Afraid

by Mandasue Heller

  ‘But what if they recognise me?’ Skye asked.

  ‘They won’t,’ Tom assured her. ‘And it’ll give you a chance to show me what a good little wife you’re going to be.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Just by being you,’ Tom said, taking her hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Stop worrying, you’ll be great. Just dress yourself up in one of your pretty dresses, and tie your hair up how I like it, and they’ll fall in love with you, just like I did. Okay?’

  Skye nodded, but she was already dreading it. He’d said that everything would be all right when he brought Chloe into their lives, and look how that had turned out. The girl had already betrayed her by trying to get off with Tom behind her back. And if she could lie about that, what was to say she hadn’t lied when she’d promised Tom that she wouldn’t tell anyone about them?

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she spluttered, yanking her hand free and jumping to her feet.

  Tom sat back in his chair and watched thoughtfully as Skye rushed from the room and clattered up the stairs. She was his third attempt, and the only one, so far, that he’d been properly able to control. It had been a mistake to think that he could subdue a streetwise girl like Chloe, but he still wished it hadn’t had to end so badly.

  He heard Skye throwing up in the bathroom on the floor above, and lit another cigarette before wandering into the doorway to listen. He hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was, because that would throw a serious spanner in the works. The men he’d lined up for the first face-to-face meet were expecting an innocent little girl, not a used, pregnant teenager. But it was too late to find a fresh one now, so Skye was his only option. She looked the part right now, so he’d have to put her to good use while he could because it would only be a matter of months before she was completely useless.

  If he allowed it to get that far.

  21

  As he strolled into the station. PC Andy Jones was laughing at a joke that one of his colleagues had just told. It was his first day back on duty after a fortnight’s break, and he looked tanned and healthy after lounging around at his mum and dad’s caravan park in Devon. When he retired from the force, he planned to up sticks and move down there permanently; maybe set up a little detective agency so that he could keep his hand in while he waited for the old man to bow out of the business. But, until then, he was happy to be back in Manchester – and eager to get stuck into whatever delights or horrors lay in store.

  ‘Hey, Andy. Over here.’

  Jones looked round when he heard Dean’s voice, and grinned when he spotted his partner standing by the coffee machine.

  ‘Okay, Bud?’ He walked over and clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. ‘Missed me?’

  ‘Like a hole in the head,’ Dean quipped. ‘It’s never been so peaceful out there.’

  ‘So you’ve got nothing to tell me?’ Jones feigned disappointment. ‘No big arrests? Nothing juicy?’

  ‘You want juicy, take a look at this,’ DS Janice Holden said, walking out of her office just then with a photograph in her hand.

  ‘What’s this?’ Jones tilted his head and peered at it.

  ‘CEOP just faxed it over,’ she told him, holding it up so they could both see it. ‘They think it’s that girl whose dad you arrested for murdering her. Apparently, they were image-matching stills from some vids on a paedo website they’ve been investigating, and her name flagged up.’

  ‘You’re kidding me!’

  Jones snatched the picture from her hand and stared at it. The girl who was featured in it was fair-haired, and looked to be around the same age as Skye Benson, but the image was too grainy to see any clear facial detail. Naked, and seemingly asleep – or, more likely, he guessed, unconscious – she was spread-eagled on a bed, with her wrists and ankles manacled to the foot- and headboards. A bright circle of light had been directed onto her exposed vagina, and Jones felt sick when he saw that a wine bottle had been inserted into her.

  ‘Do they know where this shit’s coming from?’ he asked, his jaw tight with fury.

  ‘They’re working on it,’ Janice told him. ‘It seems this particular site first popped up a year ago, but it went dormant for a while so they lost track of it. It reappeared a couple of months ago, and they’ve been trying to get a hook into it ever since. But they reckon that whoever’s behind it is juggling fake IP addresses, so they haven’t been able to pin it down to a specific location.’

