Eventually she said, ‘I was going to call the police, report you missing.’
‘Sorry, pet,’ he repeated, putting as much humility into it as he could. He thought she was taking it well so far, no explosions.
‘It’s not like you, Alex. You’re so – responsible,’ she said. ‘Is this a new side I haven’t seen?’
‘Fatigue, Gloria. Must have put too much into the five-a-side.’
‘And your pal didn’t think to wake you?’
The hardest question so far. He thought quickly. ‘Eddie had too many drinks, was blotto himself.’
A moment of hesitation at her end, then, ‘I’ll believe your diagnosis, doctor, thousands wouldn’t.’
‘I’m having a coffee, then I’ll drive home.’
‘Drive carefully. You know those roads can be dangerous.’
‘See you, then,’ he mumbled, and put the phone down with a long sigh of relief. At least that was one problem out of the way; Gloria was placated. Now he’d have to deal with his other problem and that wouldn’t be easy.
Eddie carried a tray through to the living room. He handed Alex a mug of tea.
‘Couldn’t help hearing that part where I got the blame,’ he said, and tut-tutted. ‘I don’t know. Blackening your old mate’s name. Using him as an excuse. Long time since you’ve had to do that. Must be serious trouble.’
Alex looked sheepish as he watched his pal lower his wide-shouldered, muscular body into the chair opposite. It struck him how little Eddie had changed. A few grey hairs apart, he was still young and fit-looking and the deep-green eyes had not lost that youthful twinkle. The jutting chin with its dark bristle, the thick curly hair, together with his build, gave him a look of solid dependability. This was a man with whom Alex had a strong bond, a bond that stretched back so that he felt he could confide in him and gain a response which, even if it might turn out to be unpalatable, he could be sure would have his best interests at its core. It cut both ways, of course. That was why he was comfortable in Eddie’s company, why it wouldn’t be too difficult to overcome his embarrassment and tell him what had happened.
He came straight to it. ‘I think I could be in some serious trouble, Eddie.’
Eddie raised his eyebrows. ‘You were obviously reluctant to tell Gloria, so, if I had to guess, I’d say woman trouble.’
‘You could say that,’ Alex supped his tea, fortifying himself. His eyes alighted on a photograph sitting on the mantelpiece. He and Eddie were together in uniform, ramrod straight, smart as buttons. It struck him how different he looked from the degrading picture of himself he’d seen earlier that night. Where should he start his story?
‘Start right at the beginning, old son,’ Eddie piped up as though he’d read his thoughts. ‘I’m all ears.’
Alex leaned back, looked his friend in the eye and did just that, from the moment he’d entered the Gypsy and finishing with how he couldn’t bring himself to tell Gloria what had happened because he was more than a little ashamed and, anyway, would she really believe he hadn’t just willingly fallen into their trap and was wriggling now. He finished by saying he didn’t like to use Eddie as his excuse but couldn’t think of any other way.
Eddie listened without interrupting, put his mug on the floor, steepled his fingers against his lips and frowned thoughtfully.
‘As a taxi driver,’ he began. ‘I hear some stories. Yours ranks up there with the best of them. Like something out of a spy story, isn’t it?’
‘Believe me it was no film,’ Alex said. ‘No fiction. Wish it was.’
‘Why would they go to all that trouble? That’s what we have to ask ourselves. Think! Did they give you any clue?’
Alex drew in a breath, let it go. He had given thought, however desultory, the reasons. Now he ran the events through his head once more before committing himself. Only one answer seemed viable, however he looked at it.
‘The girl must have put a drug of some kind in my drink, enough to weaken and disorientate me. Then they took me to that hotel and I was out of it long enough for them to manipulate me. As you say, they went to a lot of trouble.’
‘The reason, Alex?’
‘Not to present me with a photograph as a souvenir of a night of debauchment, that’s for sure.’
‘Alex, say the word even if you don’t want to.’
