Where There’s A Will

by Coles, Linda

  He also bet Cynthia was a dab hand with a fly swatter.

  Forty-Nine

  The killer hated this part. Entering the tunnel, they ran through all that had to be taken care of for the plan to work. They’d done it twice before, but it was important that every last detail was executed correctly. There was no way they were going to get caught, doing time in prison was not an option. No, they didn’t relish the prospect of sharing a cell with someone twice their size and not fussy about the gender when it came to sex.

  There wasn’t a sound as they approached the cellar doorway, but as the light from the torch lit up the room, they heard a familiar shuffling as he wakened and tried to orientate himself like others had before him. The killer shone the beam in his face and watched as he winced away from the light, eyes tightly closed and still unable to speak, the gag seeing to that. His neck looked red raw now, he’d obviously been struggling against its tension. It wouldn’t be long now before he’d have to struggle no more, his end in sight. The killer perched on the end of the dingy bed, breakfast in a paper bag.

  “I hope you slept okay. I brought you something to eat; I assume you’re hungry?” There was little point in waiting for a reply. “Right, here’s the plan: just like we did yesterday, I’ll take your neck restraint off and put the shock collar on, then take your gag off.” At the sound of the collar, his eyes widened in terror. “It only hurts if you do something stupid. Now you’re not going to do anything stupid today, are you?” Jonesy struggled to move his head from side to side, even the slightest movement causing him to wince. “And then you can have your breakfast.” The killer took the neck restraint off then fitted the electronic dog collar before removing his gag, not wanting to chance him yelling out. One squeeze of the remote-control button and 6,000 volts would shoot into his neck. While the zap didn’t feel much more than a sharp jolt from an electric fence, it hurt like hell on the tender flesh around the neck, particularly when the button was held down for any length of time. The threat had the desired effect, had made him think twice about yelling or running. Not that his bound ankles would take him very far. Once the collar was in place, the killer took the gag off and watched as Jonesy tried to moisten his mouth with his tongue. They then removed his hand restraints so he could sit upright. The killer handed over a bottle of water and watched as Jonesy drank greedily. It had been some time – yesterday, in fact – since he’d last been fed and watered.

  Jonesy’s eyes searched the killer’s, likely wondering what he’d done to upset them enough to be doing what they were doing. He doubted he was a random find, the wrong person in the right place, not on this occasion at least. He’d got lucky on their first attempt, he suspected he wouldn’t be so this. How long had he been down there? Maybe three days, maybe four? That’s how many breakfasts he’d eaten. He assumed he’d been drugged – probably a blessing, being asleep and unaware of the cold, damp surroundings he was captive in.

  “Anyway,” the killer said, “we’re going for a drive today,” as if they were going to the funfair, perhaps for candyfloss and a hotdog. “So, when you’ve finished your breakfast, I’ve brought a change of clothes for you.”

  At the mention of a drive, Jonesy stopped chewing. He knew a drive didn’t mean fun and excitement, but at least he’d be out of the bone-chilling space that he’d been in for far too long. He gave an involuntary shiver. Perhaps it was the temperature getting to him and not the notion that something was changing, that he might be nearing the end of his ordeal. He knew that leaving the cellar didn’t necessarily mean freedom and he tried not to think about it. He attempted to talk, but with his throat constricted, it came out a croak before the word finally came free.

  “Why?”

  “Why are we going out? Simple, it’s time to move, time for the next part. As I said, I’ve brought you clean clothes, and we’ll be going upstairs, out the back door, where the car is waiting.” He watched as clothes from a holdall were laid on the bed. In the torchlight, he could see there was a black suit and a white shirt and what appeared to be some sort of cravat along with a long-haired wig. Even in the dim light it was obviously not a nylon one from a joke shop, but more likely a natural one. It shone in the glow from the beam.

