‘What the hell?’ He stood and walked to the hall, his mind racing. No one ever used the knocker – it was purely for show, though Josh occasionally irritated him by playing with it.
But visitors? They announced themselves at the gate and then he or his housekeeper would let them in, and wait for them at the door.
The gate. Damn. He’d not checked whether it closed behind him. Probably jammed open again. He had instructed his gardener to get it sorted out while he was away, an intermittent problem and one the old man must have forgotten.
He went to the door, thinking a concerned neighbour had spotted the problem again, driven up to inform him. He swung the door wide.
John’s brain registered the apparition before him – a huge ox of a man, his face bloody, swollen and bruised, the mouth gaping, front teeth missing, yelling something indescribable, demonic eyes alight – a fraction of a second before his world disintegrated.
***
When Leech finally calmed down after the taxi crash he decided to walk back to Birdy’s house and break in. First he hauled the dead cabbie out of the rear and propped him in the driver’s seat.
The problem was the man’s eyes. Or rather lack of them. Leech wanted to make it look like he had died in the accident, but the sight of his mashed sockets would ensure no one would believe he’d been driving.
He chatted to himself as he decided what to do.
‘Blind cabbie. No wonder you had an accident!’ He cast around, looking for a broken branch. ‘This’ll do.’ He hoisted a six foot log and smashed it through the windscreen.
‘That’s better.’ The end of the log was lodged in the driver’s forehead. ‘Won’t fool them for long, but it’ll do for now.’
He brushed himself down and shouldered his way through the shrubs and bushes back to the road. The taxi was no longer visible.
For a moment he wondered why the truck driver had not stopped. Didn’t want to be involved? In a hurry perhaps? Couldn’t be bothered? All good enough reasons as far as Leech was concerned.
It didn’t matter, he was fine. But what should he do now? The first address Gruber had supplied him was a couple of years out of date. The old lady had given him the Finch’s current address, but why no Birdy today?
He realised now he had been so frustrated earlier that he was not thinking straight. Of course! They were at work! It was Monday. They would be back this evening... Might even be home already.
So he hiked back along the road until he reached the gates. He scaled them and dropped into the garden, impressed at the grandeur. It reminded him of Hampton Court...
And a childhood visit there with his brother. Shaun had taken him into the maze, got him lost, left him there. He was screaming hysterically when his father finally found him. Was he four or five at the time?
Shaun. He would kill him. Soon.
First, he wanted to see his Birdy. Tell her he loved her. Explain how they could live together in the Caribbean. She’d jump at that. And he’d deal with her husband, no problem.
He strolled up the drive and the house came into view. He felt the excitement build. He would see her soon. A vision of Judy filled his mind. It was love! He had never felt this way about anyone before. It must be love.
He took hold of the knocker, gave it a few satisfying thumps.
When the door opened a man was standing, startled, wine glass in one hand, the other on the door handle.
Her fucking old man!
‘Thnakebide!’ Leech’s fist crunched into the man’s temple. Judy’s husband was unconscious before he hit the ground.
***
Leech stepped over the body and yelled, ‘Hi honey. I’m home!’ He slammed the door, and waited. There was no answer. Oh well. She’ll be home soon.
He dragged John into the lounge and then went hunting until he found some rolls of gaffer tape. He wanted to kill him, Judy’s husband, but some base instinct stopped him, whispered to him that he needed the man alive. For now.
A chunky rustic oak coffee table was ideal for what Leech had in mind. He bound John’s hands and feet to the table legs, his body facing up, his head hanging over one end. Leech had to force the arms into position, could hear the joints popping and tearing, his victim stirring, groaning, but still unconscious.
Perfect. Judy’s hubby wouldn’t be going anywhere. Leech could explore the property at his leisure, until Birdy got home.
He started upstairs, checking out the bedrooms, and became agitated as he realised there were no women’s things. No female clothes. Nothing his Birdy would wear.
Had that stupid old bag given him the wrong address?
