by Sarah Flint
Mummy was still laughing as she stroked him and he was afraid to say anything. And then she stopped and grabbed his hand and pushed it down inside her clothing. And she pulled the T-shirt off his face and she was smiling down at him now and he didn’t know whether to smile back.
And everything felt strange. His Mummy felt strange and was moving in a strange way, and she wouldn’t let him take his hand out. She was pulling and pushing at his hand and smiling, and staring down at him.
‘Now who’s a good boy then?’
And he was pleased that he was making her smile, pleased that he was being good, even though she was making strange moaning sounds.
Then just as quickly, she stopped moving and stopped smiling and he didn’t know what was wrong.
‘I’m being a good boy.’ He wanted to make her smile again but instead she was frowning. Then she punched him and the blow to his tummy hurt and made him feel sick. He started to cry but that just made Mummy more cross.
‘Shut up you little bastard,’ she was shouting at him now.
And he looked up and there was Tommy standing at the door, watching. And he didn’t know how long Tommy had been watching or what Tommy had seen.
‘Tommy,’ he called out to his brother. Mummy had turned from him now and was going towards Tommy, scooping him up in her arms and kissing him.
‘Hello, my beautiful boy,’ she whispered to Tommy and he knew that she would never whisper that to him. Never. And he curled back up into a little ball and started to cry again. And then she was gone and he was all alone.
But that was the start of it. That was the beginning of his special times with Mummy. The times that Tommy didn’t know about; the times when Mummy smiled at him. But those were the only times when Mummy smiled at him. Tommy, his older brother, was always her favourite. Tommy, her beautiful boy, her smartest, handsomest, cleverest boy…
He could feel the anger surging again now; the rage was building as he lay in his pit. He loved her but he hated her. He forced himself to think of his mummy smiling as she touched him, smiling as he touched her. Nothing else he had ever done had made her smile. That was why, next time, when he had a different mummy captured he would make her strip off. So he could feel her, make her smile too like his mummy used to every time when she did it to him. He reached down into his underwear and felt his hard-on. It made him angry to feel it because his mummy had gone now and it was supposed to be for her, only her. But it was throbbing now, aching to be touched, and he knew he would be thinking of her again as he grasped it.
The tears were starting again. His mummy had gone. He had seen to that. And all the other women were nothing in comparison. They were all bitches that let him down time and time and time again.
But he would show them. He would show them next time and the time after that. He needed to start the process again soon. He couldn’t wait much longer. And he knew who the next woman would be. He knew her favourite. He could see it in the eyes of the rejected one. He could see it in the eyes of the chosen one. Soon they would be his. Soon the bitch would lie where he was lying now knowing her favourite was dead beside her. Soon she would die, slowly and painfully and agonizingly.
He could feel the excitement building at the thought. He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. And as he spat out his hatred into the soil of his pit he knew it wouldn’t be much longer.
Chapter 15
The evening was closing in as Charlie jogged towards the station.
She heard a shout and saw Hunter pulling up across the road in his Jag, a choice of vehicle that always amused her. He looked so diminutive and out of place in the seat of the sleek, dark green executive car, his tweed peaked cap pulled firmly down over his balding head. He would have suited the Escort RS2 or Cortina Ghia far more, the cars of The Sweeney, the age of policing which suited him best.
‘Hop in. I’ll give you a lift.’
She ran across towards him, immediately tempted to jump in. A lift with Hunter was always guaranteed to be action-packed. Things always happened when they were together. The light on his mobile pulsed on. His wife was calling. He left it to ring.
‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’
‘She’ll want to know what time I’ll be home.’ He smiled a little sheepishly. ‘You know Mrs H. Ever since the bloody doctors mentioned high blood pressure she thinks I’m going to drop dead if I’m not home by ten.’
He pulled a packet of fags from his pocket and lit one, blowing the smoke out through the open window.
‘I’ll be in trouble if she finds out I’m doing this too. She’s got a nose like a sniffer dog when it comes to Rothmans. Even if I chewed through a whole packet of extra strong mints she’d still notice it on my breath.’
She grinned back at him. It was her turn to act the adult.
‘You know she’s doing it for the right reasons though, guv. She’s just concerned.’
She’d met Mrs H, as Hunter always referred to her, several times and there was no mistaking the genuine love they had for each other. They were both on their second marriages and she was obviously determined that this one would last as long as humanly possible. Having frog-marched him to the doctors for a check-up the previous year, the ensuing diagnosis of hypertension had shaken her to the core. He’d been warned to lose weight, stop smoking and do more exercise, all of which he was failing to do spectacularly. Tablets were keeping his blood pressure down, but Hunter knew best and she couldn’t change him, however hard she tried.
It was just a matter of time before his condition worsened but as he stubbornly refused her request to retire, they had come to a compromise whereby he went along with a little over-protectiveness from Mrs H , in return for remaining in post without too much being said, too often.
‘I know she is. Had an earful of her concern several times today.’ He grinned and tapped the passenger seat next to him. ‘Come on, Charlie, let’s go for a spin.’