  ‘Is it a pay-per-view site?’ Dean asked. ‘If it is, they should be able to trace where the money’s going.’

  ‘They didn’t mention it,’ Janice told him. ‘But I’m assuming they’re having problems with that, too, or I’m sure they’d have had him by now.’

  ‘When was this filmed?’ Jones asked, unable to make out the digits on the time-and-date stamp in the bottom right corner.

  ‘A week ago,’ said Janice.

  Jones and Dean looked at each other as the implication of her words sank in.

  ‘So she’s not dead, then?’ Dean said quietly. ‘And Benson can’t be behind it, because he’s been in lock-up for weeks.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he didn’t organise it,’ Jones muttered, wondering how he could have got this so badly wrong. ‘He could have sold her on, for all we know.’

  ‘We won’t know for sure until they track down whoever’s running that site,’ Janice told them. ‘I just thought you should know.’

  Jones thanked her and handed the picture back.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ Dean asked when Janice had gone back into her office.

  ‘I don’t know, mate.’ Jones shook his head. ‘I just don’t know.’

  ‘Well, whether or not Benson’s involved in her disappearance, he obviously hasn’t murdered her,’ Dean pointed out. ‘So that charge’ll have to be dropped.’

  ‘If it’s her.’

  ‘I doubt the CEOP guys would have sent it over if they weren’t absolutely sure.’

  Jones groaned and looped his fingers together behind his head.

  ‘I think we need to speak to the chief,’ Dean said quietly.

  ‘You mean jump before we’re pushed?’ Jones sighed, and his shoulders sagged as he lowered his arms. ‘Come on, then. Might as well get it over with.’

  22

  Two days later, Jeff was lying on his bunk re-reading Shirley’s letter for the tenth time when his cell door was suddenly unlocked.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked, sitting up when Officer Smethwick walked in. ‘It’s not my turn to go out in the yard yet, is it?’

  ‘Get your stuff together,’ Smethwick ordered. ‘And hurry up; the Governor’s waiting.’

  ‘What does he want?’ Jeff asked, trailing down the landing behind Smethwick after hastily shoving his scant possessions into the prison-issue plastic bag.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Smethwick grunted. ‘I’m just the lackey who got sent to fetch you – like I’ve got nothing better to do than escort nonces round like it’s some sort of fucking holiday camp.’

  Jeff didn’t bother saying anything else. Most of the screws had been at least civil if not actually friendly since he got sent here to wait for his court date, but he’d been doing his best to keep his head down nevertheless, in order to avoid the beatings and baitings he’d been expecting. Smethwick was a colder fish than most, and Jeff knew that any further questioning would earn him a backlash of some sort later on.

  The Governor, Mr Owen, was seated at his desk with the telephone clamped to his ear when they reached his office. His door was open and he glanced up when he saw them. He waved for them to come in.

  Jeff perched on the chair facing the desk, and held his bundle to his stomach. Conscious of Smethwick standing behind him, he scratched his neck and waited for the Governor to finish his call.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Owen said when he’d hung up at last. ‘The wife’s having problems with the builders. But anyhoo …’

  He smiled now, and Jeff frowned. It was the first time anyone had smiled at him
since he got here, and it unnerved him. ‘What’s going on, Mr Owen?’ he asked politely. ‘Am I in trouble?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Owen. ‘You’re leaving us.’

  ‘Eh?’ Jeff’s frown deepened, causing a deep crevice to split his forehead down the middle. He’d lost even more weight since being sent here, and he had aged twenty years.

  ‘There appears to have been a significant development in your case,’ Owen told him. ‘I’ll leave the police to explain the details, but the upshot is: the murder charge has been dropped.’

  ‘What?’ Jeff’s head reeled, and he gripped the edge of the Governor’s desk to steady himself.

  ‘Straighten up!’ Smethwick barked, jabbing him in the shoulder.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Owen held up his hand to tell the man to back off. ‘No harm done.’

  ‘Does this mean they’ve found Skye?’ Jeff asked when he felt able to speak again.

