Acid Row

by Minette Walters

  Hewitt promptly reverted to being a policeman. ‘I don’t think you should have encouraged that. It doesn’t sound very safe.’

  ‘It’s not supposed to be safe. He’s a deterrent.’

  ‘He could find himself in court if someone gets hurt . . . so could you for—’

  ‘Cut the crap,’ Jimmy hissed angrily, turning his back on Mrs Carthew so as not to alarm her. ‘Do you think I care a fuck at the moment what you sods are gonna do after this is over? It’s you rozzers’ fault this is happening. I’m only here because I want my lady out. And I’ll tell you this for nothing . . . we ain’t got many choices here . . . and a guy who’s willing to persuade people home strikes me as a better bet than having people trampled to death back and front of this sodding street. So don’t start laying your responsibility on me. I’m not the sodding police . . . and I’m not taking any of the blame because you idiots couldn’t see this war coming. My old geezer’s guarding some kids and doing his best to keep the exit flowing . . . and if anyone gets sliced because they go too near him, then that’s their sodding fault. Capeesh? ’

  A woman’s voice came on the line. ‘Jimmy, this is Jenny Monroe,’ she said calmly and evenly. ‘I’m the receptionist at the Nightingale Health Centre. Your Mel and her kids are patients here . . . so is Gaynor and her family. May I explain to you why the Health Centre’s involved and what we’re doing? We’re trying to use a network that one of our doctors set up to find people in Humbert Street who might be prepared to open their doors as Mrs Carthew did. Unfortunately, Mrs Carthew’s very hazy about names—’

  Jimmy broke in. ‘What’s this network called?’

  ‘ “Friendship Calling”.’

  ‘OK. I know about this. There’s a lady in Glebe Tower called Eileen Hinkley, flat 406. She’s one of the people who holds the numbers. If she’s not listed, the ambulance service knows how to get hold of her. She’ll be able to help you.’

  There was a brief pause while Jenny passed the information to someone in the background. ‘That’s fantastic,’ she said warmly. ‘One of my colleagues is calling her now. Thank you so much,’

  ‘Is that it?’ said Jimmy, surprised to be let off so lightly. ‘Because I’d sure as hell like to find out what’s happened to Mel and the kids. Get them out, if possible.’

  ‘No,’ said Jenny sharply, afraid he was going to hand her back to Mrs Carthew, ‘please don’t go! We’re so desperately in need of help.’ Her voice rose. ‘Someone has to take a lead out there . . . make them see sense. We need marshals on the exits. We need— Are you still there?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He heard the policeman murmur away from the speaker: ‘You need to think about how much you’re prepared to tell him . . . she could end up dead if they decide to storm the house.’

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ Jimmy demanded. ‘Who’s she? Who could end up dead?’

  ‘Please wait, Jimmy.’ Jenny half muffled the speaker by placing her hand over it, but she was close enough for her higher, very agitated tones to carry. Nothing of what the policeman said was audible.

  ‘This is crazy . . . We’ve got to trust someone . . . Yes, but the police aren’t doing anything . . . Oh, for God’s sake! . . . Of course she’ll feel more confident if we can get a message to her . . . anyone would . . . No, I couldn’t give a tuppenny damn about his record . . . If Gaynor approves of him then so do I . . .’

  Her voice came back so suddenly and so strongly that Jimmy jerked the receiver away from his ear. ‘Can I trust you? Gaynor seems to trust you. She said over and over again, “If only Jimmy was here.” ’

  ‘You don’t need to shout, lady. The volume’s on bellow, so I reckon Mrs Carthew’s deaf –’ he saw the old woman looking at him – ‘as well as a house without an attic – if you get my drift.’ He paused. ‘You’ll have to tell me what you want before I’ll say whether you can trust me. I’m not doing nothing that’ll take me back to the nick.’

