His wrists and ankles were firmly secured. He could twist his head from side to side and lift it from the pillow but the effort made him nauseous. He waited until a narrow shaft of light along the edge of the blind illuminated the room and then looked around. Turning his head to the left he raised his arm as high as he could, a few inches off the bed, and made out the links of a heavy chain around his wrist. His right arm was fastened in the same way and although he couldn’t see his legs he could feel that his ankles were similarly shackled. He had no idea why he was there or who had done this to him and wondered if this was some sick homophobic attack. He closed his eyes and tried to work out what was happening.
He recalled going out to celebrate finding a job. At the memory of his earlier relief, he was overcome with emotion. His life had finally taken a turn for the better when, without warning, he had been incarcerated by some lunatic. Tired and distressed, tied up alone in the dark, he felt tears slide across his cheeks while he lay helpless, unable even to wipe his eyes.
‘Who are you?’ he called out. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’
No one answered.
‘I haven’t done you any harm. What do you want with me?’
In spite of his discomfort he must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes again he was in darkness. His limbs were still chained and the only difference was that the smell seemed to be getting worse. Through his shirt sleeves the sheet beneath him felt hard and scratchy. Suddenly a naked electric bulb blazed above him. After lying in darkness for so long, the light seemed to burn a hole in his head. He tensed, waiting. Footsteps approached and he swivelled his eyes to squint up at an unfamiliar face looming over him.
‘Hello, Jon.’
‘What the hell’s going on?’
Jon raised his arms up as high as he could, rattling the chains. The stranger smiled and Jon recognised the man who had picked him up in the street when he’d been plastered.
‘Who are you?’
‘My name isn’t important. Names don’t matter. Who cares about names? Names can be changed. What’s a name? Names die with us.’
The man seemed curiously keyed up, babbling excitedly.
‘Die?’
Jon seized on the word.
‘What are you talking about? What’s going on? Let me go!’ He bit his lip to stop himself crying with pain and fear.
‘You can call me - ’ his captor paused. ‘Why don’t you call me Victor?’
‘Victor? As in victory?’
‘Yes, that too.’
The stranger laughed lightly, a chilling sound in the circumstances.
‘I was thinking of Victor Frankenstein.’
‘The monster?’
The man shook his head, vexed.
‘That’s a mistake that ignorant people make. Don’t you know? Victor Frankenstein was the genius who produced the monster, created new life from the dead. But don’t worry. If it’s art and literature you’re interested in, I can teach you all about - ’
‘Look, I don’t give a fuck about art or literature, and I’m not here to learn about them. You brought me here and tied me up, remember? I didn’t ask to be here.’
He rattled his chains again.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at but this whole thing is outrageous. Release me now.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Yes you can. Do it now.’
There was a pause.
‘What do you want with me anyway? If you’re planning on killing me just get it over with quickly, please.’
Jon managed to stop his voice from quivering. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, impressed by his own courageous words.
‘Kill you?’
The man calling himself Victor sounded surprised.
‘I’ve no intention of killing you. Why would I want to do that? The others weren’t strong enough, but I didn’t kill them. It wasn’t my fault they died. Why does everyone accuse me of wanting to kill them when that’s the last thing on my mind.’
He seemed to be talking to himself.
‘What others? I don’t know what you mean. Let me go.’
‘I told you, I can’t. Not now. You might go to the police and then my work would never be completed.’
‘What work? What are you talking about? Let’s finish this now. Just let me go,’ he added with a feeble attempt at a smile. ‘I’m not going to go to the police. Why would I? I don’t even know who you are or where I am. Please,’ he felt his resolution waver. ‘If you’re planning to kill me, just do it.’
The other man looked around the room and smiled.
‘I’m not going to kill you. I’ve already told you, it’s just the opposite.’
‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘I’m going to help make sure you never die. Not entirely. Something of you will survive forever.’
‘This is insane. Let me go!’
Jon rattled the chains furiously.
‘Let me go, right now, or I will fucking go to the police.’
‘Look - ’
The man waved his hand at the far wall.
‘Go on, look.’
Jon looked up. The wall was covered with shelves where hundreds of oddly shaped artefacts were displayed. He hadn’t been able to see any of them before in the darkness, but now his gaze travelled along the shelves of strange objects and he gasped. His eyes slid away and he saw another, and another. Staring frantically at the shelves he counted seventeen human skulls, each one polished and shiny.
‘What the hell - ’ he burst out.
‘Now do you understand?’ the man who called himself Victor said softly. ‘This is my collection.’
‘What’s this got to do with me?’
The man smiled.
‘You’re lucky. I don’t usually invite people like you back here to see my collection.’
‘People like me? You mean gay men?’
‘Don’t be so stupid. What difference does that make? I don’t care about your sexuality, although that could be interesting.’
He smiled and reaching down began to stroke Jon’s thigh. Jon writhed but couldn’t avoid the man’s touch.
‘Get off me, you fucking pervert! What are you doing?’
While he caressed Jon’s leg, the man continued speaking in an even tone.