He flopped on the massive bed, the master bedroom enormous, a giant sized bathroom suite attached, a walk in wardrobe bigger than his prison cell. Stuffed full of men’s clothes.
Why was everything going wrong for him? It wasn’t fair. All he wanted was to see her. Talk to her. Tell her he loved her. Take her with him. Why was it all so difficult?
Then he saw it. The photo on the dresser. Three people. Two adults and a young boy. He snatched it up, excitement building as he tore the back off the frame and tugged the picture out.
‘My Birdy!’ He had found her.
And the man in the picture. He was downstairs. Leech bunched his fists and held them over his head in triumph.
‘Yes!’
But who was the kid? Must be theirs. He wondered if that could be a problem. He knew women got very attached to their kids. And there was no way he wanted someone else’s snotty brat in tow.
How would she react if he killed the little bastard? He wasn’t sure but he remembered how he had felt when Shaun burnt his puppy.
Evil cunt!
‘Where are you my Birdy? Where?’
Then he heard the man groaning from downstairs.
The husband. He’ll know.
***
John’s eyes refused to focus at first and when they finally did he was baffled to see everything was upside down. He could see the door, his lounge furniture, all recognisable, but most definitely the wrong way up. He shook his head to clear his vision – and the pain rampaged through his consciousness. His head felt broken, his shoulders on fire.
What the hell was happening?
He pulled his head up, tried to move his body, his arms, his legs. He panicked and struggled, crying out and groaning as molten pain lanced through his chest and neck. Eventually he calmed down, forced himself to relax, let his head droop, allowing his body to recover from the pain, less intense now he was still.
He tried to fathom out what had happened to him. He remembered the door knocker hammering. Opening the door. The apparition, the mad green eyes. And then nothing. Until now.
Oh God... He had been burgled and left trussed up. And no one was coming to find him. His housekeeper did not expect him back. He had not contacted her and she thought he would be in the States for another couple of weeks. Panic swelled inside him, and then he remembered. The gardener. He would be here in the morning. Thank Christ.
He tried to see how he was bound, but could not. Then he realised, from his location in the room, the view he had, he was bound to his coffee table.
That’s it!
He tried to push his feet on the floor, but only his toes had purchase. His hands were useless, the fingertips barely scratching the carpet. The furniture in his house was heavy and solid, and this table was no exception. It was not going to budge.
He was stuck fast, like a bug on flypaper. He would have to wait until morning. Scream for help when he heard his gardener pottering outside. But that would be in twelve hours or more... Twelve hours, stuck like this. He groaned at the thought.
He closed his eyes, emptied his mind, tried to meditate. He had not tried it for years, but he had little else to do now.
Minutes later, he felt something, a disturbance of the air around his head. His eyes blinked open and he screamed.
The mad man was still here! And his eyes were only a few inches from
John’s, the mangled face grinning at him.
‘Wakey wakey! You and I are going to have a little chat.’
The panic, submerged but barely beneath the surface, was rising again. ‘Please. If you want money – ’
‘SHUT UP!’ It sounded more like ‘Thutub!’ but John got his drift.
‘I’m very wealthy. I’ll – ’
The sentence was lost, stillborn as the explosive slap almost dislocated John’s jaw. His synapses sparked with pain overload.
‘I said shut up,’ the man lisped at him, then crouched, sitting back on his heels. He was holding a photograph to John’s nose.
Judy, Josh and himself.
His mind whirled. Had this monster kidnapped them? Is that what it was all about? He opened his mouth to ask. Closed it again, not wishing to invite another manic blow.
Concentrate. Listen.
‘This is your wife. Why don’t she live here?’
John caught the gist, desperation helping him to decipher the man’s speech.
‘We’re divorced. We split up a couple of years ago.’
The man’s face turned even uglier as he vented his anger. ‘My useless fuck of a solicitor didn’t tell me that. Gave me your old address too.’