  Jenny made a supreme effort to bring her fluctuating emotions under control. ‘I’m sorry. Everyone’s so worried here. I need an assurance that you won’t repeat what I tell you to anyone, Jimmy . . . not even to Melanie or Gaynor. Ken’s worried that if word of it leaks out, then the crowd will go mad and attack the house . . . and that’ll make the situation even more dangerous. Apparently some kid has already set himself ablaze with a petrol bomb and the police helicopter says there are more lining up. According to them, it’s only a matter of time before the house goes up . . . and that means everyone inside will go with it . . . including Sophie.’

  Jimmy struggled to make sense of this by superimposing the knowledge he already had. ‘I thought the kid’s name was Amy,’ he said.

  A baffled pause. ‘I’m talking about Sophie . . . Sophie Morrison.’ He heard Ken Hewitt murmur again in the background. ‘Oh, God, no! This has nothing to do with the missing child, Jimmy. Sophie’s one of our doctors. She’s the real reason we became involved. She made an emergency call to me saying the men at number 23 had taken her prisoner. She sounded incredibly frightened – talked about being –’ she paused as if selecting a word – ‘attacked – then switched off her phone.’

  ‘Is she the one getting married in a couple of weeks? I’m sure that’s the name on the invitation Mel and me’ve been given.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mel’s always going on about how great she is . . . Sophie this . . . Sophie that.’

  ‘Almost all her patients are in Bassindale, and a lot of them are elderly. She’s the doctor that started “Friendship Calling” because she recognized how lonely some of them were. I know you’re probably thinking I’d say anything to make you help her, but she’s a truly good person, Jimmy, the kind that makes a difference to other people’s lives.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘She wouldn’t be in that house now if she didn’t care about her patients. She was supposed to clock off at midday but was running late because she thinks talking’s more important than handing out pills. Then I asked her to do that one extra call because the man was panicking—’ Her voice broke completely.

  ‘I guess you’re pretty fond of her.’

  There was the sound of nose-blowing at the other end. ‘I can’t bear to think of anything bad happening to her.’

  ‘You said she’d been “attacked”,’ he reminded her. ‘Was she talking about the men in the house or the people outside?’

  ‘Hang on.’ There was a long silence before she spoke again, and he suspected that this time she had pressed the ‘mute’ button. ‘She said one of the men wanted to rape her,’ she told him, ‘and she’s not the type to imagine a thing like that.’

  Jimmy frowned to himself, remembering his conversation with Melanie earlier. ‘I thought these guys were paedophiles, so why would they want to rape a woman? Plus, they must be scared shitless themselves with half of Acid Row screaming for their blood?’

  He waited for an answer that didn’t come, because the policeman’s voice spoke again in the background.

  Nightingale Health Centre

  Jenny muted the loudspeaker, and glared angrily at Ken. ‘Don’t keep telling me to watch what I say to him,’ she snapped. ‘At least he’s there. At least he’s listening. What are the police doing to rescue Sophie? Nothing . . . except sit on their backsides and keep a watching brief because they’re afraid of making the situation worse. Well, here’s what I think –’ she jabbed her finger at him – ‘if Harry explains to him the sort of danger he’s likely to face . . . and if he agrees to help . . . then we should all get down on our knees and be grateful that someone in that godforsaken place has more courage than the bloody police have.’

  Inside 9 Humbert Street

  Jimmy pulled a face at Mrs Carthew as the receiver came live again. ‘Listen, I’m not trying to knock the doctor,’ he said by way of explaining his scepticism to Jenny. ‘I bet the poor lady’s scared out of her wits, but it doesn’t make much sense whichever way you look at it. I mean, you’d have to be a fucking moron to rape yo
ur hostage when the reason you’re under attack is because you’re a deviant. You’d do the opposite . . . you’d be nice to her . . . get her to speak for you . . . persuade the acid-heads you were framed. That’s something everyone in Bassindale can relate to.’

  A man’s voice answered. ‘This is Harry Bonfield, Jimmy. I’m the senior doctor at the Nightingale. Believe me, we’ve been having these same thoughts ourselves, so we took advice from a psychiatrist. What you’re describing is a reasoned reaction to a problem . . . and that isn’t necessarily the way these men will behave. We’re getting some feedback from the police helicopter and they’re telling us there’s no sign of anyone at the windows . . . which is the opposite of what we’d expect if the men wanted Sophie to plead for them. They’d make her very visible, encourage her to call out and say who she is, use her as a deterrent – your word – against petrol bombs.’

