The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'His name is James Wickham.'

  It was said without a hint of 'I told you so.' A statement of fact, nothing more.

  'What about Jenna?'

  'We don't know yet.'

  Fossey walked away from the house his feet crunching on the gravel. 'So, what's happening now?'

  'At the moment I'm up in the woods waiting for my boss to get in touch, apparently Wickham has a house in Southport and let's just say we're hoping to find him at home.'

  'Right,' somewhere in the darkness a curlew screeched.

  'How are they bearing up?' Lasser asked.

  'Same as anyone in their position, they want to be out there looking, yet they know it's pointless.'

  'What about Ronnie?'

  'David rang the hospital earlier; they said there was no change.' When he turned he saw Susan standing in the doorway, staring out at him, he raised a hand, but she didn't respond. 'Listen, Lasser, is there anything else you can tell me?'

  'Come on, pal, by rights I shouldn't even be ringing you…'

  'I know and don't think it isn't appreciated but when I tell them they're going to want to know everything.'

  Fossey heard the sigh down the line.

  'He has a boat on the canal but he's not there, we broke in earlier to check it out. But just in case they have no luck at the house we thought it best to hang around…'

  'In case he shows up?'

  'Yeah, but to be honest I'm not sure he will, it's registered to Wickham, but it doesn't look like he uses it on a regular basis.'

  'Perhaps he's just used it as a base while he scouted out the area.' Fossey offered.

  'I don't doubt it.'

  Susan walked down the steps, moving slowly towards him, a shadow in the darkness.

  'He took a risk though; I mean; you can hardly class a canal barge as an appropriate getaway vehicle.' Fossey said.

  'As far as he's concerned there is no risk, I mean, if Ronnie had kept quiet about the blackmail then we'd be no nearer to catching this guy, there would have been no way to link him to Radfield.'

  'Listen, Susan's on her way…'

  'No problem, as soon as I hear anything I'll let you know.'

  'Thanks,' the line went dead.

  'Who were you talking to?'

  She looked shattered, dark circles smudged beneath her eyes, a woman whose life was unravelling into oblivion.

  'It was Lasser,' he paused, 'they think they know the name of the man who took Jenna.'

  It was like watching a spent candle suddenly splutter back to life. 'What! I mean, who… who is he?'

  'James Wickham.'

  She took a step backward, her features melding with the shadows. 'Wickham!'

  'They know where he lives, in fact the police are on their way there now, so…'

  'Tell me,' her eyes, only moments before listless and devoid of any hope, suddenly appeared energised.

  'I don't know the specifics…'

  'Well, get back on the phone and tell him that I have to know,' her anger bloomed; all the fear and frustration swept away leaving only an acute sense of fury. She reached out and snatched the sleeve of his jacket. 'You make him tell me!'

  'Susan, I can't; besides I don't think Lasser has an actual address.'

  'Ring him now!'

  'What's going on?' David appeared out of the gloom.

  Susan turned. 'Tell him, Patrick.'

  'Tell him what?'

  'They know who's taken her and he won't tell me where he lives.'

  When Fossey saw the look on his face, any hope he had of David being the voice of reason was blasted away. 'You know who he is?'

  Fossey held up his hands. 'Lasser gave me a name but that's all.'

  'What about an address?'

  'I was just trying to explain to Susan, I don't know.'

  'Where's Lasser now?' David asked, he kept clenching his fists, his chest heaving as if he had just staggered through the red tape after a gruelling marathon.

  'Look, David, he only rang because he thought you deserved to know. By rights he shouldn't have even done that, if his superiors find out… '

  'I don't give a shit about his superiors, where is he?'

  'I can't…'

  Fossey felt himself propelled backwards. 'Tell me or I'll beat it out of you!'

  'David, let him go!' Susan snatched at her husband's shoulder; he shrugged her off and carried on pushing until Fossey slammed up against the fence.

  'Where is he?' each word was clipped with fury.

  Fossey resisted the urge to defend himself, keeping his hands by his sides, the last thing he wanted to do was infuriate the man further.

