The Fenton Saga: Never Say Goodbye / There Was No Body.

by Colin Griffiths

  The other occupant was a forty seven year old man, overweight with greying hair. He stood, frightened. He was standing beside the sofa, where he had been told to and not to move, whilst Bill tied Blondie to the chair. That’s what Bill had called her when he first burst into their home, Blondie and Fatty.

  The man was not tethered in any way, nor was he about to be. The man shook as he spoke. Blondie just watched him, cursing under her breath. This was all his fault. Look at me, she wanted to shout. Look at me and it’s all your fault. She wished he hadn’t tied the tape around her mouth so tightly. There was no need for that.

  ‘£400! It was only £100’s worth of crack and it’s only three days late.’ said Fatty.

  Blondie looked on in shock and horror, but was relatively calm, given the situation. She had never done drugs and certainly didn’t want to be involved with druggies. Who was this monster she had living with her? She wanted to pee. Why does being frightened always make you want to pee?

  ‘Look mate,’ Bill said, ‘I don't make the rules. I'm just a collector. Time is money. There’s expenses, my expenses. You were supposed to pay. Now it goes up.’

  Fatty’s shoulders drooped. He was scared, but £400 seemed way over the top. I'm not going to pay it he thought, no way am I,

  ‘I've got £200. That’s all I've got. I’ll get it, then just go.’

  Bill had no real patience nor tolerance in his nature. On this particular day he had no real time. He still had things to get for his journey and he wanted to leave by morning. With this in mind and with one swift move, he grabbed the man, pulled his hand behind his back forcing the man to his knees, allowing his free arm to stop his face from hitting the carpet.

  Bill swiftly produced a pair of secateurs from the bag beside him and with very little effort he cut off the little finger of the hand he held. Fatty screamed in pain, Blondie wanted to scream, but the gaffa tape prevented her. She wasn't really expecting this much violence. She seemed to grunt through her nose, finding it hard to breathe. Bill let the man go, who held his damaged hand with his good one and sat on the floor crying. Bill liked the sound of him crying, his finger beside him looking lost as it no longer had a hand and four fingers as companions.

  ‘You made me do that. I didn’t want to do that, but you made me. Now I’m angry. It’s just gone up to £500. Next it will be two fingers or maybe even your cock.’ He looked at Blondie.

  ‘Then I start on her.’

  Blondie nodded her head vigorously. She clearly wanted to say something. He grabbed Fatty by the hair, lifting him and plonking him on the sofa.

  ‘Do not move.’ he said.

  He took the gaffa tape from Blondie’s mouth. She breathed in air as if it was her last breath.

  Still gasping, she said,

  ‘There’s money in the drawer. Take what you want, but please don't hurt me.’

  She looked at the drawer in question, guiding Bill to it with her eyes. He opened the drawer. There was about £800. He counted out £500, no more and put the rest back.

  ‘Sensible move, Blondie.’ he said. He looked at Fatty. ‘You not going to thank her then?’ Fatty was still holding his hand, but the screaming had stopped.

  ‘Thanks.’ he mumbled.

  ‘You fucking bastard!’ Blondie shouted at Fatty.

  Bill laughed.

  She looked at Bill.

  ‘There’s another £100 if you untie me, and chuck that bastard out.’

  Bill was now laughing quite loud; Fatty looked on in shock, but didn’t want to protest. He needed the hospital.

  Bill untied her hands.

  ‘You can do your legs’ he said. ‘Can I hurt him some more?’ Bill asked.

  ‘You can do what you like to him.’ she said.

  He grabbed Fatty by the hair, made him hold his injured hand in the air whilst Bill got out his phone and took a picture of the damaged hand. He then escorted him into the back garden and literally threw him over the fence.

  ‘You come back and I’ll kill you.’ Bill told him.

  The man ran as fast as he could, still holding the bleeding hand. The missing digit was still on the carpet. Bill said goodbye to Blondie as he cupped her breast. She hit his hand away. She saw the smile on his face, then she thanked him. Bill left the flat £100 pound better off than he thought he was going to be and he had copped a feel, and he just loved it when you copped an unexpected feel. He thought that when all this was over he might go back and pay Blondie a visit. She had liked him, he thought. Yes, that’s what he would do; show her what a real man was like.

