel of his hands when he pressed one in the small of her back and with the other hand cupped each of her unfettered breasts in turn.

  ‘No bra, slag?’

  The fingers brushed hard against one of her nipples before being released as he probed between her legs. She gasped.

  ‘Like that do you?’ he rasped, grinding his pelvis against her. Suddenly he withdrew both wandering paws and turned her side on. ‘Come on, you’re going for a short ride.’

  It was indeed a journey of no more than fifty yards. Dylan reversed the pickup truck to the door of the very same outhouse where she had been found less than an hour earlier, and with Chopper watching from his kennel, she was bundled through the door wrapped in a sheet of tarpaulin.

  Carmel was nowhere in sight.

  ‘You stay there until I fetch you. Make yourself at home. ’ere. Catch.’

  She didn’t.

  The bottle of water fell by her feet and split, leaving her to watch immobilised by terror while the liquid drained between the quarry tiles as the earth sucked up the moisture.

  ‘A couple of hours, tops. Then we’ll have the whole night to ourselves.’ He blew her a kiss and heaved the door to. The jangling noise confirmed the addition of a new padlock.

  Wasting no time and spurred on by the inevitable, Anna scrabbled into her timber hole dragging the tarpaulin with her and, after fumbling in the semi-darkness, found the fork laying amongst the rust-coloured dust and rubble within. She couldn’t find Damien’s knife or her rucksack, which had been lost somewhere beneath a landslide of logs, soil and bricks. She began to dig again, frantically. An hour later she had made her way into a crawl space beyond the metal pipe that had barred her way previously and was heading upwards to what she thought would be the garden in the house next door. The falling earth and stones surrounding her were crushing her chest but she persisted with help from Damien whose words became a mantra.

  ‘Dig to save yourself from pain. Dig to save yourself from pain, dig to save yourself from pain, dig …’

  Damien’s voice was incessant, but despite this, she heard the door rattling and being pushed inwards, scraping across the surface of the quarry tiles on the floor. There was a tremendous crash as the rusted hinges collapsed and the door fell to the floor.

  ‘Who broke the door? Was that you?’ The voice was gruff.

  ‘I don’t know. I thought it was okay when I left ’er.’ The man with the hat was back, and he had someone with him.

  Anna’s eyes were closed to prevent the soil from getting in and making them sorer than they already were. Her left hand clutched the fork above her head where it had broken through to a gap. She could wave her hand freely and, seconds before, had convinced herself that she smelt fresh garden air.

  She could hear him striding heavily across the fallen door. The odorous man in the hat. His voice was indelibly imprinted on her brain. He had come to claim his prize and she was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Girlie, where are you? Come on out, it’s time to ’ave some fun. I’ve got a big fat cock waiting for you and I don’t mean chicken.’

  ‘Shut your gob, Dylan. Let’s just get ’er out of here and take her to the nearest hospital. If her father finds out she was ’ere we’ll all cop it.’

  ‘Is it definitely ‘er though?’

  ‘It has to be. You saw the picture on that paper the woman was handing out. You were the one who said she was ’ere. It’s no bloody coincidence that he phoned to say his daughter was missing. That’s why ’e’s coming. Who the hell knew he had a fuckin’ daughter? Was she pissed when you lot picked her up?’

  ‘I dunno. I don’t remember.’

  ‘You really are a useless lump of shite. Find her, Dylan and do it quickly.’

  Recognising the voice of Leo Fewtrell, Anna felt bile rise in her dry throat. She was panting in shallow breaths as she pushed down, pedalling her legs in an attempt to force herself higher, but in doing so she wedged her head into the crevasse created by her left arm.

  ‘Where are you hiding, girlie?’

  ‘If he finds you, he’ll have you, and when he’s had you, he’ll kill you. So you stay still, Fruitcake. Don’t move.’

  Anna didn’t move. She couldn’t move. The pressure on her chest was crushing and suffocating. The soil in her mouth was choking and her mind was filled with dread, silencing her. She could smell the damp earth and the odour of her own armpit and she could hear Damien, repeating himself over and over. She was sure he would have a plan to help her escape.

