by G H Mockford
‘Please call the police. Do you have a mobile?’
‘A mobile? No, I do not. Confounded things.’
‘Please, you need to get away. It’s dangerous, but not for the reasons you think. Please go home and call the police. Get them to send someone.’
‘Are you from the university? Is this some stunt. My grandson’s at university and he’s told me all about what you students get up to.’
‘I can assure you this isn’t a stunt or a prank. Please, I’m being held captive. Please.’ Georgia could feel frustration gripping her. The old woman was useless. Why would she not believe her? Georgia began to cry. ‘Please?’
The tears appeared to have an effect on the old woman and she looked concerned as the dog turned from the foot of the wall beneath Georgia’s window and returned to his mistress. ‘Shall we come inside?’
‘No. No, it’s dangerous like you said. He might even be here. I don’t think so though. He comes at night.’
‘You are rambling, my dear He? Who’s “he”?’
‘I don’t know,’ Georgia cried in frustration. ‘Please, just get the police.’
The old woman stepped back. ‘I will, but if this is some sort of tri–’
‘Why else would I be here?’ Georgia called down. If only the chain were a little longer, she could have thrown it down or at least shown her trapped wrist. ‘Wait there,’ Georgia said, and then turned from the window, hoping it wasn’t all a dream and that the old lady would still be there when she came back.
If she wanted proof, Georgia would give her proof. And as grim as it was, it was all she had.
She crossed the room to the fireplace and looked through the opening. The dead flesh on the other side looked cold and grey. Georgia scrambled on her back and reached through with her left hand. As she picked the severed forearm from the top of the pile it brought the thigh below with it. The congealed blood had gummed them together. The leg broke free with the sound of a lover’s kiss and fell to the white marble, smearing it red.
Georgia scrambled out of the firebox and returned to the window. She held the arm, which was surprisingly heavy, by the tips of her fingers so that as little of her came into contact with it as possible.
‘It’s just a log. It’s just a log,’ she repeated, desperately trying to keep Felicity’s face out of her mind.
Once back to the window, Felicity looked outside. The old woman was still there, and Jake.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ Georgia called down, ‘but this is what happens to me if you don’t call the police.’ Georgia tipped the arm out of the window. It tumbled down and landed in the bushes below.
The old woman stepped closer and Jake dived in after the mysterious falling object and returned to his mistress with it.
The old woman took one look, let out a stifled cry.
And ran.
Georgia couldn’t help but give a little laugh.
Fifty-Three
Stephen stood outside the Broadway Cinema and thought it was an odd place for a sixteen-year-old to hang out. Georgia came from Linby and not Manor Park, but surely, sixteen-year-olds were sixteen-year-olds regardless of where they came from. There was a chance she was into art-house cinema, he supposed.
He’d not been there for years himself, but it looked like they’d spent some serious money doing it up. There was hardly anyone standing outside. Those that were, were smokers taking a break from their highly paid, but mundane, jobs. Stephen walked up the steps, through the main entrance and into the coffee shop. Stephen queued up for food and winced at the prices.
What were the odds of finding Annalise? An American hippy chick? Maybe easier than he first thought. He was hoping to start with the people who worked here, but they were just too busy at that moment. Lunchtime was, somewhat obviously, not a good time to come.
Stephen shelled out for a bottle of still water and sat in the corner of the coffee shop, and watched.
After ten minutes of observing and listening, Stephen grew increasingly convinced he was wasting his time. He should leave all this to the professionals, not that they were having any luck either as far as he knew. Perhaps he should call Chambers and get an update. Who knew what they might have found out since they last spoke.
He’d had a great evening with Chambers last night, or Bryonny as she’d invited him to call her – off hours anyway. They’d talked for ages, but now that Stephen was looking back he couldn’t honestly say what about. They had joked about them being in a lock-in. Bryonny had surprised him by asking to have a go on the karaoke machine.
Who was the real Bryonny Chambers? The hard, determined police officer, or the singer who laughed at his jokes? Stephen was himself all the time, but he knew people who had separate work and play personas. He had to admit he was strangely attracted to both facets of her. She could sing too.
In a moment of self-doubt when he’d got home, Stephen did wonder if she’d been ordered to get close to him. A honey trap. The police did seem a little open with their information – perhaps too open. Was it all a trick to get him to open up? To confess to a crime?
Stephen didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it, especially as they had already had one operation go horribly wrong. Would they risk Chambers that way? Would she risk herself? Stephen had to admit he thought the latter was possible. She seemed quite driven and if it caught Grigg’s killer, she would do anything. Maybe.
An American accent drew Stephen’s attention to the till, but it wasn’t Annalise. It was a man. He paid for his food and drink and sat a couple of tables away.
‘Excuse me,’ Stephen said politely, ‘I’m looking for Annalise. She’s American.’
‘And you thought I might know her? What, because I’m an American too?’
‘That’s not what I meant…’ Stephen shook his head and the man twisted in his seat and looked the other way. Stephen emptied the bottle, crushed it flat and screwed the lid back on.
‘Can I take that for you?’ It was a member of staff. The coffee shop had finally died down and someone was able to come out and clear up the leftover plates and cups.