Alex stared at the floor. He’d been so relieved just to escape from that hotel, but at the back of his mind he’d known that that couldn’t be the end of the matter, that the photographs were a message left for him. Now that his mind was clearing, what had been in the background of his thought processes was filtering to the front. Everything was telescoping to the one word that Eddie obviously thought he was avoiding. Reluctantly, he said it loud and clear.
‘Blackmail!’
‘The most obvious answer,’ Eddie said, leaning back.
Alex closed his eyes, as though to shut out the word and its implications. When he opened them again, he said, ‘I’ll be hearing from them, won’t I.’
Eddie nodded. ‘Be prepared for that. You would think they must know a fair bit about you to go to all that trouble and they must want something for the effort.’
‘Money, that’s what blackmailers want. But I’m not that rich. Why pick on me?’
‘They could have misjudged you.’ Eddie mused. ‘Or I suppose another possibility is that it was a case of mistaken identity and they took you instead of someone else.’
That last possibility gave Alex a measure of relief. Mistaken identity would mean they’d realize their error and he’d likely never hear from them again. Even if they investigated him, they’d conclude he was no moneybags and give it up.
Eddie had to spoil that comforting train of thought. ‘Worst case, they threaten to send the photographs to the newspapers or your employers, maybe your family, unless you pay.’
‘They could finish me as a doctor,’ Alex said, biting down hard on his lip as the full implications hit home, ‘and ruin my personal life.’
‘That would be worst-case scenario,’ Eddie said, sympathetically. ‘But if it happened that way you’d have to decide whether to bring the police into it or pay up.’
‘Damn them to hell,’ Alex said, banging his fist on the arm of the chair. ‘Why me? I’m just an ordinary Joe, not rich or famous. I’m just a doctor who wants a bit of peace.’
Eddie stroked his chin. ‘Could it be you misdiagnosed a patient, wrong treatment, something like that? They’re out for revenge?’
‘No way,’ Alex said. ‘These days I’d soon know about it if I did anything wrong professionally. No, Eddie, I’ll just have to wait and see, but this is a mistake, I reckon.’
‘But if it isn’t, and they try it on, what will you do? Will you pay?’
Alex frowned, considered, said, ‘I’d have to pay if I could afford it. I’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much to let this destroy my career.’
‘Dangerous waters there, old son. Leeches like to suck you dry. But whatever you decide, whatever comes of this, I’m with you. We went through too much together to be beaten.’
Touched by his friend’s loyalty, Alex managed a smile. He drained his cup and stood up. ‘Grateful to you, Eddie. Feel better unburdening myself. I’ll just have to hope it was a mistake and I don’t hear from them. Better be off now, though. I’ve already worried Gloria enough for one night and kept you out of your pit.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to tell Gloria about this? A trouble shared and all that.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Alex said over his shoulder as he started for the door. ‘It’ll probably all go away. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.’
As he stepped out into the night air, Alex felt much better. His head was clearer and he’d half-convinced himself there was a good chance he’d not hear any more from his abductors. Eddie held the car door open for him and he climbed in.
‘Good luck,’ Eddie said, just before he drove off. ‘Let’s hope those sleeping dogs don’t wake up.
’
Chapter Seven
As he ate his breakfast Alex looked out of the kitchen window across the valley. It was one of those mornings when all seemed right with the world. The sky was a cloudless blue, the trees and fields a deeper green, while the sun, lancing through the window, warmed his back making him reluctant to move. He’d already rung his work to say he’d be late, made the excuse his car wouldn’t start. The extra hour he’d gained had been spent in bed. That helped him recover from the rigours of the previous night and he felt revivified.
Alex sat there at peace in his own home, last night’s trauma seeming almost like a distant dream, a nightmare from which he’d awakened to relish the normality of his daily round. The peace and beauty of the dale was like a balm to his soul and he couldn’t believe there would be any further developments following on from last night’s entrapment.
He’d finished his breakfast, was washing up when Gloria entered the kitchen. She was dressed in a white trouser suit and was carrying a matching handbag.