  'I don't know where he lives.'

  'That isn't what I asked; I want you to tell me where Lasser is!'

  'No.'

  'What do you mean no!' he gave Fossey a shake, his head bounced off the wooden fence.

  Fossey could see Susan from the corner of his eye, hands held up to her mouth, her face a mask of fear and hope.

  He tried to ease away but David slammed him back.

  'OK, David, let's say I tell you, what will you do then?'

  'I'll find him and make him tell me where she is,' it was said with utter certainty, his eyes blazed with murderous intent.

  'Listen to me, if you do that then you could be putting your daughter's life in further danger.'

  Susan pushed at her husband until he took a backward step. 'What do you mean?'

  'Wickham has a house…'

  'Who's Wickham?' David asked.

  'They think he's the one responsible for all this.' Fossey watched David closely; it was obvious from his response that the name meant nothing to him.

  'He has a house, where?' Susan slipped in between the two men, turning her back on her husband.

  'Southport,' Fossey paused, 'though apparently he has a narrowboat up on the canal, that's where Lasser is now.'

  'Right,' David spun on his heels.

  'David, wait!' Fossey eased Susan to one side. 'If the police don't find him at home, they're hoping he might return to the boat. If you go up there, then it might alert him to the fact that the police are waiting.'

  He stopped and turned, his face in turmoil, a father desperate to protect his only child.

  'David, we can't risk it.' Susan whispered.

  'But I have to do something,' his shoulders were dragged down, all the anger seemed to evaporate, leaving a man who looked damaged, broken.

  She reached out and took hold of his hand. 'I know, love, but he's right, we have to let the police handle this,' she paused, 'for Jenna's sake.'

  94

  When the van lurched to one side, Jenna groaned in pain. Every part of her ached, the right side of her face felt as if someone had stamped on it, she tentatively slid out her tongue and touched it against her swollen lip, wincing at the raw sting.

  Rolling slowly onto her back she twisted her neck until she could see the back of his head, dirty, blonde hair brushing the collar of a dark camouflage jacket, the wipers swiping back and forth across the glass. She tried to clear her mind of the fear, but it seemed to fill every part of her like a virus running rampant through her system. When the dog suddenly draped its head over the passenger seat, she nearly screamed in shock.

  'You're awake then?' he asked, without turning. She held her breath; the dog looked at her and whimpered, before licking its lips.

  She shuffled her way across the metal floor, until her back hit the tailgate; the sour tang of her own urine mixed with the scent of wet dog filled the small space.

  Suddenly the van stopped, she heard the ratchet sound of the handbrake, and then the man turned in his seat, peering into the back, his face wreathed in shadow.

  'Do you know who I am?'

  'No,' the word came out as a hoarse whisper, her throat parchment dry, she shifted slightly, the cord binding her wrists tightened.

  'Are you sure?' he flicked on the interior light. 'Go on, take a good look.'

  Jenna screwe
d up her eyes at the sudden onslaught.

  'Take your time.'

  She blinked, once, twice, until her eyes gradually became accustomed to the light. She was sure she had never seen his face before, his eyes were pale blue, his skin looked tanned as if he had spent a lot of time in the outdoors. His blonde hair was unruly, as if he never considered running a comb through it.

  His face split into a wide grin. 'So, what do you think, do I look familiar?'

  She shook her head and then wished she hadn't, for a few seconds her vision blurred, pain rattled around behind her eyes.

  The smile vanished; he frowned as if disappointed by her response. 'No family resemblance?'

  'Look, I don't know who you are…'

  'Quite right – you don't.'

  He was insane, she was being held captive by a maniac and whatever she said, he would twist to suit his own purpose. There would be no pleading with him, no rationalising; the realisation that he would kill her slammed home, her heart juddered as she gasped for breath. Jenna gripped her legs together tightly, trying to keep control of her bladder. This was the man who had killed Michael's brother; he was the one who had murdered the police officer and Ashley Radfield. Human remains, those were the words Hopkins had used, it seemed a lifetime since he'd stood in their kitchen full of his own self-importance. Now he was dead and when they found her body that was how reporters would refer to her, nothing more than, 'human remains.'