  Blondie was now drinking a coke and smoking a cigarette. Her legs had not been tied at all, just made to look as if they had. She was unharmed, but she thought Bill had put the tape around her mouth too tightly. She had hardly been able to breathe. She sat on the sofa feeling exhausted. She thought that the man had done a good job and he looked a bit tasty. She kind of liked it when he touched her breast. Different circumstances, who knows. I must remember to thank the Governor for getting rid of that piece of shit. She laughed.

  ‘The fucker will never come back now.’ she said out loud. Now the tears she shed were ones of laughter. Maybe when she thanked the Governor she might ask him the guy’s name. She put out her cigarette, got up and went for a shower.

  Bill got to his car, pleased with his evening’s work. Now he had to go to the hardware store. He had a lot of stuff to get for his road trip. Then he'd kip in his car. As he got into his car, the phone beeped. It was a message which read ‘Don’t hurt her, Dad I will do whatever you ask.’

  Got him, he thought to himself and drove away grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  Chapter 19

  It was 9.30 by the time Daniel got over to see Chief Inspector Simon Goldstone. The police station is on the High Street of Newport. The public entrance is off a side street, which Daniel took. He walked through the two glass doors. The officer on the desk recognised Daniel and after a phone call, told him to go up to the Inspector’s office. He walked up the one flight of stairs to the right of the reception area. The police station was unusually quiet, although he could hear someone shouting in the distance. Probably from the cells, he thought. At the top of the stairs, to the right, was Simon Goldstone’s office, which wasn't as flamboyantly furnished as he might have expected. A few filing cabinets, an old oak desk with a swivel chair that the inspector was now sitting in, a coffee table against the wall with nothing on it, a computer desk in the corner with an iMac on it. There were photographs on the wall that Daniel presumed were of Simon’s kids and wife. The walls were painted cream, and the chair on which he sat was uncomfortable. He shuffled in his seat, feeling slightly nervous. The Chief Inspector was also concerned. Daniel had sounded desperate on the phone. He hoped it didn't have anything to do with his investments, because that wouldn’t be good. That wouldn't be good at all.

  He pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses, poured two fingers into each, offering one to Daniel. They both took a sip, immediately feeling the warmth as the scotch hit their insides. The Inspector put his glass down and sat back in his chair, the feeling and the warmth relaxing him a little.

  ‘Now then, Daniel, what’s up?’ he asked.

  Daniel shuffled again in his chair. Might just as well come straight out with it.

  He looks nervous, which is unlike Daniel. Simon deduced. It seemed like there was some kind of confession about to be made.

  ‘I need a favour. I need you to find out where my father lives. I need to go and see him.’ He leaned back in his chair and sighed, took a sip of the whiskey and waited for the answer.

  Simon Goldstone leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk and raising his eyebrows. He hadn’t been expecting this,

  ‘Now why would you want to go and see that son of a bitch?’ He sat back in his seat, curious.

  Daniel didn’t know what the reaction would be, but he wasn't prepared for that simple question, why? He had presumed the Inspector would just do as he
asked. After all, he was making him a mint.

  ‘It’s a family thing. I just need to talk to him.’

  The Inspector again leaned forward, this time taking another sip of the scotch.

  ‘Wouldn't be anything to do with Wendy Cross, would it?’

  Another question Daniel hadn't expected.

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘It’s my patch, Daniel. I know everything. How are things going with that? Have you found her?’

  ‘Sort of. Anyway, can you do this for me?’

  ‘Tell me why?’

  ‘It’s private.’

  The Inspector stood up, leaned across the desk and put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder as a father would to a son. With his hand still on Daniel’s shoulder, he said.

  ‘If you tell me, I will help you, you know that, but I can't grant your favour without knowing why.’ He sat down.

