by Linda Coles
“Here’s another,” Eddie said, and did the necessary, radioing to the boys ahead. They both watched as the van’s red tail-lights went on and the driver pulled over.
“Please let us catch a break. Please,” Jack muttered under his breath.
But after a few moments, they watched in dismay as the van drove off again. The radio crackled and, sighing, Jack picked it up.
“Better luck that time,” said the constable. “Same tyres.”
Jack and Eddie looked at one another and grinned.
“Great!” said Jack. “We can follow that one up at least. Were they locals, by chance?”
“Negative. From out Tilbury way. So still not that far.”
“Worth looking at in more detail, though. Tilbury Docks springs to mind straight away when you mention Tilbury. And the things that go on in containers. But let’s not jump to conclusions yet. It’s the first of many more we’ll come across, I expect.”
“I agree. We’ll keep on, and you do what you need to do to follow up,” the PC said. They rang off and Jack hung the mic back on its hook. He looked across at Eddie.
“At least it had the same tyres. It’s a start,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-One
She’d shivered most of the night under her thin blanket and had barely slept at all. The man’s visit had scared her, sending her emotions spiralling, the tears streaming until she had no more left to give. Her face had stopped stinging from his slap some time back, but her face was red and swollen anyway from crying so hard. Leanne wasn’t stupid, and while the sting from his hand had gone, she could still feel the sting of his words.
“Relax, you’re not my type. Too big, too old.”
Was the other girl in the van more his desire? Was she here in the same building, or had they moved her? Disposed of her, even? But a more urgent question was what had she found herself mixed up in if she wasn’t what he wanted? And furthermore, did that make her surplus, put her in even more danger? She’d seen his face and knew from movies and crime shows that that was never a good thing – she’d be able to identify him.
The sound of a key in the lock again startled her. What could they want this time?
Leanne hoped it was only someone else bringing food.
The overhead light bulb went on and she struggled to focus after the darkness even though it wasn’t particularly bright. But it wasn’t the man; it was the woman from yesterday, the same dank hair half covering her petite face, grubby clothes, and she was carrying a tray. She thanked her lucky stars it wasn’t the fat repulsive man from yesterday – was it yesterday? As the woman made towards her, Leanne heard the lock being fastened again. Someone was guarding outside her door, though guarding who against what she’d no idea. Was the woman a prisoner too?
“Food. Eat. No more,” the woman said to her now, her eyes staying low. In the crook of her elbow hung a plastic shopping bag and as she put the tray down, she handed Leanne the bag. “Warmer clothes. Put on. Cold.”
“Thank you. Toilet, please?”
“No toilet. Bucket.”
“Please, I need the toilet,” Leanne said, her voice rising in frustration. She shuddered at the thought of her own waste building up inside the small room. It smelt bad enough as it was; the tatty carpet in the corner already soaked with her urine, and hers wasn’t the first to have been deposited there, she was sure.
“No toilet. Bag,” the woman said, her voice rising a notch in reply, eyes darting rapidly to anywhere but Leanne’s own.
Leanne spoke to the woman again, deciding on a softer approach. If she was a prisoner too, maybe Leanne could befriend her for her own needs, as a way of escape. “Do you live here too?” she asked with a small smile. The woman shook her head slowly, choosing to answer without actual words. Leanne watched her as she picked up the tray from yesterday and made her way back to the door. Hurriedly she said, “Thank you,” hoping her gentler demeanour would encourage the woman to talk on her next visit. Being locked in a room all day and not knowing where or why she was there was distressing enough; she had to figure a way out. There was a click of the lock turning and the door opened briefly, allowing the skinny woman to slip through the door. Then it was relocked. Was there someone stationed outside the door all the time, she wondered? She doubted it. Probably the guard was there only for when the woman entered in case Leanne tried anything on.
She could overpower the frail creature. But to what end?