‘Gonna have to turn you down, guv. I’ve been promising my body a bit of a work-out after all the sitting down I’ve been doing recently.’ She thought about the secret promise she’d made to Mrs H to look after him, last time they’d met. ‘Besides you’ll only get us both into trouble if I get in the car with you.’
She nodded towards the job radio propped up in the centre consul and the old, ripped grey donkey jacket spread across the rear seat. Charlie had seen him in action many a time on and off duty. He’d slip the radio into his jacket pocket when he was out and about and no one would bat an eyelid at him; he was just an old down-and-out. Little did anyone know, when he came across a crime, he would utilize the radio to call in more troops or, if necessity required, as a very effective weapon.
‘Your choice then, but who knows what fun you might be missing.’
He winked and put his foot hard down on the accelerator and she watched as the Jag shot off like a bolt of green laser light, wishing she’d agreed, after all to the ride.
She decided to head along the Thames towards Blackfriars, for a change, mulling over the events of the day. Jogging was the time she thought the most about everything.
The clouds were threatening, rising up in huge towering blocks of darkness rimmed by an edge of light from the failing sun. It had been a strange day, particularly the visit to Dana Latchmere, obviously on edge, and wanting to say more than her domineering husband would allow. Now the evening seemed strangely perturbed too. She passed Lambeth Bridge, turning right towards Westminster Bridge with the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben standing guard. The atmosphere was anxious, the calm before a storm, a few birds flitted around and the water of the river moved silently seawards in small, menacing whirlpools and black eddies. She shuddered at the sight of it. She hated water, the way it stealthily changed its character before you had time to realize; one minute calm and inviting, the next minute full of malevolent fury. She felt her pulse quicken at the thought. For an instant she was being tossed and turned in darkness, fighting to come up for air, thrashing abou
t with every last ounce of energy. The trouble was whenever she did come to the surface she knew the panic would only get worse, a thousand times worse.
A Victorian-style lamp flickered on, reacting to the darkening sky. She stopped underneath it, bathed in a halo of light. She closed her eyes and for two minutes allowed the screaming inside her head to quieten.
When she’d recovered sufficiently, she turned her sight away from the river and started to run again, moving swiftly and noiselessly, save for the soft rhythm of her breath. Past St Thomas’s hospital and then she was crossing the road leading to Westminster Bridge, still littered with snapping tourists. Onwards towards the London Eye, illuminated against the darkening back-drop, its pods moving silently on their never-ending, relentless daily loop. The South Bank seemed quieter than normal, the evening’s activities confined to hastily booked seats within restaurants, with fewer people than normal wandering the walkways.
She heard a commotion within the confines of the riverside skateboard park and turned to see a figure sprawled on the concrete, with three or four people, silhouetted against the graffiti-covered walls, bending over him. A set of crutches lay at angles to the man on the ground, out of his reach and he was calling out. He sounded slightly drunk, the tempo of his voice rising and falling and his words slurred. His tone resonated more with anger than distress. She decided to keep going. It didn’t look to be any more than a drunken accident and there were obviously enough people dealing with him. They didn’t need another to further antagonize him.
‘Charlie. Help me.’
The words stopped her in her tracks. Spinning round, she stared in the direction the voice came from, and suddenly everything was clicking into place. It was Ben Jacobs lying on the ground, his face turned towards her. One of the supposed Good Samaritans bending over him pulled his hand out of Ben’s jacket pocket and punched him square in the face. She heard the thud of bone on bone from where she was and saw Ben’s nose explode, blood spurting out on to the pavement.
She reacted instantly as she always did; with no concern for her own safety. Screaming loudly, she ran straight at the group, who turned towards her open-mouthed with surprise, before splitting up and sprinting away in all directions. But not before the man who had punched Ben aimed a well-placed boot into his rib-cage. Ben cried out in pain. The man laughed, and as Charlie neared them, he spat on the ground and shouted.
‘This is what he deserves. Help for Heroes? He’s no hero. Look at him. He’s just a drunk.’
Side-stepping Charlie, he delivered a hard shove at her shoulder, catching her off balance, and darted away across the pavement, before turning the corner and disappearing. She went to go after him, but as Ben let out a long groan, she changed her mind and doubled back to help him instead. She’d got a good look at his attacker’s leering face and she knew she wouldn’t forget it. She’d rather catch the guy later than go after him now and return to find Ben choked to death on his own blood.
He was in a bad way. His nose was slewed to one side, obviously broken and both eyes were swelling even as she looked. Quickly, she dialled 999 requesting an ambulance and police, before bending down to tend to him. His broken leg stretched out in front of him, the plaster cast cracked and broken, as if it had been stamped on. The other leg was folded underneath him at a strange angle, his shoe lying some distance away. To pick on a war hero was despicable, even more so when they were obviously injured, and even worse when so badly outnumbered.
‘Bastards! Didn’t even give me a chance,’ he groaned, trying to open his swollen eyes. ‘If they hadn’t gone straight for my bleedin’ crutches, I would have beaten the crap out of them all with them.’
He turned away from her and punched the pavement, before hauling himself on to his elbows, wincing in pain as he did so and upending his ‘Help for Heroes’ collection box. Nothing came out.
