Hey You, Pretty Face - A baby left for dead. Three girls stolen in the night. A Psychological Thriller. (DC Jack Rutherford Book 1)

by Linda Coles

  “There ain’t a window in there.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no window in that room, so he won’t be fogging it up.”

  Bernard could only glare. “I meant it metawhatsically. I know there’s no window.”

  “Metaphorically,” Rob prompted, his voice clear and even, and carried on with his own meal.

  “Whatever,” Bernard replied caustically.

  They finished the rest of their meal in silence, then Rob took their wrappers to a bin nearby. The rain was easing a little. Noticing the burger remains in the well, he suggested Bernard kick it out before they left but Bernard ignored him. He didn’t like anyone telling him what to do.

  “I could do with a quick pint now. Want one?”

  Since it was Christmas Eve and he was in no hurry to get back to the house, Rob accepted, vowing to set off back to his own place when they returned. They didn’t need all three of them there at the same time, and since they weren’t expecting any customers after tonight, they could surely spare him some time out. Perhaps he’d drop in on his mum and say hello. But Rob played along a while longer. “Let’s make it a couple, eh? And we’ll grab a bottle of spirit to take back. There’s an Asda up there on the right. Look, they’ll have cheap whiskey. Pull in, will you?”

  So Bernard made the turn and waited in the van while Rob entered the store and selected a bottle, grabbing a box of Milk Tray for his mum while he was in there. Once he’d paid, he was back outside and into the van, headed for a nearby pub and a pint of bitter or two to pass some time.

  They should have stuck to beer.

  Chapter Forty-One

  He’d always liked younger girls, though they had to be in at least double digits. Any younger was not his thing, though he knew plenty in his circle went in for it. He’d managed to keep his sexual preferences under wraps for the past twenty-five years, having discovered them not long after he’d lost his own virginity when the younger girls would flirt and give him the come-on. Then he’d met a woman who was quite a bit older than he was, and she’d introduced him to her friends. It had been at one of the ‘parties’ she held occasionally that he’d had his eyes opened to various sexual tastes and what could be supplied for those willing to pay. It was all normal to her, all she knew. When she’d eventually taken all that she needed from him and moved on to someone else, he’d stayed in the circle and found a taste for the younger girls, deciding he liked them the best. But along the way, he’d met his future wife and while sex with her was adequate, he craved the bodies of the young. So, he had carried out his secret indulgence behind her back. He’d been doing so for many years now, and with a job that took him both north and south as he travelled with work, he had endless opportunities to get his desires filled at the same time.

  It had been while he’d been working and staying over not far outside Manchester that he’d found the perfect setup for his needs. He’d kept in touch with some of the regulars from those earlier parties he’d attended; they’d been sort of a club. A club that catered to people with particular wants and needs. And from that club, he’d found a private address where a young girl would be supplied. He couldn’t call the others in the circle “friends,” but they did look out for the group as a whole, not wanting the wrong set of eyes or ears to focus on them and curb their activity. And since they each knew of the other, they self-incriminated as a way of proving extreme loyalty. He had begun calling in whenever he was up there. The deal was that as long as he arrived in the evening, he was always welcome – for a fee, of course. It had all been working out fine; everyone was happy.

  But suddenly his extracurricular sexual activities with a particular girl had stopped – for what reason he never did find out. On the second Tuesday of each month, he’d had a standing arrangement for 10 pm on the dot at the same address, but on his last visit, there had been no one there. The flat had been empty. And he’d had no way of finding where they’d moved to. So, he’d turned back to his acquaintances with his tale of woe and, kind-hearted as they were, they had fixed him up elsewhere with another youngster. But he liked the one he had been seeing regularly because she reminded him of someone special. The girl had always been quiet about him being there in her room with her, never made a fuss or a noise, and the parents had kept their distance too, so it was the perfect setup for them all. He’d miss seeing her, he knew, because she looked so much like his daughter.