Alex smiled at her. ‘All you need is a pair of wings,’ he joked.
As she turned towards him, the sun lit her auburn hair, burnishing it to a deeper hue. She raised her eyebrows.
‘I’m no angel, Alex. Just because I went easy on you earlier don’t think you’re out of the doghouse quite yet.’ It was said with enough lightness in her voice to make it a mild reprimand. ‘Out here alone at night, you can imagine all sorts, so don’t scare me again, will you?’
‘It won’t happen again,’ he reassured her. ‘Can’t take late nights any more even if I wanted to.’
She gave him a quizzical look, went to the sideboard and picked up a white envelope.
‘Nearly forgot,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘This was lying on the front doormat when I got up. It’s addressed to you.’
Frowning, he took it from her and said. ‘Strange, it’s too early for the post.’
He had the contents half out when he felt the colour drain from his face. Gloria was on her way to the door but she saw him pushing something back inside the envelope.
‘You OK?’ she called out. ‘You’ve gone as white as my suit.’
It took an effort to meet her eye, to hide his churning emotions from her. He had to force his voice through the desiccation invading his throat.
‘Sure, I’m fine.’
‘No bad news in that envelope?’ Gloria laughed. ‘Not your emergency call-up papers, old soldier.’
He felt his cheeks flush now as he tried to think of an answer, wondered whether she’d notice. His body felt as though all its vital life force was draining away. Again, as he tried to summon words, he had to fight the constriction in his throat.
‘One of the local farmers returning a landscape photograph I lent him. That’s all.’
As though he’d literally choked on the lie, he started to cough, had to rush to the tap and pour himself a glass of water. He swallowed it down in one gulp. Gloria observed his discomfiture with a twinkle in her eye.
‘You OK?’ she inquired. ‘Must be strong stuff in that package to make you choke like that. Not a dirty magazine, is it? The way you surreptitiously—’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he said rather abruptly, cutting her off. ‘It’s just a photo of the dale.’
‘Just kidding, darling,’ she said, making a face. ‘No need to get your stethoscope in a twist.’
She blew him a kiss, and went out through the door. His nerves jangling, he waited until he heard her car start up and move off. Then he picked up the envelope. His hands were shaking as he opened it again. Disappointment surged inside him and he could feel its offspring, despair, lurking at its shoulder, threatening his world all over again.
No doubt about it, the photographs were exact copies of the ones left at the hotel reception last night. There was no stamp on the envelope, no postmark, just his name and address. Someone must have driven all the way out here, approached on foot to deliver it, because he’d have heard a car arriving. He looked inside the envelope, thinking there might be a note. But it was empty. Why had they done this? Why send him duplicates of photographs he’d already seen? Then it struck him. They were letting him know they knew where he lived, that they really had him on a hook. All his hopes that it had been a ghastly case of mistaken identity, that they would give up when they found that out, evaporated in an instant.
Chapter Eight
The brighter, more optimistic mood of the early morning giving way to an ominous pessimism, he set out on the long drive to work on autopilot. His mind returned repeatedly to the sickening knowledge that his tormentors knew where he lived. What else did they know? Preoccupied with that frightening thought, he was hardly aware of the country roads, the sea views or the contrasting change to the austere industrial chimneys of Teesside.
How did they know where he lived? That question nagged at him. His address wasn’t in his wallet, only his name. Last night Eddie had surmised it could be a well-planned operation and, though he tried all ways to evade that conclusion himself, he couldn’t let it go and it was persisting as he approached the grey, forbidding walls of Stockton Prison.
He braked in front of the barrier, put his card in the slot, waited for the barrier to lift, then drove into the official car park. During the short walk to the main entrance he tried to compose himself, telling himself there would be a way out of the situation, that it could be made to go away even if he had to pay for his life to return to normal.
Passing through the outer door, he flashed his identity card at the officer behind the glass partition to his left and waited for him to open the sliding door. He stepped through and it closed behind him, leaving him in a sealed area waiting for the inner door to open. In that enclosed space between two worlds he felt an incongruous sense of security, as though nothing could hurt him. It only lasted until the inner door slid open and he had to step into a larger room with yet another window hatch where he collected his keys.