‘And they’ve got the day’s takings, the gits.’
She could hardly bear to watch. She wanted to help but didn’t want to hurt his already injured pride even more by doing so, but the anger was welling up inside her. Ben Jacobs was an honourable young man, mentally maimed in the name of his country and obviously fighting his own demons. He didn’t deserve this. The worse thing was that none of it was his fault; he’d been used by the government and, after a cursory term of recuperation, had been left to fend for himself. With a family who didn’t understand mental illness and who had quickly disowned him, he’d ended up using drink as a way of dulling the pain. Now here she was, wanting to help but feeling useless in the knowledge that he wouldn’t allow her to.
The sirens of the ambulance were getting closer now. She couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief. She knew the basics of life support and first aid, but she was always relieved when the paramedics arrived to take over the responsibility. She couldn’t just leave him though.
Ben was looking towards her as they arrived. She quickly gave them a rundown of what had happened before trying to answer their next question out of his hearing.
‘Yes, I think he’s had a few. His speech is a little slurry and his breath smells of alcohol.’ Ben turned away; he’d obviously heard her. She cursed silently that she hadn’t refused to answer the question, or moved further out of earshot. The last thing she wanted was to make Ben feel she was judging him. God only knew what she’d be like if she’d seen the things he had.
Bill Morley strode towards them.
‘Well I never, Charlie, I don’t see you for ages then I see you twice in two days. You’re like a bus. Not that I’m complaining.’
‘More like the back of a bus.’ She pulled her T-shirt down subconsciously.
Bill ignored the comment, taking his notebook from his pocket. ‘So, what’s happened?’
She explained again what she had seen as Bill took notes. As an ex-serviceman, she knew exactly what Bill would want to do; it was the same as she wanted. She finished by giving him as full a description of all the suspects as she could remember, concentrating particularly on every little detail of the main attacker.
‘I got a good look at him, Bill, and you know what I’m like when I’ve seen someone.’
‘Never forget a face!’
She had a reputation for remembering faces. If anyone wanted to identify a suspect, the first port of call would always be Charlie. Whether it was a photo that needed to be ID’d, a description of a distinctive person, or even an unusual tattoo or feature, she was the one to whom everyone turned. Hence her being nominated by Hunter to attend an independent, external course at the University of Greenwich at their campus in Eltham to test her powers of observation and identification. She’d been required to pick out people in crowds, faces from all angles, in poor visibility, for long periods of time or split seconds. After hours of tests she had emerged with the proud title of being a ‘super recognizer’. Having failed at school, any acknowledgement of her worth meant a lot to Charlie, and as this was a talent crucial to her job, she was particularly pleased with the accolade.
‘When I get a name for the face I’ll let you know, Bill. In the meantime though, a quick sample of the main suspect’s spit might be a good back-up. He spat on the ground down there.’ She pointed at where the thug had spat at Ben. ‘Whichever way is quicker, you can come and help me bring him in when we’ve got a name.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure, Charlie.’
‘Hopefully we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other in the coming weeks then.’ She glanced back at Ben. The paramedics were ready to leave for the hospital. He looked lost, strapped onto the stretcher, clutching the crutches that had now been retrieved, as if expecting another attack.
‘I’ll go with him.’ She couldn’t bear to see him on his own. She pulled Bill to one side, out of Ben’s earshot. ‘At least until his family arrive; if any of them can be bothered to turn out for him.’
Bill looked towards her quizzically.
‘They’ve sort of disowned him since he turned to booze.’
‘Bloo
dy disgrace,’ Bill shook his head. ‘After all he’s been through.’
She walked back to the ambulance and climbed in, taking Ben’s hand and squeezing it encouragingly. Bill Morley smiled towards her.
‘You’re a good kid, you know?’
‘Yes she is,’ Ben agreed. ‘The best.’ He pulled her hand up towards his lips and gave it a kiss. She felt her cheeks burning, especially when she saw the conspicuous wink Bill gave her as he shut the ambulance door.
Ben was just a mate. She hadn’t given anything more than that a thought. But he was still holding her hand tightly and suddenly she didn’t quite know what to do. She was just doing her job, and if that meant making sure he was safe and bringing the scum that had done this to him to justice, well that’s what she would do.
Pulling her hand gently away, she tried to busy herself with a pen and paper, aware of his eyes watching her every move.
‘Right then, Ben,’ she tried to get back to a more formal level. ‘Give me a few days and I’ll have these bastards locked up. You know I always get my man.’
Chapter 15
Charlie slept in the office that night, curled up in the corner on a pile of bright blue, prisoners’ blankets she’d borrowed from custody. It had been her favoured option after finally leaving Ben in the early hours of the morning, having been admitted to a ward for observations. Her family home was too far away and her own flat, although near enough in distance was the last place she wanted to be. It was too quiet. She needed to be around people and noise.
Bet woke her with a cup of tea.
‘Charlie, are you OK? The guvnor saw you here and asked me to check on you.’
‘I’m fine. Is he in already?’ she sat up far too quickly, almost shouting the words.
Bet reached over and pulled the earphones out of her ears. The iPod playing her favourite playlist had long since died.