  Driving south now, he wondered about that, how he’d found comfort with this young girl for so long yet never approached his own daughter that way, knowing it wasn’t right. She was too close. He missed Leanne desperately, as did Penny, and they both prayed for her to be reunited with them and be home in time for Christmas. But as time marched on without any clues coming to light, he doubted they’d ever see her alive again.

  Meanwhile, he still had needs and desires, so with the help of his acquaintances, he had found himself another venue. He’d visited a couple of times and found it satisfactory; at least his needs were getting seen to.

  Unlike his toothache.

  He opened a fresh piece of gum from a packet that he kept in the centre console and gently chewed it, forcing it to the offending tooth and adding pressure, the relief like a rattle to a teething toddler’s mouth.

  He slipped off the M25 and on to the A20, thoughts of stress relief ahead, the feeling of utter peacefulness and contentment he’d experience after his long-awaited conclusion. All that had gone on of recent, including his toothache, would be banished for an hour or so and he could do what he wanted and answer to no one. It was his piece of ‘me’ time, a time he deserved.

  He was a little earlier than his usual 6 pm, but hoped it wouldn’t be a problem. His acquaintances didn’t hand out telephone numbers, so there was no way to let the venue know of his earlier arrival. But since his money was as good as the next person’s, what did it matter? He could see the roof of the property up ahead and took the long gravel driveway down to it until the house became visible through the copse of trees that surrounded it. To anyone looking on from the outside, it was a simple, quiet farmhouse with a couple of vehicles parked out front. On the inside, it was where pleasure and pain mingled together like lost souls at a cocktail party.

  Dave Meadows made his way to the large front door and entered, making his way through to the lounge that he knew was the first door on the left. It was empty. Strange, he thought. There was always someone in there to pour him a drink and direct him to the designated room. So, he helped himself to the watered-down brandy that stood in a mock crystal decanter and threw a couple of fingers worth back in one hefty gulp. It had an almost instant effect on him and the warmth spread through his body like warm water moving through a cold .radiator. He was still puzzled that nobody had yet arrived to greet him, but he knew better than to call out. There were cars out front and that meant other customers. So he waited a moment before pouring himself another drink and sat down on the sofa. At least his tooth was feeling a little better; the brandy was working its pain reliever talons on his mouth. He soon grew tired of waiting; he was anxious for pleasure. He took the cash from his wallet and slipped it under the cheap decanter. Someone would pick it up later. Opening the door and making his own way quietly up the stairs, he glanced at each door in turn to see which had a key on the outside and selected the one furthest away at the end of the hall. He turned the key and entered. The room, like the others he had been in, was dimly lit and contained a single bed and a small table.

  And a girl.

  He locked the door behind him. As he approached the bed, he removed the gum from his mouth and stuck it to the top of the cheap table. Then he began to undress.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  It was almost dark when he left the house for home. Bumping the car down the rough track, he was reminded once again it wouldn’t be a Christmas to celebrate, not this year. In his mind, 1999 would always be remembered as the year that his daughter had disappeared, and he hoped that whatever happened, if sh
e wasn’t found alive and well, that she was returned to them so they could mourn properly. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to tolerate the not knowing, the lack of closure. He could understand how families fell apart with such a tragedy in their lives. The pressure on bereaved couples was immense, he knew, and even now Penny wasn’t coping particularly well. She and Leanne had rowed that morning, and she blamed herself.

  The gravel track leading away from the house eventually joined the tar seal and he picked up speed, intent on not getting snarled up on the M25 during rush hour. He hoped that since it was Christmas Eve, everyone was already home starting their celebrations with their loved ones.

  He missed his Leanne.

  A handful of miles away in The Red Lion pub, Rob and Bernard were on their third pint each when Rob noticed the time. They’d been out far longer than they’d intended – they’d only nipped out for a burger and cigarettes – so Martin was sure to be pissed with them both for leaving him there on his own. Rob wondered why the man hadn’t called them. Tough shit, he thought. Martin wasn’t their babysitter.