  “I guess you’re wondering, ‘why the get up?’ Well, we’re going to pose as funeral directors and I thought the wig was a nice touch. You’ll look smart in those,” the killer said, pointing to the collection of clothes. “So, as soon as you’ve finished, you’ll get changed and we’ll go. From there it really depends on your willingness to cooperate, because you’ll be keeping the collar on – the cravat will come in handy to cover it and your bruises up. I don’t need to remind you quite what it feels like when I hold the shock button down?”

  Jonesy struggled to move his head, ‘no’, his neck sore and stiff from being shackled and him being constantly sedated. He finished his food as quickly as his throat would allow, grateful for the greasy burger and water. A packet of baby wipes was handed to him. “To wipe your face and your hands with. I’m sure you’ll feel like freshening up.”

  “I need… toilet,” he struggled.

  “You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. Maybe when we get upstairs there’ll be an opportunity. I suppose your nappy is full, is it?”

  Jonesy nodded slowly. Getting it off would be a blessing. Lying in his own urine was not pleasant and it hadn’t been changed since yesterday. Or had it?

  “Now, I’ll hold the torch, you take your clothes off and slip into these, and when we’re upstairs, we’ll see about that toilet visit properly.” He did as he was told, though it wasn’t easy, his hands and fingers fumbling awkwardly, and with the drugs still floating around in his bloodstream, it was almost impossible to even focus on the task, never mind complete it. To speed things up, the killer gave him a hand remove his filthy T-shirt, the message penned on his bare chest a stark reminder of his place in the cruel game. When he was finally fully dressed, the wig was arranged neatly over his own dirty hair.

  “Well, if I say so myself, you look smart. You should grow your hair out a little, the length suits you.”

  Jonesy watched as his belongings and the linen from the mattress were placed into the holdall before the killer glanced around the room, as if checking it. It was obvious now he wasn’t coming back. With only the few food wrappers left behind, they were ready to leave.

  “No point taking rubbish with us, my fingers haven’t touched it and anyone that finds it will blame kids anyway. Now, you go ahead of me, and just remember what’s around your neck, I’ve got control of you each and every step you take.”

  Fifty

  With a plan to stick to, there was no time to waste, and the pair were soon sitting in the black Mercedes and heading out of town. The killer hadn’t wanted to risk taking him to Hunsbury Hill like they had the others. The time between removing the victims from the cellar and taking them to their final destination in the country park had always been an issue, an unnecessary risk, but there was no way they could have left either of them underground. Jonesy was the third victim, which meant the police might be closing in, and since the mayor could well have reported the text messages at any stage, they couldn’t take the risk of a repeat destination. As soon as the killer had taken the photograph of their latest victim, moving him had been the sensible thing to do. It wasn’t worth heading out to Hunsbury Hill and finding out the police were already waiting for a third body, so another plan had been concocted. In hindsight, which was a wonderful thing, they should never have used the country park to dispose of both bodies in the first place. Today’s chosen venue, however, would be perfect for what they needed.

  The plan was a clever one. Who would suspect a funeral director of being up to no good? Two smartly dressed people in a shiny black car wouldn’t have looked out of place driving through the town centre, though the killer knew it might do at their final destination. The shock collar had come in extremely handy, keeping him under control without much effort on their par
t. The killer had taken no chances, though, and as soon as they’d got in the car, had restrained Jonesy’s hands behind his back with cable ties, just in case.

  “I suggest you slide down your seat a little, until we get through the traffic. I’ll let you know when you can sit back up,” they instructed. “I can’t have the CCTV cameras picking you up, not that you even look like the young man they might be looking for. That’s the beauty of all this, you know, that’s why I picked your type – disposable almost. In fact, I picked you twice.” Jonesy turned at the mention of twice. He had been correct in his assumption. “Yes, that was me too, and another street person, hired for a tenner. But the planets didn’t align that night, a miscalculation we’ll call it, and since I couldn’t trust that you hadn’t blabbed to the police, here we are again. It was an added bonus you hadn’t noticed me from the first time, made things a lot easier.”