‘I usually bring women here, they’re so much easier to pick up. I thought women were supposed to be physically stronger than men, but so far they’ve been a huge disappointment. They didn’t last long, any of them, and that does rather thwart the purpose. I want my visitors to be resilient, you see. That’s very important for the process. But as it turns out, I think men must be tougher than women after all, so it could turn out to be a real stroke of luck, your turning up like this. You know you’re the first man to come here. It’s easier to persuade women to come back with me, but you didn’t exactly resist, did you? I suppose I should be flattered.’
He leered at Jon.
‘Yes, you could turn out to be a very interesting experiment.’ Jon felt a shiver of dread as the man leaned closer.
‘Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re interested in my collection, aren’t you? You understand, I can tell.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
But the man had disappeared from his field of vision. He heard footsteps receding and the light clicked off.
‘What do you want with me?’
Jon could hear the panic in his own voice, hoarse and shaky. The door opened, there was a brief flash of light from outside, and then the room was engulfed in darkness more profound than before.
51
IN TROUBLE
Eddy Hart was a bus driver who lived above a row of shops in Kilburn. Geraldine followed Sam up cold stone stairs to a set of doors all crammed together in a row, but no one answered when they rang his bell.
A woman came to the door of the next flat.
‘Yes?’
She stared suspiciously at the
m. Geraldine held up her warrant card and the neighbour’s eyes narrowed.
‘We’re looking for Eddy Hart. Have you seen him today?’
The woman shook her head.
‘Not today. I haven’t seen him for a while in fact. Is he in trouble?’
‘No, we just want to ask him a few questions about someone he might know.’
Early the next morning Geraldine and Sam went along to the bus garage in Shepherds Bush to check out Stafford’s story.
‘Eddy? I’ve got a feeling he’s off this week,’ one of the drivers told them.
He turned and called to another driver.
‘Oy, Jake. Have you seen Eddy? Eddy Hart?’
The other man shook his head and the first driver turned back to Geraldine.
‘Ask up in the office. They’ll be able to tell you more.’
‘Eddy Hart?’ the woman in the office repeated aggressively. ‘Who’s asking?’
Her attitude altered when she saw Geraldine’s warrant card and was reassured that Eddy wasn’t in any kind of trouble. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I thought you’d come to complain about one of the drivers. Not that we get many complaints,’ she added, awkwardly.
‘Now, who was it you wanted to speak to? Eddy Hart. Hang on. I’ll check the rotas. I don’t think he’s been in for a few days. No, that’s right, he’s been off this week on planned leave. Have you tried him at home?’
‘He wasn’t in yesterday evening.’
‘Well if he’s gone away he must be back some time tomorrow because he’s due here Monday morning.’
Geraldine checked what time Eddy was expected on Monday and they left. There was nothing more they could do until the following day.
‘Are you busy this evening?’ Geraldine asked Sam as they parted at the end of the shift.
Geraldine wasn’t surprised to hear that Sam had an arrangement for Saturday evening, but she felt a faint stab of disappointment all the same.
‘Tell you what,’ Sam went on, ‘why don’t you come along? If you’d like to, that is.’
‘Thanks, Sam.’
Geraldine hesitated.
‘I don’t know. I mean, I won’t know anyone and if you all know each other - ’
‘I’m only meeting them for a drink. They’re probably all going clubbing afterwards, but I think I’ll just go along to the pub then call it a day. I’m knackered. Anyway, you can come for a drink and go on out with them later or not, it’s up to you.’
Geraldine nodded.
‘Thanks.’
It would do her good to get out, have a few drinks and take her mind off the case for a while, and sometimes a break helped her to think.
‘I’m starting to feel a bit stale, to be honest,’ she said.
‘I know what you mean,’ Sam agreed. ‘I feel as though I’m just going round in circles with it all.’
‘Exactly.’
They smiled at one another, and Geraldine thought how lucky she was to have a sergeant whose ideas so often coincided with her own. The prospect of spending an evening with Sam and her friends suddenly seemed very appealing, and Geraldine caught herself wondering if Sam’s friends were all in their twenties or whether some of them might be closer to her own age.
Sam was travelling down from Finchley, where she lived, so they arranged to meet at Leicester Square station and go on to the bar together. Geraldine arrived first and stood, mesmerised by the seemingly endless throng of people moving past. The West End on a Saturday night was heaving. Just as she was thinking of calling Sam’s mobile in case she was standing by the wrong exit, the sergeant bounded up to her.
‘Hi! Hope you haven’t been waiting long?’
‘No, I just got here,’ Geraldine answered not quite truthfully.
‘You look great by the way,’ she added and Sam beamed.
Wearing a glittery raspberry-coloured top and heavy makeup, she looked very different to the practical officer Geraldine was growing accustomed to working with, younger and far more glamorous.
‘Come on then,’ Sam said.
The Soho pub was crowded and very noisy.
‘What can I get you?’ Geraldine yelled to Sam.