Armed with those keys, he worked his way through a series of doors and crossed four quadrangles where neat, colourful flowerbeds were an attempt to give the lie to the reality that this was a grey, sombre place to reside. Finally, he arrived at the medical centre.
To enter his own office he had to go through the staff office. There was only one occupant at the moment, a nurse who was looking up at the monitors watching the cells where those prisoners who were considered at risk of self-harm were kept.
‘Morning, Joyce. Sorry I’m so late,’ he said, forcing a cheerfulness he was far from feeling.
Joyce returned the greeting and turned to face him. Her face was a middle-aged woman’s, plump, cheerful and welcoming but with something in the eyes that hinted she’d seen enough of life behind the walls of Her Majesty’s Prison to temper her openness with shrewd perspicacity if need be.
Alex, afraid she could see he was off centre, broke eye contact, glanced at the monitors and said, ‘Nothing moving in the jungle, then?’
‘Most of the prisoners are in the exercise yard, the staff too, so it’s quiet at the moment.’
‘Not too quiet, I hope, like the soldiers say in the Westerns before the Indians attack and all hell breaks loose.’
Joyce smiled at his analogy. ‘Well, as you well know,’ she mused, ‘some of our guys are in hell themselves, aren’t they? and nearly all of their own making.’
Alex forced a wry grin. ‘So where are we right now, Joyce, you and I?’
She thought for a moment before she answered, ‘Custodians of hell, maybe? But then hell isn’t a place, is it? It’s more in their minds – our minds – isn’t it?’
Alex nodded, thinking he’d have to be careful with his own mind. Joyce had hit an appropriate note, he hoped by accident rather than by detecting his current torment.
‘And given half a chance, Joyce, they can get into our minds and manipulate us if we allow them to.’
‘But we’re stronger than them, aren’t we? That’s the difference.’
‘
Hope so,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, I’ll take my reluctant mind into the office and manipulate it to catch up with all that hellish paperwork I’ve been avoiding.’
‘See you at lunch, maybe,’ she said and turned back to her own work.
Once he was in his office he shut the door, sat at his desk and tried to work, writing up medical reports, prescriptions and other administrative necessities. But he found concentration difficult, his work-rate painfully slow, like wading through a swamp carrying a heavy weight. His concerns over those damaging, obscene photographs kept slithering into his brain like the snake into the Garden of Eden, disrupting good intentions, except this place was hardly a paradise on earth.
The outside world interceded in his struggle when the telephone rang. He picked it off the cradle, composed himself and said, ‘Doctor Macdonald here.’
‘Here, there and everywhere, eh, Doctor Macdonald!’
Alex couldn’t recognize the voice. His brow wrinkled into a frown. Who was this trying to be funny when he wasn’t in the mood?
‘Afraid you’ll have to come to the point. I’m rather busy.’ He was conscious how priggish his words made him sound.
He heard the man on the other end snort with what sounded like contempt.
‘A busy, busy bee, that’s you right enough, Doc. But we didn’t think you’d be so high on your horse today, not today of all days.’
The implication in the words and tone simultaneously angered and alarmed Alex. He felt cold fear rising inside him, obliterating everything else, but waiting, the way a single wave, coming from nowhere, rises higher than the rest and gathers itself, poised to unleash its destructive power on whatever is in its way. His words struggled to surface through that giant surge of presentiment.
‘Come to the point. What is it you want?’
‘Not much, Doc. Five thousand should cover it. Cheap at the price, I’d say, to save your respectability, not to mention your job. Man like you can afford that, eh!’
Alex was silent. No need to ask for more information. He knew what this conversation was about, had subconsciously already prepared himself for it. The demand for £5,000 was much less than he’d suspected it would be and this was the moment of decision. Though he’d already decided how he was going to play it, he wasn’t going to rush at it, appear to be too easy.
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