“Cheers, Heidi.” Sean raised his thumb for her. “How do we keep Caswell in custody?” he asked Cobbart.
“Without substantial reason, we can’t even keep him in the country. But why chase Caswell when the evidence indicates Faulkner and Snibbard?”
“Money, power, twisted lust. But mostly because Snibbard said, “trust Richard”, the same way our female victims trusted Zoby. Snibbard was under the influence of SPI. ”
“Try making that stand up on News Night, never mind in a criminal court.”
Sean accepted the A4 sheet from Heidi. “When I have Zoby,” he said, glancing at what Steve Rawlings had sent him. Then he read more closely. “Jesus, Zoby has my home address. Meter reader. He was there yesterday.” In the following silence Sean felt a pulse in his cheek. Cobbart was staring, eyes full of concern, then detachment. Sean stood helpless until his brain returned from frozen dread.
“Jan,” he grabbed her arm. “Phone Danielle at university, tell her under no circumstances must she go home. Take her to your place, a hotel, anywhere, but not home.”
“Where are your girls?” Victoria asked.
“At boarding school in Buckinghamshire. Their mother picks them up later this afternoon.”
“Sean,” Cobbart’s voice was deadpan “If there is personal involvement, you’re out of it. No ifs or buts.”
“Having my address is not involvement,” Sean said, knowing his argument was already lost.
“Having your address makes you a potential victim.”
“Boss,” Jan was listening to her mobile. “Danielle’s switched off. She’s probably in a lecture. Want me to phone college admin?”
“Yes, but only as a precaution. I don’t want them panicking her.”
CHAPTER 20
Sophie thought Miss Nathan a bit blustery so stayed saintly silent in case the teacher changed her mind.
“I disapprove,” Miss Nathan said, and sniffed. “However, headmistress and your mother consider it acceptable. She picked up your text after landing and phoned from the airport. You may leave at three. Your mother is going home first but will collect you from the Red Lion Hotel between six and six-thirty.”
“Yes, miss.” Sophie spoke in unison with Becky.
“And you stay in school uniform.”
“No, miss.”
“Yes, miss. You wear your uniform in the local town not only with pride, but also as a means of security. Do you have your mobiles?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Leave them switched on, phone Mrs Thrower when your mother arrives. And don’t leave your homework until the last minute.”
“Yes, miss.”
Both girls walked at speed. They had twenty minutes to pack weekend bags and catch the bus.
Sophie thought it better to stay in Becky’s shadow when they entered the Red Lion Hotel’s lobby. Big people were best dealt with by big people. The atmosphere had a comfortable plushness. An elderly couple sat over tea, they smiled and Sophie grinned back. A purse and T-shirt for their mother had been bought in ten minutes. Now they had twenty minutes to spare.
“We’ve arranged to meet someone here at four,” Becky told the receptionist. “OK if we wait?”
The woman was young, plump and bespectacled. She looked down at Sophie, Sophie gave her best grin. The receptionist glanced over to a porter then indicated a window seat. “All right, but quietly please.”
“Can we use the loo?” Sophie asked the question essential to their plan.
“I suppose so.” The receptionist fussed with papers. Sophie followed Becky to the Ladies, watching the porter watching her sister.
Inside both went for separate cubicles. Sophie unzipped her sports bag and began to shed the school uniform. She heard Becky doing the same.
Sophie had brought her best jeans, PKL sweatshirt and new trainers. She changed with record speed, sitting on the lavatory to lace her shoes. She heard Becky head for the washbasins.
Sophie swung the door, Becky was bending forward applying makeup. She wore a white micro skirt and yellow, button through top.
“I can see your knickers,” Sophie said.
“No you can’t!” Her sister tugged the skirt and straightened a little.
“Dad would go ballistic. Where did you get that?”
“From Julie. It’s perfectly decent.” She wriggled herself, stretching the hem to maximum length. It made no difference from Sophie’s viewpoint. Becky’s top was barely buttoned over a new uplift bra. Sophie moved beside her.
“I can see your boobs.”
“Will you shut up?"
“Can I use your lipstick?”
“If you behave.” Becky pushed the makeup bag towards her and went back to applying mascara.
Sophie selected flame red and began to press it over her lips.
“How do I look?” Becky asked.
“Like you’ll catch a cold.”
“You’re such a child.” Becky patted her hair, fluffed it with a comb before preening, smoothing hands over her figure. Sophie did the same, then was forcibly turned to face her sister.
“My God, you look like Dracula.” Becky fished a tissue from her bag. “Bite your lips on that,” she said, offering a folded edge.
Sophie did so, leaving a scarlet imprint. Standing patiently she allowed her sister to dab at the corners, then comb and fluff her hair before spraying her with perfume.
“That’s better,” she said. “Now, if you want a wee, this is the time.”
Sophie hesitated, then ran back to the cubicle. “How long we got?”
“Ten minutes. See you outside.”
Sophie listened to the swing of the door. She always wanted a wee at the last minute, never knew why.