It took a while to be served at the packed bar, and when she turned round to look for Sam, she saw her colleague surrounded by a group of about ten women who all seemed to be talking at once. There didn’t appear to be any men with them. Geraldine carried Sam’s drink over.
‘This is Geraldine,’ Sam shouted, barely audible above the general racket of music and voices.
As though at a predetermined signal, the whole gang of women suddenly moved in unison towards the door, jostling and chattering at the tops of their voices. Outside, several of them lit cigarettes. It was smoky but at least it was possible to hear one another.
‘Whose birthday is it?’ Geraldine asked Sam when she managed to manoeuvre her way over to her.
‘Wanda!’ Sam shouted and a young woman in tight jeans turned and smiled at them.
‘You haven’t introduced us properly,’ Wanda said, pouting at Sam who laughed.
‘I’m Geraldine.’
She held out her hand but Wanda leaned forward and kissed her warmly on both cheeks.
‘It’s very nice to meet you,’ Wanda said.
‘Watch out, she’s a plain clothes police officer,’ someone called out.
Geraldine felt slightly uncomfortable, although it was clearly intended as a joke; they must all have known Sam was a detective sergeant. Another woman approached Wanda and put her arm around her in a possessive gesture. Geraldine glanced at Sam, who didn’t seem to have noticed. A couple of the other women were holding hands. She turned to look at Sam, engrossed in conversation, and wondered how she had become attached to this particular group of women. She hung around on the edge of the noisy group, clutching her drink and feeling awkward, while the women chatted with the ease of old friends.
Not until they gathered together to move on did Geraldine appreciate the extent of her misunderstanding.
‘Are you coming?’ Wanda asked Sam who shook her head.
‘I would but I’m really tired. It’s been a long day. You have a great evening.’
‘Are you on a case?’
Sam nodded. She and Wanda threw their arms around one another.
‘They used to be together,’ another woman explained to Geraldine. ‘But you’re alright, it’s over now.’
‘She’s a lesbian?’ Geraldine blurted out, staring at the side of Sam’s head.
‘Who, Wanda? Well, what do you think?’
The woman smiled.
‘But I’m telling you, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Sam’s all yours.’
52
A TRICKY CASE
It was her day off, so Geraldine had arranged a visit from her sister and niece. Although she would rather have been at work she was relieved that she wouldn’t be seeing Sam that day. She would have preferred to learn about the sergeant’s sexual orientation from Sam herself, but she supposed there was no reason why her colleague should have told her. It had nothing to do with work and their relationship was purely professional. They weren’t even friends exactly, they had only known each other for a few weeks. But Sam’s friend had seemed to think that she and Geraldine were together as a couple and Geraldine felt hot with embarrassment at the idea. Worse, Geraldine wondered whether she might have led Sam on without realising it. New in London, and keen to be friendly, she had been happy to accept Sam’s invitation to go out. She sighed, hoping this wasn’t going to develop into a complicated situation, but she couldn’t sit around fretting about Sam Haley all morning. She had to get ready for Celia and Chloe.
It was the first time Geraldine had received any visitors in her flat and she was excited about showing it off. They were coming round for lunch so she had intended to be up early to tidy and go shopping but she overslept, worn out after her stressful week, and didn’t have much time. Instead of sorting out the papers, books and clothes that had accumul
ated in her living room, she tossed everything in a washing basket which she shoved in her wardrobe, promising herself she would go through it all that evening after Celia and Chloe had gone. She checked that the photograph of her mother, Milly Blake, was hidden in her bedside drawer where no one could find it.
Having made the flat presentable, she went out to the supermarket to buy what she needed for lunch. Wandering along the shelves she regretted not having planned ahead. Celia was easy to please, but Chloe was a fussy eater and Geraldine hadn’t bothered to check what her niece currently ate. In a sudden panic she tried to call Celia but there was no answer. They must already be on their way.
If she hurried there was just time to roast a chicken with potatoes and prepare a bowl of fresh salad, with a variety of soft fruit to follow: peaches, cherries, strawberries, grapes and kiwi, because she thought Chloe liked fruit. In case she was wrong, she also put several cartons of Ben and Jerry’s in her trolley. She hurried home to prepare the lunch and lay the table and had barely finished when the doorbell rang. The salad was on the table, the chicken in a tray inside the oven surrounded by potatoes which were browning nicely. Geraldine grabbed her keys and ran down to let her visitors in.
‘Why do you keep it locked?’ Chloe asked as Geraldine slammed the high metal gates shut behind them.
‘We just do,’ Geraldine told her. ‘It’s for security.’
‘Why don’t we have a gate like that?’ Chloe asked her mother.
‘Because we don’t live in London,’ Celia answered shortly.
‘This way.’
Geraldine led them across the car park to the door of her block.
‘Why do you keep the door locked when there’s a gate?’ Chloe asked.
‘Stop asking daft questions,’ her mother told her.
‘That’s alright,’ Geraldine said, laughing. ‘The gate’s locked to keep our cars safe. And the door’s locked because it’s the front door. Everyone locks their front door.’
Death Bed Page 23