  ‘I don’t know the specifics,’ Owen admitted. ‘All I know is that the charge has been dropped and I’ve been told to release you.’

  ‘What about the other stuff?’ Jeff asked, struggling to take in the news. ‘The attempted-murder thing?’

  ‘You’ll have to speak to the police about that,’ said Owen. Then, glancing at his watch, he stood up and extended his hand across the desk. ‘I have an appointment, so I’ll have to go. Good luck, Benson; I sincerely hope our paths never cross again.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Jeff, numbly rising from his seat and shaking the man’s hand.

  Head still reeling, Jeff found himself on the pavement outside the prison an hour later, his bag of belongings in one hand, a travel pass in the other – although he had absolutely no idea where he was supposed to travel to, seeing as he had no home of his own and no friends or family to turn to.

  He hadn’t yet moved when a police car pulled up alongside him a few minutes later, and his heart sank when PC Jones climbed out from behind the wheel.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked resignedly as the man walked towards him. ‘Come to arrest me for something else I haven’t done?’

  ‘No, but I have come to take you to the station,’ Jones said, feeling awkward because this was the first time they had met since their last unpleasant encounter. ‘We need to talk to you.’

  ‘About what?’ Jeff stayed put.

  Before Jones could explain, another car pulled up behind the squad car and Jeff’s solicitor, Malcolm Fitch, stepped out.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he called, extending his hand as he rushed over to them. ‘I was just about to go into court when I got the call, and I’m afraid I couldn’t get out of it. How are you, Jeff?’

  ‘Okay,’ Jeff muttered as he shook Fitch’s hand. ‘But they want me to go to the station with them. They reckon they need to speak to me about something.’

  ‘I was under the impression that all charges had been dropped?’ Fitch raised a bushy eyebrow at Jones. ‘Didn’t Mrs Benson retract her statement after being updated re the latest developments?’

  Jones nodded. ‘She did, sir. But this isn’t about that.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jeff looked in confusion from one to the other of the men. ‘What latest developments? Has Skye been found, or not?’

  Fitch’s expression suddenly became grave, and he asked, ‘Haven’t you been told anything yet?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ said Jeff, an unpleasant feeling of apprehension stirring in his gut. ‘They have found her, though, haven’t they? She’s … she’s not dead?’

  ‘Not as far as I’m aware,’ Fitch reassured him. ‘But I’m not sure we’re in the best place to discuss this, so maybe we should accompany the officers back to the station where they can explain in more detail.’

  Jeff nodded his agreement and walked over to the squad car without another word, desperate to find out what had happened to make them all act so cagey.

  Shirley was on her way home from work that evening when her mobile phone started ringing. She never answered calls when she was driving, but she’d sent a text before she set off and the phone was still on the passenger seat, so she flicked a quick glance at it – and was shocked to see Jeff’s name on the screen. Quickly pulling over, because he was the very last person she had expected a call from, she snatched the phone up.

  ‘Hello, Jeff? Is that you?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s me, love,’ he answered wearily. ‘I’ve been let out.’

  ‘Really?’ Shirley gasped. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘I don’t really want to explain on the phone. Can we meet up for a coffee?’

  ‘Where are you? I’ll come and get you.’

  Jeff went very quiet for several moments, and Shirley drew the phone away from her ear to check if the call had been disconnected. When she saw that it hadn’t, she said, ‘Jeff? Is everything all right? Talk to me. You’re worrying me now.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ he replied at last. ‘Just feel like my head’s about to explode.’

  ‘Where are you?’ Shirley asked again. ‘I’m coming for you.’

  After cutting the call, Jeff walked over to the bus stop on the opposite side of the road so that Shirley wouldn’t have to turn her car around when she saw him. He sat down on the thin bench beneath the shelter and pulled his tobacco out of his pocket to make himself a smoke while he was waiting.