‘Thanks,’ Stephen said to the young woman who had a ring through her nose. The hair that wasn’t shaved off her head was dyed the shade of a blue M&M. Stephen got up and started to walk away when he decided he had nothing to lose. ‘Have you seen Annalise?’
‘From Texas?’
‘That’s the one. She lent me a book about Thailand and I need to give it back.’
‘She’s not been here for weeks.’
‘What about this girl?’ Stephen said, handing over Michael’s drawing of Georgia.
‘She was one of Anna’s groupies. She came here looking for her too, but I’ve not seen either for weeks.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ Stephen said and started to turn away.
‘Do you have it?’
‘Have what?’ Stephen said, stopping.
‘The book.’
‘Erm…no,’ Stephen said, holding out his empty hands.
‘What are you up to?’ she asked, placing her loaded tray on Stephen’s vacated table.
Stephen’s first thought was to keep on walking, but then he wondered if the waitress was just cautious. He quickly explained. To his disappointment, the waitress still didn’t know anything.
Leaving the cinema, Stephen wondered where to go looking next.
Fifty-Four
Georgia wanted to push the armchair in front of the fireplace to cover up the grizzly pile, but she didn’t want to arouse his suspicion when he came in either. It was all pointless, she realized he would notice the missing body part, not to mention the damaged window.
She should have been panicking, she realized, but part of her just didn’t care anymore.
Georgia pushed the chair in front of the fireplace and sat down. Her only hope was that the old woman had made the call. And that the police would come, and soon. If he returned before they got here, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.
The passage of
the sun seemed to suggest that some time had passed, but no police were forthcoming. Surely the elderly woman would have rung them by now? Throwing the arm out the window had terrified her and it must have shocked her into action. Or maybe it sent her into a catatonic state. Georgia smiled as she imagined her rocking in an armchair, the dog curled up at her feet.
Georgia looked at her own armchair. Thinking back, she wasn’t really sure what had come over her. Had she been so desperate to give the woman proof, or, as she already feared, was she too in need of a place at the funny farm?
Sitting around wasn’t the best thing to do, Georgia decided, so she had another go at the wall bracket. It still refused to budge. She tried to free her wrist from the manacle. While it was quite loose, it was far too tight to slip over the heel of her thumb.
Georgia’s eyes fell upon the tin bath. Perhaps she could use it as a booby trap. He’d taken the hose, no doubt afraid she might try to hang herself with it like his mother. If the chair were not on wheels, she could wedge it under the door handle, and that might stop him getting in. What if she removed them or turned the chair upside down and sat on it? She doubted it would be enough to stop him, even with her weight added on top.
Then Georgia looked at the shard of plate that had almost ended her life earlier. An idea came to her. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? The piece of ceramic could set her free in a different way.
Plaster flew off in small chunks as Georgia began hacking away at the area around the bracket. If she could remove the plasterwork, then there would be a gap between the bricks and the metal plate. Simply removing the plaster might be enough to weaken it, but if it wasn’t, she might be able to find something to slide down the back and lever it off. She could kick it from either side until the impact widened the holes the bolts were driven into.
Having the light from the window made the whole process easier, as did not having to worry about the noise she was making. Georgia worked for some time. While the plaster, damp and crumbling in places, came off easily, the kicking had no noticeable impact on the plate. There wasn’t anything to use as a lever either.
Undeterred, Georgia continued until she exposed the ring of bricks that held the bolts. As she had with the fireplace, she would remove each brick and then the plate would slip free.
Taking a break, Georgia wandered to the window. The sun had swept fully across the empty blue sky and was now on its decent. As if reading the passage of time, her stomach rumbled.
Clearly the police were not coming.
One thing was for sure, Georgia had hours to go before he returned, and she had a pile of tools she could use to free the bricks.
She turned from the window just as a flurry of birds took to the air. She turned back to see a police officer, complete with stab-proof jacket and radio, appear through the bushes.
Fifty-Five
‘Oh, thank God,’ Georgia shouted from the window. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’ Tears of relief burst out and Georgia held her hands to her face.
‘I’ve found her. She’s safe,’ the officer said into his radio as he made his way up what remained of the path.
‘Are you all right?’ he called in a Yorkshire accent.
‘Please, just get me out of here.’
‘I need to call for backup,’ he said, reaching for his radio again.
‘There’s just you?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry now, love. You’re safe now. We’ll get you down.’
‘We? There is no “we”?’
‘When the others arrive, I mean.’
Georgia shook her head. She couldn’t believe it. ‘But what if he comes back? You need to get me out – now!’
‘I can’t come in, miss. Health and safety.
‘What about my safety?’ Georgia screamed down. She’d expected a hero. A whole van full. Armed and ready. Instead, she got Mr Pen Pusher.
‘Look, just calm down, love,’ he said, tipping his head back so he could see her. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?’
Georgia wanted to scream and shout. To cry. This was a nightmare that got worse and worse and from which there was no awakening.
‘Miss?’ the policeman called up.
‘Just call for your damn back up.’