There was no doubt Leanne was big for her age, and strong too from cycling, but she needed a chance to use them to do any good now. She turned her attention back to the tray of food and the plastic bag. The food looked as appetizing as a bowl of wet cat biscuits, but she needed to keep her strength up. Dutifully, she spooned the sloppy mess – probably cold cereal – into her mouth. A mug of pale and tepid tea followed it down, and that was breakfast. It filled a small corner inside her otherwise empty stomach, and for that she was grateful.
Leanne then turned her attention to the plastic bag and tipped the contents out onto the narrow bed. Track pants, a long-sleeved top and some socks, all of which looked like they’d once belonged to someone else – another prisoner, perhaps? She touched the grey sweatshirt and idly wondered whose it had been and what had happened to them. Had they gotten out of the building alive? She pulled the socks on over her own thin ones, and then pulled on the track pants and shirt, hoping for comfort in the layers. It was better than nothing; there was no heater in the room.
With nothing else to do, she flopped back on the bed and took comfort under the thin blanket. What she wouldn’t do to see her mum and dad right now. How she’d cry on their shoulders and tell them how sorry she was for being an ungrateful cow, how much she appreciated what they both did for her. If only she’d accepted her mum’s offer of a lift, she’d be tucked up snug in her own bed instead of here in this hell hole. The tears flowed again as she stuffed her hands into the track bottom pockets to keep them warm. But there was something there, something long and smooth, right at the bottom of one of them. From her touch, Leanne instinctively knew what it was but pulled it out for confirmation.
It was her weapon, ready for when she chose to use it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She turned the teaspoon over in her hands; its handle had been filed to a point. She assumed the frail woman who had brought her food had put it there. While a key to the door would have been the ideal gift, the spoon would have to do for now. When the time came to use it, there’d only be one chance to get it right. She’d have to choose her moment carefully. It seemed someone was on her side at least, and she felt sure it wasn’t the man with the sausage-meat stomach. Leanne sat up on her mattress, the thin blanket around her shoulders, twiddling the spoon between her fingers. Her fingers were the coldest things about her now; she’d have killed for a pair of mittens. She estimated it had been several hours since the woman had brought breakfast, assuming the meal had been breakfast, and Leanne idly wondered what her next meal might consist of. Would there be another gift, perhaps? One thing she knew was that if her secret benefactor was the woman, she’d work on getting her on side even more, and hopefully find out what had happened to the young girl she’d arrived with. Was she close by? As she lay on her bed earlier, she thought she’d heard faint crying noises, but wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to ascertain where the noise had come from – up or down, one side or the other. Was it the girl? Were there other girls besides herself?
Standing up, she walked over to the door and crouched down again to look through the keyhole, but as with the previous times she’d done so, the result was the same – nothing. The key was most likely still in the lock, blocking her view. There was a slim gap under the door itself, the perfect depth to drag a key back through, her way out to freedom if only she could dislodge it out of the lock. She’d tried to push it out from her own side with her spoon, but it had been fruitless. But there had been a draft blowing through, d
irectly into her eye, and that meant she wasn’t inside a building with many rooms like a hotel or boarding house. It meant the outside world was not that far away.
Still crouching at the door, she listened for voices, for movement, for cries even. Hearing nothing, she decided to give the key another go. There was no point sitting freezing, waiting for something appalling to happen to her, because it would do if she stayed put; otherwise, why hold her prisoner? It wasn’t for ransom; her parents weren’t well off. If the man had said she was too old for him, she wouldn’t be too old for someone else’s perversion, and she didn’t want to take the chance of finding out. Grabbing a piece of newspaper that had been left in the room, she tentatively pushed it under the door, ready to catch the key when it fell, hoping it wouldn’t make too much of a clatter as it did so.
She pushed the length of the teaspoon into the lock and prodded the end of the key gently, increasing the pressure gradually so as not to send it shooting out and missing the newspaper altogether. Then it would be obvious what she’d been up to, and she would be in even more danger. After a minute or two of patient and gentle manipulating, she felt the key start to give, but as warm optimism filled her cold soul, it was washed away in an instant.
Someone was coming.