  His hands were shaking as he rolled his cigarette, and he felt self-conscious when he noticed a woman who was standing outside the shelter casting hooded glances at him. He guessed that she’d either recognised him and was wondering what a man who had supposedly murdered his own child was doing out on the streets, or she’d taken one look at his gaunt face and trembling hands and had pegged him as a junkie.

  Either way, she was wrong. But Jeff supposed he’d have to get used to this kind of reaction because this was how everyone would probably look at him from now on. The ‘no smoke without fire’ mentality was alive and kicking around these parts, and the fact that the charges had been dropped would do nothing to turn that tide of opinion. If anything, it would probably make people feel even more anger towards him. Rather than accept that he might actually be innocent – which meant that everything they had been saying about him since his arrest was wrong and their theories completely out of whack – they would be more inclined to take the line that he had somehow got away with it.

  Jeff was on his third roll-up by the time Shirley’s car came into view some fifteen minutes later. The suspicious-eyed woman had long since gone about her business, but she’d left him with a bad taste in his mouth, so when Shirley pulled up he didn’t immediately climb into the car when she leaned over and pushed open the passenger-side door.

  ‘Aren’t you getting in?’ Shirley asked, gazing expectantly out at him.

  ‘I’m not sure I should,’ he said, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. ‘I don’t want to drag you back into my mess. That’s why I suggested going somewhere for a coffee – so we can talk without you worrying about your neighbours seeing us together.’

  Shirley’s gaze hardened at the mention of her neighbours, few of whom were speaking to her still; although, thankfully, no further threats had been made.

  ‘Do you really think I give a damn what those small-minded idiots think?’ she said scathingly. ‘They can all rot in hell as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Has something happened?’ Jeff asked, unaware of the incident with the brick shortly after his arrest.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ Shirley assured him. ‘Anyway, get in. There’s a bus coming, so I need to move.’

  Jeff climbed in reluctantly and buckled his seat belt as she pulled away from the stop. ‘Sorry about this,’ he murmured. ‘I probably shouldn’t have called you, but my head’s in a mess, and I just needed to talk to someone who’s not connected with the law.’

  Shirley flashed him a sideways glance and said, ‘Let’s just get home and put the kettle on, then we can put our feet up and you can tell me everything. Okay?’

 
; Jeff nodded and settled back in his seat. Her plan sounded good, but he had no idea where he would go from there. Malcolm Fitch had given him the numbers for some hostels, but he had no credit on his phone to call them and no money to buy any. Right back where he’d started after getting evicted, it looked like he was going to spend the night looking for a bridge to sleep under.

  Shocked by his gaunt appearance, Shirley chattered about the traffic, the weather, and any other trivial thing she could think of on the journey home. Once there, she held her head high and walked alongside him to the front door, even though she could see nets twitching at several windows in the block.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ she asked, going straight into the kitchen after dropping her handbag, kicking off her shoes and hanging her jacket behind the door.

  ‘Coffee, please.’ His own jacket still zipped up to the throat, his hands shoved deep into the pockets, Jeff stood awkwardly in the doorway as she filled the kettle.

  ‘Why don’t you go and put the telly and the lamps on,’ Shirley ordered, sensing that he was still shell-shocked about having been released. ‘Oh, and, take this.’ She pulled a takeaway menu out of the drawer and pushed it into his hand. ‘I was going to cook, but I can’t be bothered now so we’ll order something in.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Jeff said, giving her a pained look as he tried to hand the menu back. ‘You did enough when I was staying here, I can’t let you start subbing me again.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Shirley shrugged. ‘But don’t blame me if your mouth starts watering when I’m stuffing myself with pepperoni pizza and garlic bread.’

  Jeff smiled and wandered into the living room. His already heavy heart slumped a little lower as he switched the lamps on and gazed around. It was a small flat, but Shirley’s personality was stamped all over it and everything about it was feminine and homely. He had enjoyed the time he’d spent here before his arrest, but that was over now and he couldn’t afford to let himself get too comfortable again.