‘All right, will do,’ the officer said, he wandered around the weed filled gravel while he reported in, explaining the story were true — there was a woman trapped in a building.
‘I’m being held against my will!’ Georgia shouted. What is wrong with these people? Georgia sank to the floor and leaned against the wall, a pile of plaster chunks on her left.
‘Miss? Miss?’ came the Yorkshire accent.
Georgia slowly got back to her feet and looked back down at him. ‘My name’s Georgia.’
‘Okay, Georgia. They’re sending the TSG.’
‘Great,’ Georgia said, none the wiser.
‘I’ve been given permission to enter. Any ideas how I get to you?’
‘Try the front door and then the stairs,’ she said with as little sarcasm as she could muster. She looked back at her door expectantly and it gave her an idea. ‘I’ll bang on my door. Follow the sound.
‘Good idea. This house is pretty big. How many bedrooms has it got? Six?’
‘How the fucking hell would I know. Please, I’m chained to a wall. Will your TSG have something to cut me free?’
‘Look love, there’s no need to get angry. I’m just trying to keep you calm. Keep your mind off things. And to answer your question, yes they will.’
‘I’m perfectly calm. I’ve been here at least a week and survived. I’d rather you got your arse in here. I need to get away.’
Georgia watched the police officer shake his head, presumably at her. Then he followed the wall to what she hoped was the front door.
‘It’s all boarded up,’ he called back a few moments later.
‘There has to be a way in somewhere,’ Georgia called back. ‘He gets in.’
‘All right, love. I’ll keep looking.’
Georgia pulled her head back inside the window and rubbed her wrist. The chain had been pulled tight so she could look out. She inspected the bracket on the wall. It was still as solid as ever.
The moron downstairs was bound to take his time finding her and she was tempted to go back to attacking the brickwork, but she couldn’t settle. Georgia paced the room anxiously and then she heard the policeman calling out to her. At least it wasn’t him. She would recognize that whispery voice anywhere.
‘Miss!’ he called again.
Georgia shook her head and went to hammer on the door as she’d promised. After ten strikes, she stopped to listen. All was quiet. ‘Hello,’ she shouted.
There was no response. Georgia felt her heart beat faster.
‘Hello,’ she shouted again.
There was nothing but silence. It had gotten surprisingly dark all of a sudden. Had he returned and caught the copper in the act? It wasn’t that late. It couldn’t be him. Georgia turned back to the window and looked out, in case he was following PC Pen Pusher inside.
Georgia breathed in, ready to shout again, but something stopped her. She stepped up to the door and pressed her ear against it.
‘Almost there,’ the policeman called.
Georgia stepped back, the sense of relief was almost overpowering. She exhaled. She’d not realized she’d been holding her breath.
‘This place is a death trap,’ the police officer called. ‘My foot went through some floorboards. Keep banging.’
Georgia did as he instructed. She was about to be rescued by a moron, but at least she would be free. She could see her mother and father. She could see her friends. She could forget this ever happened. She could forget about Annalise.
‘Miss,’ the police officer called.
‘My name’s Georgia,’ she replied, telling him again.
The door handle turned.
‘It’s locked.’
‘I know,’ Georgia replied.
/> ‘I’ll see if I can find a key.’ Georgia rolled her eyes at the man on the other side of the door. ‘People often leave them on the top of the frame or–’
‘I just want to get out,’ Georgia called, holding back the tears that were threatening to break free at any moment. ‘Can’t you just kick it in or something?’ Georgia stepped back and stood behind the chair in the hopes he would follow her suggestion.
And waited.
‘Hello?’ she called.
A key turned in the lock.
He’s found it, she thought as she stepped out from behind the chair.
The door swung open.
Georgia wanted to rush forward and hug the police officer. He stood there, his face impassive. Not even a warm smile to put her at ease.
‘Thank you. Thank you,’ Georgia said. At that moment, it was as if all her fears had been taken away. She was practically free. All they had to do was wait for the TSG to arrive, or maybe they could work together on the brickwork. ‘Thank God you’re here,’ Georgia said, stepping closer to her rescuer.
He gurgled a reply and Georgia watched as blood poured from his mouth.
A scream tore from her lips.
A knife was sticking out of his shoulder, tucked in the neck hole of the stab jacket. A gloved hand came from behind him and pulled the blade free. A shower of red flew everywhere.
The police officer slumped face first to the floor and a figure in a skull bandana mask stepped into the frame to replace him.
Fifty-Six
The man with the skull bandana didn’t speak. He motioned with the point of his bloodied knife for Georgia to sit down.
She did.
Once her petrified legs allowed her to.
Georgia wanted to scream, to yell, but nothing came out. The situation had finally, inextricably, come to an end. She’d been caught in an attempt to escape, and the police officer had paid the price for her disloyalty.
Would her toll be just as great? Would it be quick, or slow and torturous?
Georgia could feel herself losing control. After more than a week of hell, was she finally going to snap? She curled into a ball as these questions and worries passed through her mind. Her reptilian brain told her to become small and still, and perhaps the predator might not see her. It might walk away. She maintained eye contact. Perhaps he would detect some small remnant of defiance, even if she were not sure she felt it anymore.