  ‘Maybe she’s too frightened to do it.’

  ‘We don’t think so. Sophie’s an intelligent woman, and a tough one, too. She knows that a lot of people in that crowd will recognize her or have knowledge of her, particularly if she talks to them. It makes no sense that she isn’t being allowed to negotiate. She’s one of the few people who might be able to take some steam out of the situation.’

  Jimmy couldn’t fault his argument. ‘So what do you reckon’s going on?’

  ‘It’s a guess, but we think the older man is running the show. He’s not the convicted offender – that’s the son – but there’s evidence that the father is a serial sexual abuser. Both his wife and his son suffered at his hands – he wields a whip, which suggests he has a strong sadistic streak. He’s also an habitual user of prostitutes – he’s been arrested and fined in the past for kerb-crawling, and questioned several times after women were admitted to hospital and gave a description matching his. There was never enough evidence to convict – he uses false names and none of the prostitutes would face him in court – but he’s definitely not the kind of man you’d want as jailer to a pretty young woman.’

  Jimmy was reminded of Eileen’s remark about her friend being prone to exaggeration. The doctor was making this guy out to be a full-blown psychopath, but if that were the case, then why the hell wasn’t he behind bars? Jimmy had a strong suspicion that these people in the safety of the Health Centre were manipulating his sympathies to make him do something he wouldn’t want to do.

  ‘You sure you got this right, Doc?’ he asked cynically. ‘I mean, one minute you’re telling me he likes tender boy meat . . . the next you’re saying he’s trawling the streets for Toms. That don’t add up. Why would he fancy his little son, if his real taste’s for full-grown bitches?’

  There was an amused laugh at the colourful language. ‘Do you want the three-year course or the one-minute sound-bite? Don’t answer that, Jimmy. I’ll do my best with a sound-bite. Someone with the kind of personality disorder that this man seems to be suffering from has no forward thinking and can’t anticipate the negative consequences of what he does. Also, he never blames himself. It’ll be the victim’s fault for triggering his aggression or frustration. If, as we believe, his particular paraphilia – that’s a sexual disorder – is sadism, then other people’s fear is a major turn-on for him, and, once aroused, he won’t be remotely interested in them as people, only in his immediate gratification. This would have meant that his son, who must have lived in permanent terror, was both the reason for the father’s arousal and the satisfier of it. Does that sound logical to you?’

  ‘It fucking sucks,’ said Jimmy in disgust. ‘Why the hell wasn’t the kid taken into care?’

  Harry sighed. ‘Because forty years ago people didn’t know this kind of thing went on.’

  ‘Jesus! How old is this bloke?’

  ‘The father? Seventy-one.’

  ‘And you reckon he’s still dangerous?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes . . . particularly to someone like Sophie. If she’s arguing with him and trying to protect herself – which is what we think she’ll be doing – he’ll rationalize that whatever happens is her fault.’

  ‘Won’t he be worried about being done for it after?’

  ‘It depends how excited he becomes, and how far he thinks she’s responsible. This isn’t a stable personality, Jimmy, or a particularly bright one. The best adjective would be complacent. The fact that he’s never been convicted of abuse will almost certainly have persuaded him in his own mind that he has a right to behave as he does. He may even imagine that the police agree with him. A man is stronger, therefore a man’s authority should be obeyed.’ Harry paused. ‘You had it right at the beginning when you called him a moron. Put deviant in front, and you’ve some idea of what Sophie’s dealing with.’

  Inside 23 Humbert Street

  Sophie watched the old man writhe on the floor, fighting for breath. If she could move the wardrobe, or persuade Nicholas to move it for her, she could get out of that dreadful room. ‘Let me go downstairs and talk to whoever’s in the house,’ she urged Nicholas. ‘Now . . . while your father can’t stop me. I promise I won’t leave. I’ll stand at the bottom of the stairs and make sure no one comes up.’