  Jonesy stared. The blue ink he’d discovered on his chest in the shower, the start of a word perhaps, explained a lot. It didn’t matter now; it was all far too late as they made their way out of town.

  Ransome Road was a dead end, – a fishing lake with plenty of trees and shrubs to hide away from prying eyes. It would be perfect. The killer again ran through the plan, the process to go through so they weren’t disturbed and didn’t hurt him too much. There had been enough pain of recent to last a lifetime, and they didn’t want to inflict any more than was necessary, it wasn’t the young man’s fault.

  Parking the car just off the road, the killer turned towards Jonesy. Terror filled his eyes. He must’ve known he was close to the end.

  “Relax. We’ve a short walk ahead of us, and I’ve got a picnic basket in the boot, I’m sure you must still be hungry.” Confusion added to fear, he had no clue what the killer intended. “Come on, I’ll help you out.” With his hands still fastened behind his back and legs wobbly from previous sedatives, he managed to swing his legs out and stand up. “It’s not far, I thought you’d appreciate some privacy, and there’s plenty of shrubs and bushes by the water.” The killer grabbed the picnic basket from the boot and they walked slowly together. Once satisfied with their position, the killer spread a chequer blanket out on the grass and placed the basket on top of it.

  “Sit down.”

  Jonesy remained standing for a moment, ignoring their request.

  “Sit, I said. Unless you want me to persuade you via the collar?”

  He struggled not to topple over, his legs weakened after being bound uncomfortably. The plastic cuffs were snipped away and he rubbed at his wrists.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  “You’ve done nothing. You’re just the unfortunate person I happened to come across.”

  As if that explained his ordeal in its entirety.

  They passed him an egg sandwich which he glanced at. “Take it, I know you’re still hungry.”

  The killer watched as he ate then passed Jonesy the rest of the box before pouring out two mugs of coffee. It really was a peaceful spot, but there could well have been anglers fishing, hidden in the longer grass. They pulled a set of binoculars from the basket and scanned the area. It seemed they were alone. Perfect.

  Jonesy finished the sandwiches as directed. It wouldn’t be long now before he felt the effects of what they contained, and the killer waited patiently for the final sedative to get to work, enjoying the view in the distance at the same time. Jonesy struggled to stay awake but he was no match for the drug. Finally, he slumped to one side, his head thumping the ground awkwardly. The killer scanned the area again before completing the next part of the plan. Being out in the open during daylight now meant a change to the final assault. Smothering him could draw attention from someone unseen before.

  The killer worked quickly, retrieving the small syringe from an inside jacket pocket and, on hands and knees, lifted Jonesy’s hair to expose the back of his neck before slipping the needle into the skin. As the poison made its way into his system, the strong sedative meant he wouldn’t feel a thing, his heart finally giving out as the fine balance of sodium and potassium ions was disrupted. His heart would race, then still.

  The whole process took less than ten minutes and was peaceful. Without the sedative, though, it would have been sheer torture as fire raced to his heart and he thrashed and screamed in an attempt to put it out.

  There was no need to do that to him.

  It was time to leave, and quickly. This one had certainly been riskier; it was daylight for one and a new location for another, definitely not the place to smother someone. The killer worked rapidly to gather everything together before removing Jonesy’s wig. Satisfied that nothing had been left behind, they rolled him off the blanket and left him exactly where he lay. In a perfect world, they’d have swapped his clothes back for his own, but it was far too risky to do so now, and the new ones had come from a charity shop anyway.

  As the killer drove away, they wondered how long it would be before someone found the body.

  Fifty-One

  Birdie followed her old friend inside as Cynthia turned back in the small front porch and said, “I have to say, Birdie, you look absolutely stunning, you’ve aged really well!”

  Birdie gave a light chuckle and replied with, “I’ll take that as a compliment, Cynthia, and I have to say you do too. I remember you when you first entered the cells, all mousey and drippy looking, but hell, look at you now,” she said, standing back a little. “You have blossomed. And your confidence I can see a mile away. Prison, or something, has done you good.”