  ‘Anna, where are you? Your father is worried about you and he’s asked us to take care of you.’ The gruff voice was sounding worried.

  ‘I left her ’ere. Right ’ere.’

  ‘She’s not ’ere now is she? You prize twat. Do you realise what could ’appen if she’s found out about us? Do you? It’s the end. We’re done. No more money, no more trips to Spain, no protection. Search this place properly then we need to head back to the rally, keep up appearances and don’t say a fuckin’ word to Carmel.’

  Dylan commenced a haphazard exploration of the log mountain, and in doing so he caused the whole pyramid of planks, that formed a protective wigwam for Anna’s hiding place, to collapse in on itself. The tarpaulin lay across the entrance to Anna’s escape tunnel and behind it tonnes of logs wedged themselves, sealing her in.

  That crescendo of sound was the last she heard.

  Believing her to have broken free of the outhouse, Dylan swore as he left in search of her.

  ‘How the fuck did you get out, you bitch? Think you’re clever breaking old rusty hinges, do you? I’ll find you if you’re out ’ere. I will. Stay on your knees and keep crawling, girlie, ’cause here I come.’

  27

  Back to Work

  On his way to the village in the BMW and sidecar at seven thirty Tuesday morning, Rory had prepared himself to prise his mother away from Rob, and he was more than ready to wave her goodbye at the train station. This made him later than usual for work and Steve should have had the morning lesson underway by the time Rory arrived. However, as the portacabin came into view the day was presenting him with unforeseen problems.

  The office door was off its hinges as were the double doors leading to the bike store. Outside on the tarmac was a scene reminiscent of a consumer programme about fly tipping. Office chairs, paperwork, cones, high-visibility vests, coffee mugs and posters were strewn across the practise area. At the base of the ramp lay two Yamaha 125s, a third was on its side stand being inspected by Steve, who stood up as he heard Rory approaching.

  ‘I sent you a message, but you can take a guess why I’ve cancelled the morning lesson, eh? Head office is aware and I reported it to the cops. They said to take photos so that’s what I’ve done.’

  Rory surveyed the chaos in more detail. ‘Jesus. What’s the news on the bikes?’

  ‘I’m just working that out. I don’t think any of its terminal on these three, but I haven’t checked the XJ6s yet. Fucking good job they didn’t get to the keys, we could have lost the lot.’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t think theft was the aim. What damage do we have inside?’
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  He sighed.

  ‘How bloody predictable. It has to be Wayne Fewtrell, aggrieved and destructive.’ The desk remained in place, as did the old sofa, so Rory had to assume Wayne had acted alone. He hadn’t managed to move the larger bikes, both of which had steering locks in place, but he had inflicted some significant wounds on the smaller school bikes. Steve had the inventory and the photographic evidence for the insurance claim.

  There was nothing else for it apart from to wait for the police who came and went, making a few notes about the potential culprit before giving permission for Steve and Rory to begin clearing up the damage caused by wanton vandalism.

  Steve repaired what he could and between them they righted the upheaval in the cabin, returning the unbroken furniture to use.

  A call from the managing director at head office took up several long minutes, as details of the break-in and the precipitating factors had to be discussed. The facts were straightforward enough and there wasn’t even a riddle to be solved regarding the vandalising of the Ride-Right premises, although questions remained that haunted Rory throughout the whole of the morning. Where was Anna Chamberlain? Why was she intent on following Leonard Fewtrell? Could she have something to do with the break-in? Maybe it wasn’t Wayne.

  Only when lunchtime lurched into view did he give in to his persistent nagging doubts. Rory phoned the number for the local mental health crisis team, in the vain hope that their administrator hadn’t disappeared for a lunch break.

  ‘Hollberry and Lensham Mental Health Crisis Team, can I help you?’

  Rory was so surprised by the voice at the other end that he dithered and stumbled over his words.