Becky sat staring from the window. Sophie checked her watch for the fourth time in two minutes. Zoby was late. The receptionist glanced across, her eyes questioning. Sophie went over to her.
“He’s late,” she said. “Is it really five past four?”
“Yes, dear. Who’s late?”
“Zoby.”
The receptionist looked to the porter who was watching Becky as she shifted willowy legs.
“You mean Zoby from Princess Kay-ling? You know Zoby from PKL?” The porter asked. “I play the games. Why’s he coming here?”
“We won a prize. Going for a photo session with the princess herself. But it’s probably only an actress, unless she really is true. You think she is?”
“Who knows?” The porter winked, then looked back to Becky. “But if Zoby said he’ll come, he’ll come. You can trust Zoby.”
“He’s here!” Becky sprung from the window, smoothed her skirt and patted her hair. A long silver bonnet drew up outside.
Zoby was all Sophie had imagined, handsome, muscular, perfectly tailored. Better than a pop star.
He looked to Sophie in her PKL sweatshirt and bowed. “Ladies, I am Zoby, charioteer to Princess Kay-ling. She awaits your pleasure not twenty minutes drive.”
“We have to be back by six sharp,” Becky said. “Our mum’s coming.”
Sophie watched the slightest frown move on Zoby’s face.
“No problem, ladies.” He bowed towards the door.
Everyone was smiling, Sophie waved. “See you later,” she said and followed after Becky. Her stomach was churning, like prize-giving at school.
Zoby played PKL tunes on the sound system, the volume loud enough to deter conversation. He didn’t want stupid questions, he needed concentration to sort out static circling inside his head. He adjusted the rear mirror. Observation for primary assessment was essential. He liked most of what he saw. He thought the alien looked wild-eyed, excited, bopping her head to the music. The older one played Miss Cool. She stared from the window, legs crossed, one hand touching the buttons on her shirt. She sure had nice tits. Couldn’t wait to get his hands on them. After five minutes he cleared the last buildings and headed for open country. He needed them strapped up before the motorway. The lay-by chosen was partially h
idden by trees. Not the best spot, he thought. If someone stopped he’d have problems. He didn’t want hostiles nosing, asking why he’d strapped a couple of females, but then he had a heavy bar, good for cracking heads. He hummed quietly to himself as he pulled over.
Only one empty car stood in the lay-by. A little thing, all polished and clean, probably old people out walking. Both girls sat forward, looking around, unsure of the surrounding country, but still eager.
“This it?” the elder one asked.
“Sure is,” Zoby said, taking a sealed chloroform pad from the glove compartment. “Let me open the door so you can get out away from the road side, much safer.” Both girls waited on him. He liked that, no questions, just obedience. He flicked the pad from its bag and held it in the same hand he used to open the door. His right fist coiled, he watched the elder one struggle to stand. He saw all she had, couldn’t help otherwise in a skirt that short. When she finally came out of the car, he smacked the coiled fist hard into her upper midriff, dropping her like a corpse. The alien had slid to the open door waiting for her turn. Now she just sat there, jaw gapping. He rammed the pad into her face, his other hand behind her head. She kicked for a while, twisted, then went still.
Zoby bent down to the elder one who had puked where she knelt, doubled up and clutching her stomach. He yanked her hair back, pushing the pad over her mouth and nose, watching the terror in her eyes until they closed. He liked that, terror, obedience. The mission was looking good. She sure had a nice body.
He taped their mouths; tied wrists and ankles with plastic pull straps then lifted both into the boot. He felt over the elder one, happy with what he found. Top quality, that one. Shame about the alien. He checked the bags they had left on the back seat and found two mobiles. Once they were switched off he threw both into a hedge. Back in the driver’s seat he tuned in his head radio. “Zoby to Colonel. Hostiles secure. Heading for base.”
“Roger that, Zoby. Wait on my signal.”
Wait, why wait? Why not start straight away? Cut the alien in half, play doggy with the other. Where’s my money? Where the hell is my money? He drove out of the lay-by and headed for the motorway. Wondered if he should go back and pick up the French female. 2 + 1 TQW. Two women, one alien. Is that what the Colonel meant?
Staying within the speed limit and laws, it took him forty-six minutes to reach Hollyoaks. He parked up across the back lawn, whistling tunelessly as he opened the boot and looked inside. Both girls stared back, both had fight and anger in their expressions. It showed fire and he nodded approval. Discipline gave more pleasure when resisted.
He hauled out the alien first. She kicked and squirmed like a cat, blocking with her legs as he forced her through the back door and into the living room. He tied her arms round the back of an end chair in the row, then strapped her ankles to the front.
The older one tried to head-butt, then thrashed and wriggled until he got her on his shoulder, his hand under her skirt and over her rump. She went quiet then and stayed quiet, even while he strapped her up, her arms behind the chair back, her legs spread. She had fear, he liked that. He took off her gag. She bit him.
“Bitch!” He smacked her face. She screamed once, then went silent.
“Try that again and you pay,” he said pointing, feeling heat inside his head like his brain was boiling. “The prisoners will remain silent and obedient. Failure will result in your severe punishment.”