  'Please…' she whispered, inside she felt a flicker of disgust at the whining tone of her voice.

  The man tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. 'Please, what?'

  'I don't know what I'm meant to have done but if you let me…'

  'Go?' he paused as if pondering some great problem. 'You promise to keep all this secret, is that what you're telling me? You'll simply return home and explain to your parents that you decided to go out for a stroll and lost track of time, and they'll say ''it doesn't matter, there's a killer out there, but hey ho you're back now''.'

  'I…'

  He laughed. 'Come on, Jenna, think how that sounds.'

  She felt the colour drain from her face. 'How do you know my name?'

  He reached across the seat and stroked the dogs head. 'All this has been something of a shock to me to, Jenna.'

  She cringed as he spoke her name again; somehow, it made her feel even more vulnerable. Suddenly she thought of her grandad, he could be dead or maybe he was awake and asking where she was. What would happen when he was told that she had been taken, she screwed up her eyes and tried to breath, tried to think. If he wanted her dead then surely, he would have done it by now, it sounded rational though in reality she knew it was a flawed premise. He was in control, any idea of escape was farcical, she gritted her teeth, felt the pain in her jaw and relished it, stay calm, keep focused and you might get a chance.

  'What are you talking about?' she asked, trying to inject some confidence into her voice, if she sounded like a victim, chances are he would treat her like one.

  The man smiled. 'I mean, it's not every day you find out you have a family that you knew nothing about.'

  Inside her head something twisted, seized gears suddenly straining to move. 'Family?'

  'Mm, I don't have it all worked out yet but I'm fairly sure I'm your uncle.'

  Jenna felt her legs twitch, she tried to comprehend the words, but it felt surreal, the van closed in around her, everything intensified, she could hear the rain bouncing off the roof, could smell her own stale sweat, his smile grew until it appeared like a red slash across his face.

  'That's not true!'

  'Well, the woman in the photograph is my mother and I presume the 'Farmer Joe' draped all over her is your grandfather, which ultimately makes him my dear old dad.' His voice was conversational, just two long-lost relatives catching up on the family gossip. 'Tell me, Jenna, is the old cunt still alive?'

  At first, she thought she'd misheard him, his smile was bright and cheery but the look in his eyes made her push herself back into the cold metal of the tailgate, she tried to break contact and found it impossible. He regarded her with eyes that lacked any shred of compassion, she felt like a lab rat pinned to the dissecting board.

  'Well, is he?'

  'Leave me alone,' she whimpered.

  'Come on, there's no need to be like that, blood's thicker than water, you should know that.'

  'He's not your father,' she spat, for a fraction of a second all thought of her own safety was obliterated by blind fury.

  'You love him, don't you?'

  'I would have known; he would have told me.'

  'You think so?'

  'Yes!' she hissed.

  'So, he told you he was fucking my mother, did he?' his smile widened when he saw the look of shock on her face. 'I see he didn't, that's the problem; you can never tell when someone is telling you the truth. In fact, my own mother was a lying cold-hearted bitch.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'Course you don't, but you will.'

  Jenna wriggled into a sitting position. 'I want to go home.'

  His face shifted, he looked like a spoiled child, just before they stamp their foot in temper. 'My mother died late last year; she spent the last few weeks in a hospice. I tell you, Jenna, you wouldn't have recognised her. You saw the picture; you saw how beautiful she was…'

  'I don't care, she…'

  'Shut the fuck up,' the terrible darkness in his eyes slid down like the blade of a black guillotine.

  She swallowed the panic and drew her legs up in fear, don't talk, don't provoke.