Did he say solicitor? Was this some legal problem? Hope flooded through John. He could afford the best legal advice. No problem... Except. Why was this man in his home? And why was John now trussed up?
‘Who’s the kid? Yours?’
‘Of course.’ Moron.
Another slap, the other side of his face this time, took him to the edge of consciousness.
‘Don’t get cocky with me you fuckin yuppie. So where are they? Judy? And the kid?’
Judy? He wants to see Judy? ‘At home I should imagine...’
‘And where would that be?’ The green eyes lit up with excitement.
Was he hunting her? And Josh? He toyed with the idea of giving a false address. But he was no hero, and justified his cowardice by thinking the man would find out anyway – it was in the address book on the hall table.
If the cretin lets me go, I’ll call her. Call the police. I must not give him reason to hurt me.
He weaselled the words out. ‘Look, the address is in my personal directory, by the phone in the hall. I don’t know what business you have with her, but it’s clearly nothing to do with me. I don’t even like her anymore!’
The man got up, left him alone for a few minutes. He returned with the book. ‘Got it! This is up to date, eh?’
‘Certainly. I called her home last week.’ He did not mention that Betty had screened the call, that he could not even talk to the mother of his child.
‘Good.’ He walked round the room, picking things up at random, inspecting them, as if he was some fine art collector or expert on antiques. ‘Nice gaff you got here. I think I’ll stay the night.’
Oh please, no! ‘You can take my car. It’s a Jaguar. You could see her tonight.’ The wheedling tone slithered from his tongue again.
There was no answer. He could hear the intruder fiddling with something, then he came back into view.
‘You naughty boy! Didn’t you know possession of Class A narcotics is a punishable offence? You’ve got enough here to deal! Is that how you got the dosh for this place?’ He laughed. ‘With this lot, you’d go down for years.’ He disappeared from view again and moments later John heard a loud sniff. Then another. ‘Nah. I’m all in. Think I’ll relax here for the night.’
The grotesque head hovered over him, cocked to one side, puzzled. ‘Dunno what to do about you though.’
John heard a ripping sound, then felt the gaffer tape being plastered to his mouth.
‘That’ll keep you quiet. Just while I go take a jacuzzi and think about it.’
***
John attempted to meditate again, but his discomfort and pain would allow him no peace. And sleep would not come. He dreaded the man’s return, but wanted to convince him he should be released. He tried to understand what was happening here, to make some sense of his situation.
Why would he keep me here? He doesn’t want me – he wants Judy. His hopes lifted.
Perhaps he thinks I’ll warn her. Will he leave in the morning? And will he release me, before he leaves?
The glimmer of hope faded. There was no way. And if the lunatic planned to hurt Judy, why not kill him? John had seen his face – would never forget it.
His mouth was parched, his tongue swollen in its search for moisture. There was none. He was dehydrated from the flight, and had only sipped a little wine since he arrived home.
He thought of New York, his inadequate staff and his mega deal, but his concerns were chased away by self-preservation and the instinct for survival. Suddenly he attained a perspective on life he had never achieved before. Money really was not that important.
Unless... He had to talk to this man. Befriend him. Tempt him. But how?
Eventually his mind ceased turning over. He slipped in and out of consciousness, delirious at times. Hours passed, but how many, he could not say.
He awoke with a start. Alert, immediately aware of his predicament.
The man was back. He ripped the gag off, none too gently.
John tried to speak, plead for water, unable to, his tongue filling his mouth, stuck to furred teeth, the gummy roof.
‘What’s that outside?’ Leech’s head was to one side, listening to the faint sounds of John’s tractor mower doing the grounds.
Leech’s speech was better now, barely impeded by his injuries, but John’s attempt at communicating was far worse.
‘What?’ Leech moved closer, straining to hear the word.
John tried again, making a massive effort just to squeak, ‘Gardener.’
‘You cunt! You didn’t warn me about him!’
John wanted to say, ‘You didn’t ask.’ The effort was too much, and anyway, he thought better of it, not wishing to receive another ferocious slap. He rotated his tongue, trying to create some saliva, to ease his discomfort. It was impossible, his mouth arid.