  ‘If he has anything to do with Wendy Cross going missing, you have to tell me.’

  ‘Of course it isn't. Wendy’s just gone night-clubbing or something, like your Sergeant said.’

  The inspector raised his eyebrows. Daniel dropped his shoulders.

  ‘I can't tell you. Please, just do this favour for me.’

  ‘Daniel, let me help you. Let the police help you. If you know where Wendy is and your shit of a father has anything to do with it, for Wendy’s sake,’ he paused, ‘and for your sake, tell me.’

  He started pacing the room. Daniel watched him.

  ‘I can't.’

  ‘Then I can't help you.’ He now stood beside Daniel, with both hands on the desk.

  Daniel stood up, holding out his hand.

  ‘Okay, Simon,’ he said, ‘be seeing you.’ He turned to leave.

  ‘Sit down.’ the Inspector said. Daniel sat, thinking his move to leave may have worked. He knew the Inspector was now interested. The Inspector sat down. He paused, scratched his neck, loosened his tie, took another swig of scotch and licked his lips. Daniel did the same.

  ‘I know it’s out of my jurisdiction, but I’ll get some of their boys to call on him and I’ll let you know what they find. Will that do you?’

  Daniel thought this was better than nothing. He knew he wasn't going to get anything else out of Simon.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Thanks,’ getting up to leave.

  They shook hands and just as Daniel was about to leave, the Inspector called him back. Daniel turned around to face him, the door half open.

  ‘You said you’d like to speak to him. Is there any message you would like to give him?’

  ‘No message.’ Daniel said and closed the door behind him as he left.

  Daniel stood outside the office door wishing he hadn’t bothered. He should have known Simon would have asked questions. He understood that Simon was looking after him. A feeling came over him that he had just made things worse. He knocked and opened the office door again. Simon was sitting at his desk.

  ‘Just forget I ever came, okay?’ Simon raised his eyebrows as if to say, I can't do that.

  ‘Well if you don’t, you and I are going to fall out. Keep out of it, Goldstone.’

  He turned around and left once more.

  As soon as the door was closed, Simon Goldstone got on the phone. He reached Sergeant Bates.

  ‘Yes sir?’

  ‘I need Daniel Fenton watched around the clock. I need to know everything he does and everywhere he goes. If his brother leaves the house, follow him too. Don’t let either of them out of your sight. Any overtime needed, its authorised. Keep me informed. And as soon as you find Wendy Cross, I need to be the first to know.’ He put the phone down. A good man or not, no one threatens me.

  Tracy was in her element. I’d better do some overtime tonight she thought. What better job could you have, than legally stalking Daniel Fenton? She sung a Springsteen song in her head. You can look, but you better not touch. She smiled. Work to do.

  Daniel stood out in the street. It seemed busier than it had been twenty minutes earlier. He needed to think how to get out of this mess. Seeing Goldstone was a mistake. He should have known better. Goldstone may fiddle his taxes, but he was a good cop. Daniel wished he had gone to Tracy Bates instead. Now he would have to do it on his own. As he walked to his car, he knew he had to take his father down.

  Chapter 20

  Mickey Bolan had been stirring for the last thirty minutes. Now he was almost fully conscious. He sat, propped up against a wall, near a pile of clothes with blood stains on them. He wasn't sure what had happened, but remembered that Bill had hit him. He couldn't remember hitting the floor. He couldn't remember anything after that blow. His head hurt like buggery, his jaw hurt, his mouth and nose had been bleeding. There seemed to have been a lot of blood, but it had stopped now. That was good. He thought his head might explode. It was the worst headache he could ever remember having, far worse than any hangover he had ever had.

  As he focussed, he could see that the flat was empty. They had all gone and that bitch, Katy, she had just left him there. For all she cared, he could be dead. There was blood on him and there was blood on the clothes that lay beside him. Who else had Bill hurt? Then he recognised the clothes as being the ones worn by the bitch that they had kidnapped. I hope Bill hasn’t killed her, he thought I need some me time with her. He wished it was Katy who had died for leaving him there. Both the bitches would get it. He would make sure of that.