  “I know. I went inside a withered wallflower that wouldn’t say boo to a goose and came out a prickly rose. Then I had to spend my time working on being a little less of a prickly rose, but I think I’ve turned out fine, don’t you?”

  “I’d say so.” She followed her friend through to the kitchen at the back. The room was bright and airy with sunflower-yellow on one wall. With the sun shining in through a large window at the back, it was a very pleasant and inviting room indeed. “Well, you look like you’ve done okay for yourself,” said Birdie, admiring her surroundings. “What a lovely view of your garden.” Birdie made her way over to the huge window and looked out upon flowers down one side of the garden path and a vegetable patch in full production on the other. A tabby cat lay on the manicured grass washing behind its ears in the sunshine. It all looked very peaceful and rather tranquil. “Did you remarry?” Birdie asked, remembering an earlier conversation with Will.

  “No, I never found anybody I wanted to spend the rest of my life with,” Cynthia said. “But that’s okay, I’m happy enough with my own company now, and the neighbours along here are all very good, quite sociable actually. I play cards once a week with the man next door and a couple of us get together to play dominoes. It’s all very civilised.” She turned to face her friend full on. “How about you, Birdie, is there a man in your life, or a woman?” she said, adding a wink.

  “Neither,” said Birdie. “I came to the conclusion that I don’t need anybody. I’m happy in my own skin, and like you, I’ve got friends to keep me busy, so no. Had a fling or two. All males,” she added.

  Cynthia busied herself putting the kettle on to boil and dropped teabags into a pot. A variety pack of biscuits sat on the kitchen counter nearby. She put everything on a tray, poured the water when it had boiled and then carried everything through to the conservatory. It was another bright and sunny room, and the two women made themselves comfortable while they waited for the tea to brew.

  “I’m guessing you’re fully retired now, Birdie, or have you got a part-time job somewhere?”

  “No, fully retired. In fact, I don’t know how I’d find time to work now, there’s always something to keep me amused and occupied. I’m not into gardening like you,” she said. “Some days I wonder quite what I have done, but I’m not sitting around doing nothing that’s for sure. I’m always out and about.” Birdie reached for a biscuit an
d asked, “And you? You’re a bit younger than me, are you still working?”

  “Ah, I do a bit,” she said. “In fact, I’ve got a small business now. I retrained.”

  “Oh?” said Birdie, leaning forward with interest. “I’m intrigued, go on.”

  “Well, when I came out of prison, I tried several things and I never really got on with anything and then I saw an advertisement for a night school class about computer programming and I thought I’d have a go. And do you know what? I absolutely love it,” she said. “Now I write computer programs – mainly for small businesses that need something in particular, but I have written a couple of games of my own as well. Maybe I’ll market them one day, I don’t know.”

  Cynthia paused while she poured the tea and handed Birdie a full china mug.

  “So, what sort of things do you make?”

  “Well, as an example, I’ve just finished some work for a private investigating firm actually,” she said. “It takes a lot of hours gathering relevant information and what have you for a case when someone’s gone missing, and the police don’t spend any time doing much at all if it’s an adult. But people lose spouses and family members all the time, it appears. They just take off for whatever reason, and unless there’s foul play… But anyway, I digress. I came up with a piece of software that scrapes various websites and collates everything together and saves hours of time. I’ve sold it to a couple of different PI agencies now. It’s quite lucrative. Plus, like I mentioned, a couple of games,” she said, pulling at the front of her T-shirt.

  Birdie sat riveted in her chair as she bit into another biscuit. Her friend was clearly very clever.

  “I must say I’m impressed,” said Birdie.

  Cynthia sat back and looked across at Birdie in amusement. “Look at us two now. Two old jailbirds back together, sipping tea and munching biscuits in my house. It’s good to see you. You haven’t changed one bit, Birdie Fox,” she said.