But what to do with the newspaper? It was too obvious sitting out on the other side of the door like a flag. If she pulled it back in they’d be bound to see it moving and know she was up to something, but if she left it there, they’d surely ask why. Her mind scrambled to come up with a story as she bounded back to her bed and blanket. She jammed the spoon under her pillow. The footsteps weren’t small like the woman’s; they were heavy and sounded tense, the tread of someone on a mission. Leanne held her breath and forced herself to look defiant as the door banged open.
It was the man with meaty hands, his face deep pink like bubble gum.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, waving the newspaper at her.
Leanne’s heart sank to the soggy cereal in the bottom of her stomach. “I wondered if you had anything else to read. I’ve read that paper.”
“What, so you thought you’d put it out like an empty milk bottle, to be replenished? You’re not in a hotel, you know. We don’t work like that around here. Don’t you get that? Otherwise, a chef would be cooking you a full English in a morning, not a bowl of cereal.” Raising his voice to a full shout, he added, “Are you a stupid bitch or what?”
Leanne watched as his face became a deeper pink with the effort of exerting himself. The veins bulged in his neck.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. All thoughts of staying strong vanished as the burly figure approached her bed and she prepared herself for his hand to make contact. She scrunched her eyes up tight and raised her hands to protect her head, waiting for the inevitable.
She smelt him as he spoke, felt his putrid breath warm on her ear as he whispered to her.
“That’s more like it. Less cocky and more submissive. It will be better for you in the long run. Who knows – you might even get to enjoy it.”
Leanne didn’t move a muscle until she’d heard the door open and close again, the turn of the key. The hammering of her own heart was the only sound in the stillness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After three full hours sat in a freezing cold doorway on a piece of cardboard, all she had to show for her efforts was £3.60, barely enough for a mug of tea and a biscuit. Billy had chosen a different spot. Their plan was always to cover two places at once; that way they doubled their chances of attracting sympathetic passers-by. She stretched her legs and groaned. She needed the toilet. And she was hungry. She hoped Billy was faring better than she was.
“Any spare change, sir?” she’d asked almost every male that had walked by. Most of them had hardly glanced at her, and most had not bothered to answer. Only one male had stopped, had taken some pity on her in the cold and tossed her a £2 coin. Her only other donation was from a young woman not much older than herself, who had supplied the other £1.60, all she had in change. Chloe had thanked them both heartily, but no one else had volunteered to share. Chloe found it easier to coax money from the men who passed; they were less critical of her somehow. The women, however, took the time to glare, show their contempt for the unwashed who made the streets their home. They didn’t seem to see them as humans at all.
Chloe knew she looked a sight; she was hoping to grab a shower after the lunchtime crowd had scurried back to their warm shops and offices. Even though this was better by far than living with her vile parents, what she would have given for a warm office to sit in and munch on a Penguin biscuit with her mug of afternoon tea. Inwardly she smiled at herself; she was getting more like Billy each day.
By 1.30 pm, she couldn’t hold her bladder any longer and decided to call it quits and move on – to the toilet at least. She gathered her piece of cardboard and the makeshift sign asking for change and headed towards McDonald’s, where she knew it would be warm. Inside, she could use the loo and wash her hands, if she was quick and the manager didn’t sling her out as soon as he spotted her. She hung back near the front entrance until a group of five teenagers approached together, then added herself to the back of them, hidden relatively well by their big coat hoods and scarves. Once inside, she filtered off towards the back of the building and waited out of sight for the toilet door to open, which she’d catch and slip through. So many cafés and fast-food chains had codes on their toilet doors to stop the likes of her going in, as well as tourists who merely wanted to relieve themselves without making a purchase.
The warmth of the restaurant was comforting. Her pink, chapped face and fingers smarted as they thawed, but there was no time to linger – the toilet door was opening. Now was her chance. She held it back for a Japanese lady who was coming out and won herself a quick nod and smile. The gesture reminded Chloe how much she missed positive human contact. No one wanted to hug her, touch her arm, dish out a warm smile or say something welcoming; it was all negative, crappy, soul-destroying negative. At least she had a friend in Billy, and vice versa, but still, a hug went a long way to not feeling like a sewer rat all the time.