  Bernard scrunched up the empty packet of pork scratchings he’d devoured and turned to Rob. He too had noticed the time. A streetlamp nearby shone with a pale glow, making the twilight seem darker than it actually was. He drained his glass then stood up. “Better get our skates on. We’ve got a couple of punters coming through tonight. I’d have thought they’d have better things to be doing on Christmas Eve than getting their jollies.”

  Rob swallowed the last of his pint, stood and grabbed his jacket. They made their way to the back door and out to the van. The rain had stopped, but the air turned their breath to mist as they walked, making them look like a couple of smokers. Once in the van, Bernard turned the heater on full blast, and the windscreen began to fog up. The blast of cool air blew into their eyes as it bounced off the glass and Rob willed it to turn warm soon. On a freezing evening, a cold draft was the last thing he desired.

  Content that there was a patch of glass big enough to see through, Bernard set off and joined the road outside, continuing to clear the windscreen with the back of his hand.

  “Sod this weather. Has Christmas ever felt this cold before?” Rob moaned.

  “That’s ’cos you’re a pussy like I said. Harden up, will you?”

  “Not me, mate. I’m no pussy. Anyway, I’m not hanging around tonight. When the last one’s gone, I’m off to see my mum. What about you?”

  “Well, I ain’t hanging around on my own ’cos Martin won’t be. I’ll tell you that now. I reckon we should lock the place up and leave ’em be. They’ll be alright for a day or two. Give ’em a box of cereal each or something. They’ll manage.” Sneering, he added, “Getting fed is the least of their worries, don’t you think? And they’re about due to be passed on anyway. They’re becoming a bit skanky. Don’t want the punters complaining.”

  “When is that? Any idea?”

  “Nah, that’s Martin’s domain, not ours. Grab and go, that’s us,” he said turning to Rob and smiling. “The hired muscle, the guys that get,” he said proudly, and laughed at his own terminology. A sign up ahead directed them towards the house and they turned right down a narrow lane. Bernard was still chatting to himself about nothing. Rob closed his ears, not interested in what the fat man had to say, and silently wished he was someplace else. Even his own flat, as meagre as it was, was preferable to this man’s company. And it was quiet.

  “Look,” Rob said. “I wonder where they’ve been?” A car was travelling towards them in the opposite direction. A sole occupant in the front caught Rob’s attention. “There ain’t nothing much out here, that’s all. Wonder where they’ve been?”

  “Home probably. People do live out here, remember?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen another car on this road, ever.”

  “Well, how do you expect the punters get to the house, then? Fly in their helicopters? Dumb shit,” Bernard said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re usually inside the house, remember?”

  Rob stayed quiet, realizing he did sound stupid. Eventually they turned into the gravel road and slowed down a little. The van tossed its occupants with each pothole they drove through; the suspension was working overtime to smooth their ride and not doing a good enough job.

  “Need a Land Rover down here, not this great thing,” Bernard added as the house came into view in the distance. “Still, it serves its purpose.”

  They pulled up out front next to their own vehicles, climbed out and walked up to the house. Rob opened the front door and Bernard followed him through. They headed for the kitchen out back where they usually congregated and smoked. Bernard called out to Martin, but there was no answer. He called again.

  “Strange,” said Rob. “He can’t still be upstairs with the blonde, can he?”

  “Probably getting his fill from the candy store on legs,” Bernard jeered. “Dirty sod.”

  “Come on, best get set up. First one’s due at six pm. I’ll go up and see what he’s up to,” volunteered Rob, and headed for the stairs. He tapped on the door. The key was not on the outside. “You in there?” he called, careful not to mention his boss’s name to overhearing ears. It was one of the house rules: no names of anyone at any time. He knocked again. “Come on. You’ve not gone to sleep on the job, have you?” he called but still there was no reply.

  He went back downstairs to get the spare key.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Where’s the spare key to that room?” Rob asked, pulling open a drawer filled with all kinds of odds and ends.