  He glanced undecidedly towards the door. ‘You won’t be able to prevent them.’

  ‘Of course I will, if you give me a chance to speak with them. We must start trying to help ourselves. Can’t you see that?’

  ‘It’s safer to wait for the police.’

  A terrible apathy nudged at her brain, because part of her agreed with him – the hesitant part that exists in us all and makes us braver with the danger we can see than with the one we can’t. She almost persuaded herself it would be safer to stay where she was – cocooned by the spurious protection of four brick walls. Who knew what was going on outside? Was she really so sure that anyone would bother to listen to her? What if she made the situation worse?

  She felt Nicholas’s gaze on her and remembered how his gentle manner had almost seduced her before. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! She wasn’t this feeble! What would Bob say if she told him she decided to take her chances with rape because she was too afraid to walk out of a room . . .

  ‘It’s not safer for me,’ she countered with spirit, stamping her foot to fire him up. ‘I have friends out there . . . people who care about me . . . unlike you . . . and this –’ she jerked her chin at Franek – ‘low-grade piece of shit!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Oh, ple-ease! ‘Find some courage,’ she snapped. ‘If the police were coming, they’d be here already . . . and you really need to ask why the only thing we’ve heard is a helicopter. Doesn’t that say to you that they’re trying to find out what’s going on? And why do they need to do that, Nicholas, if the streets are full of policemen? You’re an educated man, for Christ’s sake. Use your brain . . . think . . . work it out for yourself. We’re more likely to be attacked than we are to be rescued.’

  He didn’t say anything but watched Franek’s movements begin to calm as his breathing steadied.

  Sophie spoke more urgently. ‘Your father isn’t going to let me go,’ she said. ‘We both know that . . . and we both know why. I think you’re gambling that we’ll be rescued before he loses control completely, but he’s already assaulted me twice.’ She raised a hand to her puffy cheek. ‘The only reason I haven’t got two of these is because you intervened the third time, but he won’t let you get that close again. So what’s going to happen if we’re here for another five hours, Nicholas? Are you going to offer yourself as a punch bag to protect me? Or bury your head in the corner and leave your father to get on with it?’

  He put his hands in his pockets and stirred the toe of his shoe in the dust on the floor. ‘You don’t think much of me, do you?’ he said.

  What answer should she give? Yes? No? Should she be truthful or should she lie? What was his psychology? Schizoid? Paranoid? Borderline?

  ‘I believe he’s abused you so badly that you’re terrified to do anything without his permission. I can’t pretend to
understand it – you’re a grown man and you shouldn’t even be living with him – but it is a fact.’ She made her tone as unemphatic as she could. ‘So, yes, you’re right, I don’t think much of you.’ She studied his bent head for a moment. ‘The danger to you is outside, Nicholas, and hiding in here, hoping we’re going to be rescued, is crazy. Do you know anything about the people who live on this estate? You said earlier it was rough area . . . so give me your best guess on what they’ll do to a paedophile if they catch him before the police do.’

  He didn’t seem surprised that she knew why the crowd was outside. He even looked relieved that he didn’t have to pretend any more. ‘Cut off his dick,’ he said dispassionately. ‘I think they’re right, too. I tried to do it myself in prison but I was stopped before I did any serious damage. No one’s allowed to mutilate themselves these days . . . not even paedophiles.’

  Dear God!

  ‘You really do need help,’ she said, equally dispassionately. ‘What the hell is going on inside your head that makes you think it’s your dick that should be sacrificed?’

  Telephone Message

  For:

  DCI Tyler

  From:

  Mrs Angela Gough

  Taken by:

  PC Drew

  Date:

  28.07.01

  Call timed at:

  15.46

  Mrs Gough has settled her daughter Francesca’s bill and has arranged for her to be flown home this p.m. NB Townsend’s original booking was for next Saturday 04.08.01. Mrs Gough asked for the following information to be given to DCI Tyler.

  1.

  She doesn’t want the responsibility of involving Edward Townsend’s first wife but is prepared to pass on what her friend has told her re: Townsend.