There was no one in the toilet room. The three cubicles were empty, so she took advantage of the space and gave her hands and face a good wash with the available hand soap. Running a basin of warm water, she soaked her chapped hands, relishing the warmth, until another woman entered and stared at her in disgust before going into one of the cubicles. When she’d finished and come out again, she tutted as she washed and dried her hands at the opposite end of the room, no doubt not wanting to get too close. Chloe was tempted to say something, but kept her mouth shut. The older woman’s camel coat looked expensive, and Chloe wondered why she was in McDonald’s and not supping tea from a china cup out Knightsbridge way.
“What are you staring at?” the woman questioned.
“I was admiring your lovely coat. Nice and thick, I expect,” Chloe said with a small smile.
“If you got a job, perhaps you could buy one,” the woman replied curtly, and then hurried back out into the restaurant. Probably with the grandkids, Chloe thought. She washed her face, and briefly wondered if she should try and wash her hair in the basin and dry it under the hand dryer. She decided not to bother; someone would probably report her. No, she’d have to hope for that shower. Finished in the bathroom, she made her way back into the restaurant and the smell of warm burgers and chips, her stomach growling in hopeful anticipation that would not be fulfilled. Chloe was nearly at the exit when she spied an unattended tray with two burger boxes and two packs of fries; the customer had probably gone to get extra salt or something. She quickly glanced round to see if there was anyone making an obvious beeline for the food, and when nobody appeared to be moving towards it, grabbed both boxes and both packs of fries and joined the stream of people leaving, her stash pressed close to her stomach to conceal it as best she could.
Once out the door, Chloe turned left with the throng and k
ept moving until she came to a side street and slipped down it. Nicking wasn’t something she enjoyed, but it was a darn sight easier and more productive than begging in a doorway on a day like today. Opening one of the boxes, she smiled at the Big Mac inside it. She reached for the first packet of fries and emptied that in beside it. She’d save the second burger and fries for Billy, she decided, and laid them both carefully inside her shoulder bag. He’d enjoy them later back in the garage, she was sure. But right now, it was time to eat, and she made herself comfortable on the cold floor and prepared to dig in.
The stench of urine around her went unnoticed as she devoured her first hot meal in a while.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chloe licked the last bit of salty grease off her fingers, glad she’d washed them before she’d stolen the food. She felt bad about stealing, but she assumed the person she’d stolen from could afford a replacement meal, unlike herself. The small amount of money she’d earned so far wasn’t going to keep them in much more than a cheap white loaf for dinner, some cheese or plastic meat filling if they were incredibly lucky. But her stomach felt good for now, and as tempted as she was to tuck into Billy’s burger and fries, she restrained herself, knowing how much he’d appreciate it later, and that he wouldn’t dream of depriving her had it been the other way around.
It was quiet in the side street. The hustle and bustle on the main thoroughfare had also died away, but Chloe knew it would start up again a few hours later when workers began the mad dash to train stations and bus stops for the journey home.
Home.
It was only natural to miss the creature comforts of what she’d had in her life, and even though her parents couldn’t have cared less about her, she’d had a warm bed and there was always food on the table. Even if it hadn’t been much, it was more than she was getting currently. Her mind wandered to her own brief parenthood and the baby girl she’d left in the church porch. Her heart ached again, but she knew it was all for the best. Had the hospital named her Mary as Billy had suggested? Whatever name they’d chosen for her, Chloe would always think of her as Mary. One day she hoped to meet her, explain her actions to the girl and hope to make amends, but that would be light years away. But for now, she had to earn some money and she hoped the afternoon shoppers would be a touch more charitable as she gathered her meagre belongings and set off back up towards the high street to find a different and more productive spot than the morning. The smell of burgers and fries inside her bag gave her comfort. It would be a nice surprise for Billy later, albeit a cold one. Still, he’d not grumble.