  “Not sure if there is one. Why? He’s fallen asleep, has he?”

  “Dunno, but he’s not answering and the key’s not on the outside. The door’s still locked. Nobody answering, either.” He rummaged in the drawer some more, pulling out various other keys. None was the one he was looking for. When all the keys were on the table, it was apparent there wasn’t a spare.

  “No spare key.”

  Bernard looked perplexed and stood up. “Come on, let’s go look,” he said. They both went back upstairs to the offending door. Bernard banged hard and turned the door handle at the same time, but it was definitely locked and nobody answered. He thumped again and yelled, all to no avail. It was obvious Martin wasn’t going to come to the door.

  “What about the girl?” Rob asked. “Even if Martin isn’t in there, she’ll still be and if we break the door down. What are we going to do with her then?”

  “We’ll deal with her if we have to, but for now, we need to get inside and see what’s happening. Martin must be in there; the cars are outside and we had his van, so he’ll be here somewhere. Stand back, will you? I’ll give it a shove.”

  Rob stood back and watched as Bernard did his best to shoulder the door in. He then tried to kick it in, without the desired result.

  “You have a go,” he instructed, and Rob charged at the door with his solid bulk. There was a splintering sound and a loud crash as the lock ripped through the frame and the door swung open into the room. Stepping inside, their eyes adjusting to the low light, they saw Martin lying face down on the floor, trousers around his ankles, looking for all the world like he had fallen asleep on the job.

  Were it not for the blood-soaked floor. And the spoon sticking out of his neck.

  “Houston, we have a problem,” Rob said.

  “Ya think?”

  “The girl’s gone too. She must have locked him in and taken the key.” Bernard glanced round the room, confirmation registering. Martin was one thing, but a loose end of a girl who could identify him was another. And he wasn’t going to be linked to this holy mess.

  “What the fuck do we do now?” Bernard asked, touching the side of Martin’s neck and feeling for a pulse. There was one, but it was faint. “He’s still alive, barely.” He looked at Rob, trying to read his face, see if he was thinking the same as he was.

  “Loose ends get us caught,” Rob replied. “The girl can tie herself to thi
s place if she’s out, and that means evidence of us. And this,” he said, pointing to Martin. “We can’t take him to a hospital. Too risky.”

  Bernard nodded in agreement. He ran his hand through the remaining fine hairs covering his bald dome and sighed heavily. “We have no choice. We’ll have to torch the place. We’ll dump the other girls. They’re too young to know this place or us, and we’ll burn it to the ground, destroy any evidence pointing back to us.”

  “And what do we do with him? And the woman?” Rob asked, not wanting to know the answer but figuring it anyway.

  “He’s almost gone anyway. He’ll not feel a thing. We’ll take the woman with us, dump her too.” He looked at his fake gold watch. “We’d better hurry before the first punter gets here. We’ll start it in the lounge. The sofa will go up quickly, and we’ll secure the girls in the van. We’ll have to torch the cars too.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. The van is his, and there’ll be evidence in it, so that should go up too. We’ll each take a girl in our own cars, stick them in the boots. Then toss them when we can. There’s no trail back to us.”

  “Nah, way too risky. And we’ve no time. We’ll take the van and torch the cars. Now let’s get on with it. I’ll start the fire; you get the cash and we’ll shift the girls together. Or we could leave them too and drive off in our own cars, as you said?” A smile crept across Bernard’s face as he said it. “Makes more sense, doesn’t it? Then our cars are both gone.”

  There was no doubt it was the more thorough way to clean up for good, but Rob wasn’t convinced. “Hey, I never signed up for murder. That’s going too far.” He started to pace nervously up and down in the small room

  “You going all pussy on me again?” Bernard demanded. “You’re alright with Martin here getting toasted, but not the girls, not the woman, is that it?”

  “I don’t want anyone being toasted, but we haven’t much choice with him, have we?”