  He managed to get into the kitchen, where he turned on the tap and put his mouth under it. That felt good. He let the water run over his face. It hurt to begin with, then it felt good. He didn’t think anything was broken. He worked his jaw it hurt, but seemed to function okay. Won't be eating steak for a while. Then he tried to remember the last time he ate steak. He couldn't. He tried to remember the last time he ate, realising it was that morning. He looked around for some dope or cigarettes. He only found a small amount of vodka. He poured it into a glass and sat on the sofa. His head still hurt. He was hoping the Vodka might relieve it, but he knew he would need much more than half a glass full.

  Mickey Bolan had a family no more than eighteen miles away, south of where he lived. His parents lived in a three-bed semi with his sister, Jude. He had left home when he was sixteen. He was now twenty four. He had been fed up with the house rules and his father’s strictness. His father should have realised that these days everyone was into pot and crack. When his father had found the crack in his room, a big argument started. His father told him that he had to leave if he didn’t sort his act out. That had been eight years ago. He had only seen his parents twice since then and both times they had tried to persuade him to come home. Living rough was okay. He didn’t have to work and he was soon given a flat in St. Paul’s. Mind you, there were plenty available, he thought. Most people just broke in and took possession, but he was there legitimately. The rent was paid by the benefits agency. It was his home and he could do what the fuck he liked and he did. He took drugs and moved Katy in. She was okay. He liked her and she gave him sex whenever he wanted it. All she wanted was some dope, the stupid bitch. He really had to think now. He was fed up of being treated like shit.

  Katy, Bill, even that Becky they had kidnapped. They all treated him like shit. He was fed up of it. He would sit here for a while, until he felt better, then he would begin his revenge. He took a half-smoked butt out of the ashtray and lit it. It felt good and that’s just what Mickey Bolan did, thought about his revenge. Battered, bruised, but not beaten. Fed up of always being the punch bag, he sat and planned his revenge.

  An hour later he got up and left. Still battered, still bruised, but feeling a whole lot happier with himself.

  Chapter 21

  They were sitting on the sofa now. Both girls feeling cleaner, less hungry and drinking their second cans of lager. It was a strange feeling for Wendy, like something from a TV reality show. She was still scared. She wasn’t sure what would happen next. Her stomach ached. She was confused. Jezz had been a perfect gentleman. H
e sat in the armchair, watching some documentary on the telly. Wendy held the can of lager with both hands, wondering what was coming next. A few hours ago she had almost been raped. The girl who helped to kidnap her, had saved her from that ordeal. Then she was with a violent man, who she thought had in all probability, killed the other kidnapper. She could now be a witness to murder. Then suddenly, things had changed. She's showered, fed, given clean clothes and the kidnapper who she was sitting next to, had now become a victim like her. While she hated Katy for the part she had played. Wendy had to admit she had grown to like the girl. It seemed that she had had a hard life and certainly gave off a hard exterior, but Wendy felt deep down there was a heart in there. Perhaps she just needed a break. Whatever predicament she was in and whatever was in store for her, she knew for sure, that Todd and his brother would be looking for them and she needed Katy, just as much as Katy needed her. Jezz fumbled in a drawer next to where he sat, pulled out some tobacco and a large Rizla. He filled the Rizla with strands of Golden Virginia, and then sprinkled the contents of a little bag full of green stuff.

  ‘Bush.’ he said, ‘Good stuff.’

  He rolled the cigarette, screwed up the end, and lit it with his lighter. He puffed out large plumes of smoke and inhaled deeply. The room seemed to fill with smoke. He sat back, contented. He offered the girls a drag. Both refused.

  Katy thought if he had enough of that stuff maybe he would fall asleep and they could make their escape. She had seen Jezz put the keys in his right hand pocket. They could be difficult to get out.

  Wendy broke the contented silence. She sipped her lager and sat forward.

  ‘Jezz.’ she said.

  ‘Yes, babe.’ he said, blowing out another large plume of

  Smoke, his big eyes looked at hers.