‘Has he got a key?’
John gestured ‘No,’ with his head, too feeble to do much more than tremble. ‘Water.’ He repeated it, hoping his tormentor understood.
The man disappeared again, John thinking he was finally getting him a drink, bringing some relief. Instead he heard the tearing of gaffer tape.
‘No – ’
‘You don’t deserve water. You should have warned me. Anyway,’ he stuck the tape to John’s mouth, ‘what d’you think I am? Your fuckin nursemaid?’
***
John groaned and wondered if the man would just leave him here to die, pinioned to his thousand pound coffee table, surrounded by the wealth that no longer seemed important any more. None of it mattered – the house, his cars, the deal he was brokering, even his job.
He just wanted to live. To see Josh grow up.
Panic took hold again, and he used what little energy he had to fight against his bindings, achieving nothing except re-igniting the grinding agony in his shoulders, neck and chest. Then spurting bile burnt his throat, and the taste of it cut through the panic that was saturating his senses, the clarity of one thought paralysing him.
If I vomit – I’m dead.
It was bad enough to think he might die of thirst in a few days. To choke on his own puke would be a nightmarish way to go.
He focussed. Don’t panic. Old Fred, the gardener, may be able to see him, could get help. If Fred stood on the patio, he would get a partial view of John’s position. Or if he saw movement, the brute roving around the house, he would know something was amiss...
Then John realised it was already Tuesday. His lawyer was expecting him today. Surely he would raise the alarm when John failed to show for his luncheon appointment.
What would he do? Call John’s office and they would confirm he flew home yesterday. Yes, he would definitely raise the alarm – possibly send the police.
No. Maybe he would wai
t... to hear from John? After all, John had not been definite about when he was coming back, the lunch just pencilled in, waiting for confirmation.
He let out a moan, the tape muffling the noise, but the despair obvious to his own ears.
Surely the solicitor would do something when he failed to show at the hearing tomorrow. All John had to do was tough it out until then. Wednesday night, at the latest.
He heard a crash from the kitchen and the bellowing of the madman. Moments later he entered John’s field of vision.
‘Bloody burnt meself on your cooker. But this curry smells great.’ He placed the tray on John’s belly, picked up a fork and started feeding himself.
He’s using me as his dining table!
John, whose pampered existence had insulated him from the more unsavoury realities of life, who had known only luxury, had been surrounded by assistants and servants fawning over his every whim, was nothing more to this man than a convenient place to eat. Any doubt he had that this crazy thug would kill him vanished in that moment.
‘Looks like your gardener’s pissed off for the day. Hope you aren’t paying him too much.’
The sound of the man eating disgusted him, but the spices were teasing a few drops of saliva from his tongue. Even so, it felt rough and stiff, his mouth full of gunge and the tang of bile.
‘That was good.’ He lifted the tray off, placed the remains under John’s nose, and settled back on the sofa. John heard the TV burst into life – his captor obviously had found the remote – when he felt the man’s feet resting on his stomach. ‘Think I’ll watch TV for a while. Got things to do this evening, but not much use going out now – everyone’s at work.’
John let his head sag and wondered why this reject from hell had entered his life. It was lunchtime, the news blaring. Although he could not see it, he could hear it, and tried to turn his mind inward – he had enough problems without listening to doom and gloom from around the globe.
‘Bollocks!’
John felt the feet shifting off him, and listened to the TV newscaster, intrigued by the man’s reaction.
‘...very dangerous and should not be approached. Leech is wanted in connection with two suspicious deaths in London yesterday, and for the vicious assault of a female on Friday night. Leech, who was jailed for life eighteen years ago for the savage murder of his parents, was released on parole on Friday morning. The leader of the Opposition lambasted the Home Secretary in the House of Commons today and criticised the government’s record on law and order. Victim support groups have unanimously condemned the release of this violent offender...’
Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1) Page 24