“Fuck you. You’re mad!”
He struck again and her head jerked. He knew he’d hurt her because he saw the flush of red bruising. She made no sound, not a whimper.
“That’s better.” He pointed to the alien. “If you start whining, you get the same.” He stood in front and ripped the tape from her lips.
She squealed once then sat staring at him, the same see-through stare the boy had fixed on him at Cindy’s flat. He hated that, hated she might see him hiding inside. For a moment, uncertainty hovered on the black void. He picked up his sword.
“Don’t! Please! I’ll do anything. Leave her.” The older was wriggling, jerking at her ropes.
Zoby placed his sword to the alien’s neck, feeling some gratification in big sister’s panic, feeling it ease the pressure in his head. He grinned, looking between them. “You’d better do that, pretty thing, because if either disobeys, I’ll cut the other.”
“Our dad’s a policeman, he’ll get you.” The alien spat her words, cheeks flaming.
“You mean I got myself real hostiles? Pig’s daughters, and sisters with it!” Now he realised what the Colonel had meant 2 + 1. “Now that’s real neat,” he said. “I ain’t never had sisters. I bet big sister is the juicy one who gave me the come on when I went calling. The Colonel’s playing games here.” He lowered the sword, switched on his head radio and made instant contact.
“Zoby to Colonel. How do you read me, over?”
“Loud and clear, Zoby.”
“Two hostiles ready for interrogation, sir. But you said plus one. Do I think, right, it’s three sisters?”
“You got it, Zoby. That’s the game plan. Three females, all sisters. Play one against the other. TQW. How long do you have base?”
“Five days, I guess. Plenty time for three hostiles. Shall I go now, pick up the big one in St Albans?”
“Go to it, Zoby, over and out.”
Both were staring at him like he was crazy or something. The older one looked real scared. Sisters always protect one another. Three sisters could make the best fun of his life. Zoby lifted his hand to the elder one and started unbuttoning her top, pushing the material until her bra was exposed.
“Have to leave you awhile, go find your big sister. Maybe play with her, maybe bring her back. One thing’s for certain, if either of you move I’ll cut this little rat straight down the middle, head to arse. You understand me, pretty thing?”
She nodded, the alien just stared. It sure fucked him up that stare. When he got back he’d slice it off her shoulders and make the other one watch. He put down the sword, checked their bonds and re-taped their mouths. They weren’t going anywhere.
“If on my return I find you’ve made any attempt to escape, the alien will be immediately executed. And you, sister, you’ll be fucked stupid, then executed. Do I make myself clear?”
Both prisoners nodded.
Zoby felt good on that. He picked up his mobile and went for the van. He found it strange the Colonel hadn’t texted him. He usually did on a mission, wanting details like, were they squealing, was he cutting them? Zoby would have preferred to talk but the Colonel wouldn’t have it. He parked outside the house 5.30 p.m., put on the rudiments of his gas worker disguise and placed the second sealed chloroform pad in his pocket.
The old Citroen remained on the drive same as last visit. Big sister home alone, perfect. He rang the bell. No one answered.
“Fucking shithead.” Zoby kicked the door and tried his head radio but static jammed reception. He could feel the void coming, the black void. He didn’t want that, not here. Damn stupid bitch. What the fuck was she out for? He went back to the van and sat waiting.
Danielle left her lecture and wandered to the canteen. She bought iced tea with lemon, then sat on her own, idly flipping notes she did not read. Her last lecture started at 6.30, the talk on programming; boring, boring. The whole day her mind had been elsewhere. Jan had stirred her, now she missed Frankie and wanted the cradle of her arms. She flapped the collar of her dress and blew on a trickle of sweat between her breasts. How cool the garden would be if she lay on the grass, the sun flecking through the apple tree, the birds singing. She folded her notes and slipped them into her bag.
Sitting in daydream, Danielle watched from the train window, her thoughts on Frankie, then Jan, then Monsieur Fagan. Poor Monsieur Fagan, she pouted lips. So many sensual women unavailable. How the world had changed, allowing female tenderness to embrace female desire without shame or guilt. She felt the intensity of sunlight through the carriage glass, the air hot and
oppressive. When she arrived home she would shower, lie naked in the privacy of their garden and feel the air caress her skin. She would enjoy the fragrance of blossoming flowers, the sensual pleasure of being.
Walking from the station to home, her bag of books grew heavier with each step. By the time she entered St Albans’ leafy suburban avenues she had walked ten minutes. Perspiration beaded her brow and upper lip, tantalised her spine as it trickled to the small of her back.
She dropped the bag and closed the front door. Coolness and shade brought relief, more so when she undid buttons at the front of her dress. In the kitchen she poured limejuice and lemonade into a glass. She sliced lemon with a kitchen knife, kicked off her sandals, shrugged the dress to her waist and slipped off her bra. Opening the back door a small breeze fanned from the garden and for moments she stood in the frame, eyes closed, cool glass between breasts.
The Unseen Page 28