  When he began to speak again, it was as if nothing had happened. 'I don't think you could ever say we were close, I mean, when you're brought up on a narrowboat you tend to get under one another's feet, not enough room.' He smiled again; the anger gone like a grass fire that had temporarily died down. 'Back then nobody bothered about us, if you lived on a barge you might as well have been invisible. I never went to school, never learned to read and write properly; of course, when you're a kid you can't imagine a world where something like that will be important. As for my dear mother, let's just say the bottle took precedent over any motherly instinct she might have once possessed. She'd disappear for days on end, didn't leave me any food let alone money to buy any.'

  Jenna shivered as she watched his lips mouthing the words.

  'I used to snare rabbits and catch fish from the canal; otherwise I'd have starved to death,' he tilted his head. 'Do you believe me, Jenna?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Very wise, you see you're getting the hang of it but it's the truth. I mean, you know what it's like living out here, isolated, the nearest shop miles away. It's hard to make friends, you feel cut off from the rest of the world. Imagine it back then, we didn't own a car, I couldn't jump on the nearest bus and go into town,' he turned and flicked off the wipers. 'So, I used to wait until dark and then go to the nearest farm and nick a few eggs, grab some milk but I wasn't stupid, I only took what I needed that way I didn't draw attention to myself, can you understand that?'

  She nodded, despite her terror she found herself engrossed in what he was saying; besides the longer he talked, the longer she stayed alive.

  'One winter I nearly died; I didn't see my mother for three months. You have no idea how cold it gets on the water, especially when you have no wood to burn. I couldn't catch any fish because the canal was frozen and the thought of going out at night to try and steal food became a nightmare. I had visions of dying out there in the snow, I used to dream of foxes closing in while I lay welded to the ground. Not nice, Jenna, not nice at all.'

  She began to imagine the life he'd been forced to lead, a sliver of sympathy fluttered in her mind and she crushed it before it had chance to grow.

  'I was fifteen when I left, of course the booze had a grip on her by then, and it was obvious that she didn't give a fuck about me. So, I set fire to the barge, just to spite her.' he smiled at the memory; Jenna thought sh
e saw the flicker of remembered flames in his eyes; he waved a hand in the air. 'You can imagine the rest, a bright girl like you; I got in trouble with the police, blah, blah, blah. Joined the army, which was the making of me. I see from the look in your eye that you'd dispute that, Jenna, but that's not really important.'

  'What's all this got to do with my family?'

  'I like that, straight to the point, no fucking about, you remind me of,' he paused and smiled 'me.' The dog panted, it looked as if it was laughing at the quip. 'I didn't see my mother for over twenty years; in fact, I thought she might have even been on the boat when I torched it. Either way it didn't matter, I had a new family; the army, I needed nothing else,' he leaned forward over the seat. 'Can you imagine, Jenna, a kid like me with no mother to speak of and a father who had run out on me?' He stopped and pulled out a cigarette, when he struck the match she noticed his hand shaking as he touched it to the paper. 'You see that's what she'd always told me, so I knew no different. But the army,' he paused a look of genuine pleasure on his face, 'they took me in, made me believe in myself, gave me a set of skills that have served me well.'

  Jenna cringed, a set of skills that had left him with no moral compass, it sounded like the army was just one huge dysfunctional family taking broken and damaged individuals and turning them into psychopaths.

  'When I was a kid I used to hate to leave the boat, twenty years later I'd been all over the world, mind-blowing, that's the only way to describe how my life changed,' he slid down the window to let out the smoke. 'Trouble is nothing lasts forever,' his voice was heavy with regret, he sniffed and carried on. 'So, after twenty years I was out, and for the first time in two decades I thought about my mother. I'd like to be able to tell you that I forgave her, but all this is about honesty, Jenna. The first time in the hospice I walked straight past her, you see I was looking for a beautiful woman with black hair. Instead I found a woman who already looked dead, cancer does that to you, it shows you your own death.'

  'I'm sorry,' the words slipped from her lips, though it was as if someone else had spoken them.

  He looked at her, a frown creasing his forehead, then he relaxed and nodded. 'Don't misunderstand me, I'm not after sympathy, I'm not built that way. Besides, at first, she didn't recognise me either, the last time she'd seen me I'd been fifteen but eventually I got through to her.'